The Stargazers Read Online Free Page A

woman’s withered face, and Aster thought she could still see some of her old beauty still lurking around her delicate nose and chin, the elegant line of her jaw. The same as Dahlia’s. The same as Aster’s.
    In contrast, the end of the table with Holly and Oleander gave off a cold and joyless energy. Holly sat hunched beside her sister, scraggly salt and pepper locks obscuring her face, shoulders at their typical ear level as if to prepare for Oleander’s next reprimand or slap to the back of the head. She gave Aster a shaky grin, her eyes like frightened animals looking out from dark caves. Never was there a greater sense of two factions in this family. What would they be without the old woman holding them together at the head?
    Aster sat in the middle, unsure where she truly belonged. While Lily and Dahlia loved her, they didn’t really see who she was or what she wanted. Meanwhile, she and Oleander shared similarities apart from their looks and their hatred for one another. They both questioned the need for mindless tradition , a nd she saw a certain freedom in Oleander’s bald hatred of her:  there was no need to impress or live up to some brilliant example or half-baked prophecy.  
    “Ahem.” Lily raised an index finger and touched it to one of the candles, lighting all six them at once. It required only a trickle of magic, but it had delighted Aster from the time she was a little girl. She locked eyes with the old woman and smiled, sharing her thanks for the small gesture. The elder then raised her glass of honey wine to offer a toast or make a speech when Oleander broke in.
    “Enough with the stupid parlor tricks. I’m eating.” She grabbed a leg of the goose, tore it off with a twist, and sunk her teeth into the still steaming meat. The last of Aster’s appetite fizzled, for this was surely the beginning of a fight.
    Nanny Lily cleared her throat with a deliberate volume. “Oleander, this is a special occasion and I haven’t signaled the start of the meal. Still your pig’s mouth for once while we address our Aster.”
    Oleander’s eyes narrowed above the mutilated goose leg. Her chin was shiny with its juices. “Just who are you calling a pig, you old bat?”
    Nanny Lily’s face didn’t change, but the candles on the table flamed brighter, cutting through the room’s shadows. “If you can’t exercise a little respect, you can take your plate out back and dine in the barn with the rest of your friends.”
    Oleander pounded her fist on the table. Silverware and crockery jumped and jangled, wine sloshed from glasses. “I paid for this slop, and I’ll eat when and how I blighted well please. Or I can take it all with me and dump it into the feed troughs.”
    Dahlia cleared her throat. “Actually, Papa Quercus has been selling his whittlings at the market, which helped pay for the goose as well as the chocolate you stuff down your ugly gob. But if you like, you can take that atrocious green gelatin salad you always make that no one likes. That is, if the pigs would have it.”
    Oleander’s nostrils flared like an angry bull’s. The green salad, pungent with the rose water with which she liberally flavored it, was always the sore spot at the dinner table. No one liked it, and they only took helpings to be polite. And to keep Oleander from losing her temper. Now it seemed Dahlia didn't so much care about the silent green salad pact, but maybe it was for the best.
    “You always said you liked my salad! It was the only reason I ever made it!”
    “I-I like it, Oly,” whispered Holly.
    Oleander elbowed her hard in the arm. “Shut up, you nitwit!”
    Aster braced herself for the hurricane, which usually involved scathing words and flying food. Many meals in the Stargazer house had been soured in such a way. There was no way to talk Oleander down from her rage once it reached this point, and even if that miracle did occur, Oleander would never forget. It could be a year from now, long after