Read Online Dark Arts by Randolph Lalonde - Free Book Online Page B

worry, I like eggs.”
    “Max,” Miranda said. “Did he forget me? Is
he all right with women? I mean, I saw a lot in New York, people
treating girls like they were nothing, guys who just did their
business when they got an opening, wiped it off on the sheets and
left the door open on their way out.”
    “Damn, who did you hang out with?” Bernie
asked, taken aback by the mental image.
    “That’s another conversation, focus,”
Miranda said as she parked the car at the back of a long line of
vehicles along the farm roadsides. “Should I just suck it up and
enjoy the Gathering then go back to my Mom’s house, or is he worth
my time? I know you’re his friend but, you’re mine too.”
    There she was, the young girl Bernie
remembered from when they were thirteen, right before she had to
leave. Those brown eyes may have been decorated by a little mascara
since then, but he could still see innocence, and a person who
didn’t want to be hurt. That’s why he told her the truth. “Max has
done well with his strong, silent, exotic British routine on the
road,” Bernie said. “But he’s not a pickup artist, he picked and
chose from what came to him, maybe nine times since we started
touring three years ago.”
    “Nine times?” she asked, her expression
unreadable.
    “Well, he could have had ten times that, I
mean, sometimes they really threw themselves at him, I’m not even
exaggerating. Look at Zack, his night isn’t finished if he hasn’t
dragged some girl into a bathroom stall.”
    “Nine is low,” Miranda said. “I had two
boyfriends in Spain, then there were three guys in New York.”
    “I don’t need to know,” Bernie said, getting
out of the car.
    Miranda laughed, “I don’t get that. Guys can
talk about who they get it on with, where, how and how many but the
moment a woman says she’s had a bit of fun, she’s a slut, and no
one wants to hear it.”
    “I didn’t say that,” Bernie replied. “I just
don’t think of you like that, I always pictured a little girl when
I read your letters, all eleven of them.”
    “Well, me and my last Spanish boy went
through condoms like tissues in a flu epidemic,” Miranda said,
taunting Bernie. “He worshipped me like a Goddess, and followed me
around like a puppy, and he had just as much energy. It was
amazing.”
    The sound of a car door slamming behind them
made them both jump. Bernie watched as a couple old enough to be
their parents walked past, the woman staring daggers at Miranda.
“Hello, Miss Parillo,” he said, forcing a smile.
    “Good day,” she said as she shuffled past
with a small cooler in one hand and her purse tightly clutched
under her arm.
    “You know her?” Miranda asked.
    “Lives down the street from you,” Bernie
replied. “She’s probably just visiting for the barbeque tonight,
seeing how her daughters are settling in. You’ll be seeing her
around.”
    “Wonderful,” Miranda said. “They probably
think Max is an angel on two wheels too, while I’ll be known as the
harlot of Chelmsford. Just pin a scarlet letter on me.”
    “Oh no, Max is not what you’d call a
community favorite. That bike of his and stubborn streak have
gotten him into a few fights, one with a councilman’s son. He
didn’t start that one though. Actually, Max has never swung
first.”
    “Does he know what’s going on with him? That
he’s going to wake up to the brighter world whether he likes it or
not?”
    “Yes, I think he’s starting to realize that
he’s opening up to the spirit world, mostly thanks to those things
he picked up. Why?”
    “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t
believe,” Miranda said quietly. “I’ve known him for less than a
day, and I want him to be one of us, I want to know him,” she
stopped voicing her thought and for a few minutes they just walked
down the drive between the parked cars. Most of the cars would be
gone that evening. They belonged to the parents who had come from
across North America, all