Read Online Broken Dragon (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 3) by D.W. Moneypenny - Free Book Online Page A

you of that. However, if you are looking for a way to thank me, you can close up the place, so I can get out of here before my wife and daughter kill me.” He nodded to Mrs. Klein and added, “If you’ll forgive me, I’m going to sneak out the back.”
    “I understand completely,” she said. “I’ll just have this handsome young artist walk me out.” She held out her arm to Cam.
    While the gallery owner walked toward the back of the building, Cam escorted their customer to the front door.
    “So, I’m really curious. Why the sudden and dramatic switch in your work?” Mrs. Klein asked. “The old stuff was good, but this new work of yours is in a whole different league.”
    Cam looked down, a little sheepish. “I don’t want to sound like an angst-filled artist—or a stereotype of any kind for that matter.” He unlocked the door and opened it.
    “Oh, just go ahead and say what you feel. That’s the whole point of art, isn’t it?” She patted his arm and crossed the threshold.
    “The surrealism just seemed impersonal to me, not a part of me. I wanted to explore my African-ness, I guess. This show was focused on landscapes, but I’m working on some portraits, some other pieces that reflect African design and culture, even some African-inspired abstracts.”
    “That’s wonderful. If the other work is anything like these brilliant landscapes, you are doing the right thing,” she said. She smiled and slipped on a pair of gloves. “You have a good evening and make sure you take a moment to enjoy your success.”
    He thanked her again and closed the door, waving through the window as she turned away. Once she got in the awaiting cab, he pulled down the blind and leaned his back against the door. Gazing into the gallery full of his art, he sighed, sounding content and tired. He debated whether to run a dust mop over the floors but decided against it. The employees would be setting up the next exhibit the following morning, tracking in and out, so the place would get a thorough cleaning after that. Besides, it was still relatively early on a Saturday night, and he had earned at least a nightcap.
    As he pushed off from the door, on his way to kill the lights, he noticed something moving out of the corner of his eye. A swirl of darkness in the center of the Serengeti landscape. Cam gasped. At first it looked like something burning through the canvas, but that wasn’t right. It was actually in front of the painting, in the air before it, a growing black tear, as if someone had run a knife through space. A breeze pulled at Cam, causing his lapel to flap. He ran his hand over it, pressing it down. When he looked up again, the dark opening had grown wider, the wind more insistent. Something clattered to his right. Smaller canvases across the room swung on their wires, strained to jump off the wall. A flock of brochures fluttered off the table next to the front door, danced in the air for a moment, then flew into the blackness.
    Cam staggered back toward the door, resisting the pull of the wind. After two steps, he felt static run up the back of his head. After another two steps, he felt it on his arms. When his backside bumped into the door, he could make out a light blue sheen in the air just inches from his nose. Some kind of electrical field . He looked side to side, then upward. It’s a sphere . He reached up to touch it with a finger.
    But his finger was gone, or rather, his fingertip was. It was dissolving into a fine luminous mist. And it streamed toward the black hole than now covered the Serengeti painting.
    From out of its depths, a deep baritone said, “It’s time to come home.”
    Cam’s mind went blank.
    * * *
    Rory, the cab driver, grunted, as he leaned over his belly to hang up his radio. He took a right onto Hawthorne Boulevard, heading east to pick up a fare going to the airport. The road ahead looked clear of jaywalking pedestrians, which were not uncommon around here, thanks to all the