Her eyes caught the small bright label attached to the frame. Leaning closer, she squinted in the last glimmers of light. Etched in the metal were the words Lucinda, Hunter, and Cloud.

Puzzled, Mika looked back at the painting. “You must be Lucinda,” she said, directing her gaze to the angry face. She almost stuck her tongue out at the portrait. “And you must be Hunter,” she said to the black hound. “But Cloud? Who’s Cloud?” There was no other figure in the portrait.

Then Mika noted that the woman sat to one side of the couch. Maybe Cloud had sat on the other side. Someone must have painted over him.

The cat started to squirm and Mika glanced down. “Sorry, kitty. I’m ready to go. This time for sure.”

But she stopped again halfway to the door. What was that sound? Almost like a sigh. Or a whisper of rage.

She spun around, then cried out and staggered backward. The cat dug its claws into her arm but she barely felt it. Black shadows were spilling from the portrait, flowing down the wall like dark water. Mika backed swiftly toward the door.

“Don’t be stupid, Mika,” she sputtered. “It’s a trick of the light. That’s all.”

She backed into the entrance hall, then wheeled around and ran out the front door, the cat curled into a tense ball on her chest.