Sorceress Read Online Free Page A

too?
    She went on past more textiles and pottery, coming back on herself towards the beginning of the exhibition. She stood lost in thought before a glass case of cradle boards and miniature model canoes. A clock chimed in some distant gallery and she looked at her watch. It was nearly time for her appointment.
    As she made her way out towards the exhibition entrance, an invisible beam or eye set off the low sweet sound of a water drum. The accompanying chants were Haudenosaunee, Iroquois Six Nations. She was hearing the voice of her own people, the People of the Long House. What was the song telling her? To go on? Or to go back?
    Agnes glanced over at the desk. The girl was busy talking to someone. She could sneak out easily. After all, what did she know about Mary? A couple of stories which could be about anyone. It was the objects that went with them that made the match possible. Without those, nothing could be proved, and this museum visit had only confirmed what she knew already: her aunt would never allow her to have them, let alone bring them here.
    Agnes would have to explain that to Alison Ellman, and how humiliating was that going to be? She turned up her jacket collar and tucked her chin down into her chest. She was part-way across the polished wooden floor, making for the heavy glass doors, when a voice from behind her said,
    ‘Excuse me. Are you Agnes?’

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    5
    The Institute offices
    ‘I’m Alison Ellman.’
    The woman coming towards Agnes was maybe in her late twenties and wore casual clothes, blue shirt and khakis. She was slim and small, shorter than Agnes, and kind of pretty with short-cut wheat-blonde hair.
    ‘How did you know it was me?’ Agnes asked.
    Alison looked at the young woman in front of her. She was dressed like any student: tennis shoes, denim jeans, white T-shirt, denim jacket. She wore an earring in one ear: turquoise beads finished with a feather. Lots of kids wore ethnic jewellery these days, but the beads had a dull finish, suggesting that they were old. She was slender, slight even, still more girl than woman, but she had presence. She stood upright and when she moved it was with graceful ease. She had high cheekbones and clear features; strong brows and a straight nose above a wide, full mouth and a delicately rounded chin. Her skin was the colour of clear wild honey. She was tall, taller than Alison thought at first glance, taller than Alison herself. As she inclined her head in greeting, her long hair fell forward, soft and silky, as shiny as a raven’s wing. The eyes, though – the eyes were a surprise. They were as grey as the sky on a snowy winter’s day.
    ‘I was watching you in the exhibition. You looked at it differently from the other people in there. Apart from that, I just took a pretty good guess. I’m very pleased to meet you, Agnes.’
    Alison put out her hand and Agnes took it. The girl’s hand was long, thin-fingered and strong. Her wrists were circled with power beads and friendship bracelets woven from leather and bright silk thread. Alison made her mind up quickly about people and she liked this girl, she liked her right away, whatever she did or did not have to say.
    ‘I’m so glad that you could make it. Journey OK? No problem finding us? I’m so excited about this, you can’t guess. It’s this way.’ Alison shepherded Agnes to a door marked No Public Access . ‘Most of the work here goes on behind the scenes. What you see on exhibition is only a fraction of the whole collection, and our work is, of course, much, much more . . .’
    Alison led the way up the stairs, more than aware that she was talking too much already.
    Alison’s workstation was in one corner of a room banked with modern filing systems and glass-fronted bookcases full of old-looking leather-bound volumes. Alison’s area held a computer, a microscope, a light box and a lamp with a magnifying attachment.
    ‘I’m planning a follow-up to The Mary Papers . I’ll show you what I’ve