The Awakening of Ren Crown by Anne Zoelle Page A

sketch while craning his head around. “Department spooks. Bad news. Just stay here until we can make a break for it.” He held out the sketch to me.
    The tips of my paint-stained fingerpads curled around the paper, touching the girl's dress within. The paint seeped from my fingers into the sketch, absorbing there. The girl began swaying. She smiled, set the sapling down, and began pulling the shaded white drape on the right slowly to the side, exposing darkness in the middle of the sketch.
    “What is she doing?” Will scooted closer, pulling the paper back out of my grip in order to examine it. “I didn't realize you were an art mage.”
    Anxiety seeped through my wooden state as I watched him. Alarm gripped me. “Let go of that.”
    “Ok.” His fingers loosened, but a charcoaled hand reached out from the sketch and gripped his forearm. Will's eyes widened, and he finally released the paper fully, but it was far too late. The hand yanked back into the paper, taking Will’s arm with it. His whole body followed, just sucking, absorbing , him in. Schwoop. Right down to his strange black shoes.
    Gone, like everyone in my life.
    The freed sheet caught a breeze and gently drifted to the sidewalk. I stared blankly as it finally came to rest a few feet away. A student stepped on it, issued a quick apology, picked it up, and handed it to me.
    I blindly took it. People were passing by, pointing and giving me wary glances. Me. Not my hands which held the paper that had just sucked someone inside.
    I gripped the paper without looking down. Perhaps it would suck me inside too. Make me disappear completely as well.
    I finally looked down. There was a different figure in the sketch now. The girl in the white dress with the sapling was gone, but a male figure, drawn in broad, harsh strokes, looked pretty freaked out as he dashed around, banging into the sides of the sketch.
    I lunged forward and grabbed a sophomore passing on the walk, then held the sheet in front of his face. “Excuse me. Could you tell me what you see?”
    The sophomore looked scared. “A guy and some curtains.”
    “Is the guy doing anything?”
    “Doing anything?”
    “Do you see him moving?”
    The kid backed up, then bolted.
    I looked back down at the lone figure in the sketch—complete with a little beret—his hands splayed out against the paper, facing me, banging his palms as if against a two-way looking glass. His features were slowly turning from harsh strokes to the more refined ones of Will.
    I tentatively reached out a finger to touch his hand.
    “Ren!”
    My head snapped up, and I saw Dad's car at the curb. He was leaning into the passenger seat and waving to me through the open window, just like he had done for weeks now—leaving work early so that the three of us could awkwardly sit together—broken—for early dinners during “happy time” when the October sun was only just starting to set. As if the dark wasn't more comforting now.
    I looked back down at the sketch. Will looked completely freaked out. I looked back to the black SUV where the thin man stood with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed on the school entrance. I hurried to Dad's car.
    “You didn't text back,” he said as I scooted inside. “I didn't know if you had decided to start walking. Good thing you didn't,” he said in a too-hardy, joking manner. “Weather events are getting crazy again.”
    I hunched down, casting a quick glance behind my seat and through the rear window. “Sorry. Lost track of time.”
    “What have you got there?” he asked.
    He reached for the sketch, and I couldn't contain my yell. “Don't touch it!”
    He pulled his hand back, shocked.
    I swallowed again, pulling it completely out of his reach. “It's done in charcoal. It will dirty up your nice shirt.”
    “You trying to say your old Dad is afraid of a little dirt?” His smile did nothing to lighten the dark circles under his eyes.
    “No, course not.” They were going to pressure me