Free Paint by Magic by Kathryn Reiss

"Head up—to the left, chin a bit higher, arms out—like so." He gave her the single rose to hold—a fresh one, of course, because they wilted so fast in the warm room. "Hold the flower in two fingers, up like this—perfect." He stood back and regarded her.
    She was already drooping. "
Diàvolo!
" he hissed. She flinched. He snapped his fingers in front of her face. "You will keep your eyes on me! They must be fixed on me at all times, do you understand?" She had been growing more and more restless, talking to him about her baby or her dead husband. Sometimes Lorenzo had to shout at her. "You shall neither look away nor move at all.
Never
break your pose. Yes? Well then, are we ready to begin?"
    She moistened her lips and murmured that she was trying, she always did try.... "Yes," she whispered, "I am ready."
    "Very well, then," said Lorenzo da Padova, smiling his special smile. "We shall begin the day's work." He set about mixing his powdered pigments with fresh egg yolk, aware how uncomfortable she was in the pose, how it fatigued her muscles and dragged on her spirit as she struggled to hold it—and this entertained him. She was learning to discipline her mind and body to his will—and he enjoyed watching her. She wanted the money he promised when the portrait was finished, but he wanted much more from her. He wanted her very soul.
    She had been quite satisfactory during the first month he had worked on the painting—excellent, in fact, at first, but then growing more vexing with time. Some days she could not seem to sit still. More than once she had fallen asleep, then jerked awake, and in doing so, upset the stand that held his bowls of paints. When that happened he would chastise her, of course. It was easy enough for such a skilled artist as himself to ignore the bruises that marred her face when he worked. On canvas she still looked bright and fresh, as lovely as the first day she'd stepped into his studio.
    Now the clear morning light slanted through the small panes of glass at the narrow windows. Lorenzo's dagger rested lightly against his leg, hidden from view. His model watched him steadily, her gaze frightened but never wavering.
    "
Perfètto,
" the Smiler whispered. "Perfect. You are so lovely. And now—
freeze.
"

Chapter 6
Posing
    When the wind finally stopped, I found myself lying all curled up, weak and tattered, like a piece of newspaper blown across the playground. It felt like I was waking up from a deep sleep. I wanted to stretch but was too tired and too heavy to move a single muscle. All the energy had been sucked right out of me. I lay completely limp, with a sort of sick feeling in my stomach. I felt the fuzz of rug scratch my cheek.
    Then I smelled smoke.
    Cautiously I lifted my heavy head. My eyes smarted as smoke puffed right in my face.
    "Hold it right there, boy!" a man's gruff voice roared at me. "Don't move a muscle!" His face loomed in front of me. My stomach clenched. As I drew in a smoky breath, I remembered
everything;
Mom's tortured face, Dad's panic, the sketch—
    Had the wind knocked me unconscious? I could see I wasn't in my bedroom anymore. And who was this man—maybe a doctor? But why would a doctor be puffing on a pipe? And where were Mom and Dad and Crystal?
    I closed my eyes, dizzy again. My brain wasn't working right. In all that wind, my brain must have gotten rattled. Something had happened to me. But what?
    I heard the man's voice in the fog. "That's good. Stay nice and still till I finish your face. Good, very good."
    I opened my eyes again carefully. I could see that I was lying on a brown rug in an atticlike room, with streams of soft afternoon sunlight glinting through the open window. A warm breeze touched my face, and I smelled flowers. The breeze fluttered the cloth that covered a large canvas propped on an easel by the opposite window.
    "All righty then, boy, turn your face toward me, just a bit to the right. There—just