My dead Raina was talking to James. “And here’s the man himself” he said. Shit and double shit. “Marcus, Sera. Sera, Marcus” I stared at the hand she stuck out at me.  Her palm was warmer than I remembered and I wondered if perhaps I was mistaken.  Maybe the upcoming conclusion of 50 years of gathering power and suffering the presence of the evil alchemists spirit was finally getting to me.  Soon he’d be dead, Raina’s death would be balanced, and it would all be over.  But I didn’t want to be mistaken.  I wanted it to be Raina’s hand in mine again.  Raina’s mouth smiling at me again.  Raina’s…

The night sky seemed vast and dark, inviting me to leave the art show and begin a search for the north star instead.  I could see the hundred bourgeoisie elitists that buy my glass passing behind me.  Their ghosts reflected in the window, as transparent as their souls.  They flitting from art form to art form, wishing the painting would speak to them as it spoke to their highly paid art coordinator.  At least the lofted studio was warm, filled with the heat from art collectors and women named Jasmine that smelled like too much rose perfume. I could see the exit across the room, only 12 or 15 strides…