Read Online Black Wolf by Steph Shangraw - Free Book Online

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tables that didn't match in any combination, a stand that held TV
and VCR and the movie collection, a new-looking computer on a desk
in the corner farthest from the window. All on worn wall-to-wall
carpet, one wall almost entirely taken by what he thought was
called a bay window. Dominant colours all earth-tones, greens and
browns and greys and the russet of the carpet, which suited the
plants hung in the window and in corners and standing absolutely
anywhere they were unlikely to be tripped over. About the most
unusual thing here was the collection of silky, lightweight
blankets thrown over the backs of the couch and chairs, and they
were most often in vivid primary and fiery colours instead. He knew
they were warmer than they should have been, since they'd been
abundant at the campsite and he'd been sleeping here on the couch
under one of them; he also knew that they made his skin tingle
faintly, in a not unpleasant way. They reminded him of stuff he'd
seen around Shaine's, but he'd never felt that tingling before.
     
    Where next?
The basement was half utility room, half Deanna's
irregularly-occupied bedroom, all green and russet and brown, plus
a half-bath; he decided to go upstairs first.
     
    He expected
nothing in the bathroom, and other than a few hand-labelled bottles
of what appeared to be bath oils, it didn't disappoint him. The
oils smelled rather pleasant, actually, nothing musky or perfumy
that irritated his sensitive nose at all.
     
    Bane's room
was, like Bane, utterly practical and organized. Bed, dresser, a
small table beside the bed, a bookcase with glass doors, that was
it. Jesse searched drawers quickly, found only clothes; searched
the bookcase, found only ordinary books, mostly horror and fantasy
and at least half a dozen on wolves and others that looked like the
kinds of things he recalled from English classes.
    Cynthia's
room, the master, across the hall. Double waterbed, dresser, a
larger open bookcase, a table on one side of the bed, a squarish
wooden chest about the same height in the mirror position on the
other side. A sturdy large basket near the door, where she could
take it easily downstairs, held yarn and knitting needles and
sundry mysterious objects; several bags in the closet, beneath her
clothes, held more yarn. Only clothes, again, in the dresser, and
on it a compact stereo and a collection of cassette tapes, mostly
unfamiliar to Jesse. The books were lighter kinds of fantasy, and
the rest on things like T he Ecology of the Northern Canadian
Forests and Mammals of the Canadian Wild , but also
meteorology and weather and windmills and wind energy. One entire
shelf was poetry. He pulled one at random, and opened it to the
page marked. The poem was called "True Thomas" and looked long, the
language old.
     
    The drawer of
the table held only a small flashlight, a notebook and pencil—the
notes, all in a neat, elegant hand, were things like, "Register for
class Thursday" and "Pick up milk and eggs" and "Call Naomi"—and
stray odds and ends. The chest proved to be locked; a little
searching, in Kevin's room in fact, provided a couple of paper
clips he straightened while returning. Despite all Shaine's lessons
and his own experience, though, he couldn't coax the lock open, and
finally gave up before he could leave scratches that would be too
obvious.
     
    Kevin's room,
on the same side of the hall as Bane's.
     
    The walls were
plastered with posters ranging from elves, unicorns, and
forest-scenes to Depeche Mode and Queen; the floor was strewn with
clothes, books, cassettes, and random objects. A wooden desk
covered with books and paper and binders stood in one corner, and a
few shelves above and beside bore a heavy load of yet more books; a
dresser had ornaments and jewellery scattered on it and hung from
the mirror corners. Through an open door he could see a closet
piled knee-deep with unidentifiable stuff, clothes hung above in a
bright-coloured blur of predominantly strong blues and