Free Lead Me Not by A. Meredith Walters Page B

lust.
    Somehow, some way, this smattering of paint on a dirty wall conveyed all of these things. And I knew that Brooks was right. That whoever X was, this person was seriously talented.
    The picture depicted the side profile of a woman, her long, golden hair licked by bright red flames as they crawled toward her face. You could see only the outline of her nose and jaw, as she was turned away, looking off into the distance.
    The rest of her body was done in dark, bold lines that were almost crude and undefined, until you got to her hand. The hand was painted precisely and almost delicately. The fingers were uncurled, the palm was spread open, and from the hand fell lovely, purple blossoms that reminded me of the aster flowers that grew on campus.
    The fire at the girl’s feet reached up and seemed to engulf the flowers that were floating to the ground. It was such a contradiction—the power of the fire and the placid gentleness of the flowers. There was a violent sort of possession in the way the flames seemed to devour the petals that fell from the woman’s hand, almost, but not quite, touching her skin, as though they were reaching out for her yet not quite able to reach her. I noticed the characteristic X enmeshed in the red and orange.
    A shiver that had nothing to do with the chill in the air raceddown my spine.
    “I’ve got it!” Brooks called out, a little too loudly. I jumped with a start, having been so fixated on the painting.
    “Come on!” Brooks yelled in my ear, and I gave him a look of annoyance. I noticed others were quickly leaving as well, having gotten what they came for. I glanced back at the picture, feeling strangely sad about leaving it behind.
    “Aubrey, it’s already late. We need to hurry or the line will be huge!” Brooks urged, pulling me toward his car.
    After I was buckled in, I looked again at the picture, wishing I understood the strange twist of emotions I felt when I looked at it. I stared at it until my eyes started to tear over.
    Blinking, I looked over at Brooks, who was programming an address into his phone and then setting it down on the center console. I rubbed at my temples, feeling the twinges of a headache coming on.
    I felt oddly unsettled, and a part of me wanted to go home and forget about tonight’s grand adventure. I felt a sense of foreboding that I couldn’t shake, mostly because it was tangled up with an almost euphoric need to let go.
    I was a fucking mess.
    Clearing my throat, I tried to get my head straight by focusing on my friend, who was practically buzzing with excitement. “How did you get the address?” I asked, knowing that during my free fall into emotional turmoil I had missed a major part of what we were doing there.
    Brooks pointed at the picture. “See those numbers painted into the fire at the bottom?” he asked, and I tried to see what he was talking about. And then I saw it. The numbers one and four and then five other numbers intertwined along the base of the flame.
    “Yeah, so?” I asked.
    “The first two are a street number, the last five the zip code.The stems of the flowers are actually the street name. So you put it into the GPS and voilà, there you have it, the location for Compulsion,” he answered, sounding like a little kid revealing a top-secret magic trick.
    “Well, isn’t that supercreative,” I quipped, trying to hide the increasing sense of disquiet unfurling in my belly.
    “Just chill out and have fun, Aubrey. Let your hair down for one night,” Brooks teased, and I tried not to get defensive at the implied criticism.
    “I can have as much fun as the next girl,” I argued, and tried not to get annoyed at Brooks’s bark of disbelieving laughter.
    The rest of the ride continued in silence, and I tried to contain the confusing rush of nerves and excitement that made my heart thud in my chest.
    The GPS led us to the outskirts of the city, far away from the lights and bustle of normal, Saturday nightlife. Brooks pulled