“Jamal knew that any painting she made—of anyone—was bad. It wasn’t safe. But my parents loved the painting; it was a great comfort to my mother in the years after my father died. Nothing terrible happened to my parents, although they were part of the painting. The children didn’t like the painting, of course. They were deeply worried and deeply suspicious. But my parents spent time in that room, near that painting, and it didn’t affect them. It didn’t affect me. I played in that room as a young child; it was where my mother liked to sit when she was knitting.

“I do remember the children telling me that it was a bad painting,” she added, an odd smile adorning her face. “The artist was bad. My parents looked terrible. My hair looked stupid. I asked about the flower. They couldn’t see it. I assumed that was deliberate, at the beginning. I’m not so sure now.

“After my parents passed, the children began to avoid the room. And as the years passed, avoidance became apprehension, anxiety, and eventually terror. I avoided the room because whenever I drew close to it, the children started to panic. Jamal sometimes breaks things when he panics, and it grew harder and harder to reach them through their fear. But you saw what they were like.”

Kaylin nodded.

“Seeing the painting—seeing images of my parents—became less important than the children; I closed the door to the room, and I acted as if it didn’t exist. The first time the room had been entered in decades was when you visited.” She frowned. “Jamal says the house began to change when the two of you entered the room.

“They began to hear Azoria through the closed front door; they could sense that she was somehow searching for them in an attempt to find them. But, dear,” she added, obviously to Jamal, “that doesn’t explain why you said what she wants is for me to—to break my promise.”

Silence.

“He’s not answering.”

“Jamal—”

“He says she thought I would be special. She did something, made something—I’m not sure which. A necklace or a ring. She gave whatever it was as a gift to my mother, an heirloom that might be given to the child she would bear. Jamal just called it jewelry, and I don’t think he’s being deliberately difficult.”

“Well, that’s a change.”