Skinnybones and the Wrinkle Queen Read Online Free

garage sales.
    â€œMostly trash.” Miss Barclay waves a hand towards the shelves. She eases herself into a vinyl-covered chair. The chair is faded orange and has been patched with silver duct tape. You can imagine what the Wrinkle Queen looks like in the middle of it with her bright red dress.
    â€œI think there are a few copies of Dickens and Austen. I have my own books in my room though.” She points at another vinyl-covered chair. “Sit down.”
    I nudge the slippers and crumpled paper under the chair.
    â€œIs that what young ladies are wearing today?” She’s giving me the once over. Once and back again and then again.
    â€œIs that what old ladies are wearing?” She can see I’m staring at her nosebleed-red polyester, and this fancy brooch flopping on her skinny chest.
    â€œ
Touché
,” she cackles.
    â€œActually, I’m going to be a model,” I tell her. “If you think what I’ve got on today is crazy, you should watch
Fashion Forecast
. This is nothing.”
    â€œI see.” She fishes a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. Long brown cigarettes like thin cigars. Maybe they’re made special for witches.
    â€œAre you allowed to smoke in here?”
    â€œDo we care?” She flashes her false teeth at me, lights a match, gets the brown coffin nail going, and then, for a second or two, stares at the fire burning down the matchstick. When it reaches her fingers, she drops it into a piece of ceramic sculpture on an end table.
    â€œSuch rules are a transgression against our civil liberties,” she says. “Did you know that in
Götterdämmerung
, the last of the great operas in Wagner’s Ring Cycle, the whole stage is filled with smoke and fire? So wonderful. Exhilarating. I suppose that’s the next thing they’ll be banning.”
    â€œGotter what?”
    â€œ
Götterdämmerung
. The twilight of the gods. If I guess correctly, you’ve never seen an opera.”
    â€œNo,” I say. “And it’s not high on my list.”
    Miss Barclay sucks on her mini-cigar and then exhales a few dragon puffs of smoke.
    â€œThis is the year,” she sighs. “The year they’re doingthe whole cycle in Seattle.
Das Rheingold
,
Die Walküre
,
Siegfried
and
Götterdämmerung
. And I’m stuck here. I might as well be six feet under.”
    â€œCouldn’t you just go? You’re not locked up, are you?”
    â€œNext thing to it.”
    â€œI’d go,” I say. “If I really wanted to. If I had the money. Nobody would stop me.”
    She takes another long drag on her weird cigarette. It gives her a small fit of coughing and, still hacking, she whispers, “I believe you would.”

4
    She’s tough, Skinnybones. A fledgling walküre. No one will stop her from flying.
    The gollything comes flip-flopping by the reading room door just as I’ve finished my cigarillo, thank the Viking gods of smoke and fire. She wrinkles her nose and looks accusingly at me.
    â€œSomething stuck on the radiator, I think,” I say. “Maybe Tamara wouldn’t mind helping me back to my room.”
    â€œI think you’d just have time.” Gollywog beams her my-I’m-glad-you’re-bonding smile, and Tamara smiles back at her.
    â€œSomeone should help her,” she whispers as we round a corner and head down the stretch of hall to my room.
    â€œMrs. Gollywatchit?”
    â€œShe could use an extreme makeover.”
    â€œExtreme is the signature word,” I agree.
    â€œAre you expecting company? There’s a man waving at you,” Tamara says.
    She’s right. It’s my nephew, Byron. And to think the day had been going so well for a change.
    â€œI’m okay from here,” I say. “Thank you again for my lovely gift.”
    Tamara pats the hideous package she’s tied to the side of the walker.
    â€œYou’re so very welcome,” she says