Black Light Read Online Free Page A

tightened.
    “Ow—”
    “Right here,” she said, ignoring me. With her free hand she slapped at the junk on the floor. Matchbooks and earrings went flying, pills skidded away as her fingers closed around something. “’Cause I’m ready, I told them I was ready—”
    She looked up, still holding my wrist; grinned that horribly incongruous doll’s smile and showed me what was in her other hand.
    “See, Charlotte?”
    It was a knife. Maybe six or seven inches long, blade and handle both carved from the same slender piece of bone. The handle end was narrow and russet-brown; the curved blade creamy ivory. As she turned it back and forth I could see tiny incisions in the handle, a series of lines intersected by smaller Xs. But the blade was broken—the end had been sheared off, leaving a jagged edge. When she ran her finger along it I could see that it was dull, no sharper than a piece of plastic cutlery.
    “Huh. I’ll have to sharpen it I guess. But I’ll do it, that’s the key thing! I’m not afraid and—”
    She stumbled to her feet, dragging me as well. Although she seemed to have almost forgotten me; I might have been another piece of awkward jewelry tied to her wrist. With a soft moan she began flailing back and forth. I thought she was having a seizure, but then she started to laugh, spinning in a clumsy pirouette with me staggering alongside, and I realized she was dancing.
    “I’ll—do—it—!” she sang breathlessly. Something crunched beneath her bare feet. I looked down and saw that the floor was littered with seedpods, brown and as big as my thumb. “I’ll—”
    At that moment the candle went out. I yelped, Kissy laughed; and the door at the end of the room flew open.
    “Lit? Charlotte Moylan, are you—”
    “Daddy!”
    For a fraction of a second I could feel Kissy’s hand tighten about mine. Then there was a warmth at my ear, and a voice whispering, “Don’t forget!” With a giggle she let go, falling back against the wall.
    “Lit! What the hell are you doing in here? Where’s the light? What’s that smell ?”
    My father stomped inside. “Jesus Q. Murphy, we’ve been ready to leave for an hour, where the hell have you—”
    Light flooded the room from an unshaded bulb overhead. There was a soft crack, and the saucer that had held the votive candle shattered beneath my father’s foot. “Charlotte!” he said, hugging me to him. “Damn it, where have you been ?”
    He let his breath out in an explosive gasp and ran his hand through my hair. I leaned against his chest, smelling wine and the warm tobacco scent of his tweed jacket. “What, did you come in here and fall asleep?” he went on, rocking back and forth. “Your mother’s ready to call the cops—”
    “No—no, I just got lost, I was looking for you , and then I came in here and we were talking—”
    I gestured at the wall behind me, looked up to see my father frowning.
    “‘We’? Who’s ‘we’?” He sighed, exasperated, and pulled me with him as he started for the door. “Come on, then, let’s go, we’re going to be ticketed as it is and it’s starting to snow—”
    I slipped from his arm and whirled around. “Wait—”
    Kissy Hardwick was gone. So was the rock painting. Only the walls were as I had first seen them, shimmering green, and the shattered husks of seedpods sown across the floor.
    And, faint as a breath against my cheek, I could hear the rustle of wind in the leaves.
    “Lit.”
    I nodded obediently, without a word returned to my father. He draped his arm around me and we went down the hall, past other rooms that were all empty now; past the derelict Christmas tree and the shabby foyer where a boy was throwing up out the window, and where my mother awaited us by the elevator.
    Neither of my parents ever said anything to me about the party; never even mentioned how strange it was that it had been Christmas, and Axel Kern was my godfather and I had not seen him, or even gotten a present. On