“She spent all her free time either drawing the strange things she saw in her dreams, or with her nose inside historical novels. The world held inthe pages of history felt like the real world, and the present day an illusion she had to suffer through until she could escape back into the pages of abook.”

“Monsieur Girard grinned at the effect his story had had, and moved on, grunting disparagingly at another student’s efforts. As he approached her,Caitlyn went back to work, afraid to be caught slacking. He came to stand behind her, watching her attempts, and despite her best efforts her armslowed and then dropped as she was overcome with self-consciousness.“Do you, too, have a brilliant artist locked in your head?” he asked.“No. I’m beginning to think I don’t know a thing about art.”“Class! Do you hear? She knows nothing about art! And she proves it in her drawing.”Caitlyn cringed.“This,” he went on, laying his hand upon her head, “is the proper state of mind for learning to draw. Your mind must be blank of your old ideas andold ways of seeing. You must start fresh, like a baby who has never seen the world.” He dropped his hand from her head and pointed to the areashe’d shaded with parallel lines. “This is nice.”“Thank you,” Caitlyn said in soft surprise.He nodded in acknowledgment. “Keep listening. With open ears, you will be one of the few who learn.”

“Except Caitlyn. High school dating, drill team, school spirit—it all seemed silly to her. Why did it feel like high school was crushing her soul? Shehad nothing concrete she could point to. All she knew was that she didn’t belong here.She preferred old, used clothes to new ones; her iPod was full of classical music; and photos of castles and reproductions of old European artcovered her bedroom walls, including a Renaissance painting of a young girl in white, named Bia. It should have been pop singers on her wall, ormovie stars”

“I will talk to you again in my office, at nine A.M. tomorrow morning, togive you a more thorough orientation to the school and to explain what I will be expecting of you as a scholarship student.” She turned to Greta.“Greta, please see Caitlyn settled in her room, and see that she showers.” With a nod she turned on her heel and left.Caitlyn raised her arm and sneaked a sniff at her armpit. Was Madame Snowe saying she smelled? She caught Greta watching her and loweredher arm. “Just checking,” she said sheepishly.”

“Some people say that love itself is the most powerful magic,” Caitlyn said.“But would true love make a man go against every principle that had guided his life, and make him break vows he had made to God?” Raphaelshook his head. “Simon brought Eshael here, to the château, but she would not give up her goddess and so he could not marry her. The local menwere frightened of Eshael and her strange ways. There were stories of firelight in the caves that pierce the cliffs beneath the château, and thedancing shadows of local women that Eshael had converted to worship of her goddess.“Simon’s love for Eshael began to fade; he started to see evil in all she did and all she was. The final straw came after Eshael bore him their firstchild, a daughter. When Simon discovered Eshael consecrating their child to her goddess, the last vestiges of his love turned to hatred. In his rage,he killed her.”

“A tingling mix of excitement and fear ran over her skin, and a deep feeling of familiarity and recognition settled in her gut, as if she had at lastcome home”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t get out of the workshop much. The girls of Rome would have been introuble!”He grinned and waggled his brows. “Do you think so?”She pushed his shoulder. “Naughty boy.”“I could be much naughtier.”Caitlyn sucked in a breath, alarmed and thrilled by the dangerous look in his eyes. She clasped her hands primly in front of her”