Del:

Nyssa hadn’t left her room all day. Del was worried about her. He was marching towards her room, determined to force her into public when he got the sense that something was wrong. He’d learned long ago not to ignore his intuition. He quickened his pace, rolling up his sleeves as he twisted around the corner that led to the hallway he needed. After clearing the corner, he stopped on a dime, eyes fixed on the dark liquid spreading out from underneath Nyssa’s closed door.

He jerked into motion, ripping open the door and charging inside. It was a mess. The shattered remains of a mug littered the floor amongst the growing pool of dark coffee that was leaking into the hallway. The side table lay on its back next to the bed, its contents spewed halfway across the room. Bits of paper fluttered around sticking to the liquid he stood in.

Myra stood just inside the door, staring at the calamity in awe. Her attention was fixed to the wall opposite. It was covered in thick, dark strokes of charcoal. The harsh lines blurred together, depicting a scene of horror and destruction. Del stepped further into the room, glass crunching under his boots. Somehow, a mirror had been smashed.

In the eye of the storm was Nyssa. She was crouched beneath her artwork, her hands folded loosely over her knees. A stub of charcoal was clutched in one of her limp hands.

“Oh, Nyssa,” he sighed. He approached her, careful to keep his steps slow and even. He bent down, taking the charcoal from her gently and drawing her towards him.

“Do you think Riordan will like it?” she asked gently, her eyes sliding closed. Her feet had been sliced to ribbons by the glass. Del tuted at the sight of her blood.

“I drew it so that he could see,” she continued, leaning heavily on him. She swiped at the sweat beading on her upper lip with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of charcoal across her lower face.

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“Shush,” Del said gently. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. It was the only place in the room that remained untouched, except for a few rumpled sheets. He snagged the first aid box from the desk and laid her down in one smooth motion. Nyssa’s head lolled and her eyelids fluttered. Del tore open a bit of gauze, dabbing it against a particularly deep cut.

Myra disappeared into the ensuite. The sound of running water and glass clinking soon followed. She emerged with a bowl of steaming water and a towel.

“I’ll go get Riordan,” Myra said from the doorway, her voice faint. “And a broom.” Del didn’t react other than a distracted nod. He fished out some tweezers and started pulling bits of glass from Nyssa’s feet. She didn’t even flinch.

“I’m sorry about the mirror,” Nyssa said, almost inaudibly. Her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Del shushed her again, dipping a cloth into some warm water and cleaning her cuts. She mumbled incoherently, eyes sliding shut as Del began cleaning her hands. They were stained black to her elbows with powdery charcoal. There was also words scrawled in pen on her wrist in Nyssa’s flowing handwriting.

Note to self: get coffee.

She’d planned this vision. Coffee would be a catalyst to someone like her. Most of the Caul avoided caffeine because it sent their abilities into overdrive.

Nyssa protested weakly when he began wiping her face. He pushed her hands aside gently.

“I’m just getting you five o’clock shadow,” he chuckled. When she had rubbed at her face, she had left behind a dark smudge.

“Go to sleep, Nys. I will take care of the mess.”

So she slept.

When he’d finished cleaning her up, Del spent a moment inspecting her artwork. The charcoal drawing took up most of the wall with it’s thick, bold lines and deep shadows. Any papers that had been left clinging to the wall had simply been drawn over and incorporated into canvas. The piece itself was breathtaking. Nyssa was a truly remarkable artist.

She’d drawn a man with his face in shadow. His hair was short and messy and he had broad shoulders. He’d one arm stretched over his head, hefting a sword as if to slice Del in two, skull to navel. A fox weaved in and about his ankles, staring at Del no matter where he stood in the room.

Even though he didn’t know what it meant, the drawing left a sour taste in his mouth and a sense of foreboding lingering in the air.