Read Online Dark Light by Randy Wayne White - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Randy Wayne White
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advice. But there was no point calling her this afternoon. Like everyone else in the family, Grandmother Larken disapproved of MCs.
Sierra made her way into the bedroom, stripping off her jacket and skirt as she went. She opened the door of her closet and surveyed the contents.
Her wardrobe was a mix of a few of the high-end clothes she had brought with her from Resonance and the more moderate apparel that she had bought for her new life here in Crystal. The last thing she wanted to do was cause her colleagues at the Curtain to think that she was a wealthy socialite who was merely amusing herself with a short-term career as a reporter. No one at the Curtain knew that she was connected to the McIntyres of McIntyre Industries, and she intended to keep things that way.
For some reason the decision of what to wear to the registrarâs office was a lot more difficult than it ought to have been, given the circumstances. When Elvis drifted in, cookie in paw, and took up a position on the windowsill, she turned to him for advice.
âThis is a business arrangement,â she explained. âDoes that mean another suit? Then again, itâs supposed to look like a real wedding. Maybe I should wear something a little more formal. Lord knows there will be photos. Fontana and I are going to be plastered across the cover of the Curtain tomorrow. Hope he realizes what heâs in for now that heâs decided to go over to the dark side of journalism.â
Elvis munched his cookie. She thought he looked like he was trying to be supportive and helpful, but she couldnât be sure.
A glance at the clock told her that time was getting short. She had to make an executive decision, and she had to make it right now. She yanked the simple, long-sleeved, black, all-occasion dress off the hanger and pulled it on over her head. Everything about it was discreet, understated, and elegant; not too dressy for late afternoon but with enough flair to go smoothly into the evening. She knew that because her cousin Tamsyn had helped her select it. Tamsyn had unerring taste in clothes.
âTamsyn says you can never go wrong with a little black dress,â she explained to Elvis.
She found the pair of black pumps on the floor of the closet, slipped some gold hoops into her ears, and rushed into the bathroom to apply lipstick and a little fresh powder. When she looked into the mirror, only one word came to mind.
âAargh,â she said to Elvis, who had drifted in to watch. âMy hair.â
In desperation she seized one of her array of headbands and slapped it on her head. It was the only way to tame the raging sea of curls.
Hurrying out into the hall, she shrugged into a light overcoat, grabbed her purse, and raced for the door with Elvis back on her shoulder. Picking up on her sense of urgency, he muttered enthusiastically.
She went back down the stairs and out onto the street. The fog had thickened. That was going to slow traffic even further. There was a good chance now that she might actually be late to the wedding. Somehow she did not think that Fontana would appreciate that. Guild bosses were probably accustomed to punctuality from others.
She stepped out into the empty street. Halfway across, cold dread and icy panic swept through her senses, an invisible gale-force wind that stole her very breath.
Instinctively, she stopped. Elvis went immediately from a ball of fluff to a sleek little predator, all four eyes showing. He growled softly in her ear. She looked around frantically. This was the same feeling sheâd experienced this afternoon just before the Oscillator 600 had nearly flattened her. But there were no vehicles in sight, and she heard no engine.
She searched first one end of the street and then the other, turning on her heel. Nothing moved in the gray mist.
Whatâs wrong with me? Maybe Iâm losing it. Too much stress. Not enough sleep.
Elvis muttered again, more urgently this time. She realized
Sierra made her way into the bedroom, stripping off her jacket and skirt as she went. She opened the door of her closet and surveyed the contents.
Her wardrobe was a mix of a few of the high-end clothes she had brought with her from Resonance and the more moderate apparel that she had bought for her new life here in Crystal. The last thing she wanted to do was cause her colleagues at the Curtain to think that she was a wealthy socialite who was merely amusing herself with a short-term career as a reporter. No one at the Curtain knew that she was connected to the McIntyres of McIntyre Industries, and she intended to keep things that way.
For some reason the decision of what to wear to the registrarâs office was a lot more difficult than it ought to have been, given the circumstances. When Elvis drifted in, cookie in paw, and took up a position on the windowsill, she turned to him for advice.
âThis is a business arrangement,â she explained. âDoes that mean another suit? Then again, itâs supposed to look like a real wedding. Maybe I should wear something a little more formal. Lord knows there will be photos. Fontana and I are going to be plastered across the cover of the Curtain tomorrow. Hope he realizes what heâs in for now that heâs decided to go over to the dark side of journalism.â
Elvis munched his cookie. She thought he looked like he was trying to be supportive and helpful, but she couldnât be sure.
A glance at the clock told her that time was getting short. She had to make an executive decision, and she had to make it right now. She yanked the simple, long-sleeved, black, all-occasion dress off the hanger and pulled it on over her head. Everything about it was discreet, understated, and elegant; not too dressy for late afternoon but with enough flair to go smoothly into the evening. She knew that because her cousin Tamsyn had helped her select it. Tamsyn had unerring taste in clothes.
âTamsyn says you can never go wrong with a little black dress,â she explained to Elvis.
She found the pair of black pumps on the floor of the closet, slipped some gold hoops into her ears, and rushed into the bathroom to apply lipstick and a little fresh powder. When she looked into the mirror, only one word came to mind.
âAargh,â she said to Elvis, who had drifted in to watch. âMy hair.â
In desperation she seized one of her array of headbands and slapped it on her head. It was the only way to tame the raging sea of curls.
Hurrying out into the hall, she shrugged into a light overcoat, grabbed her purse, and raced for the door with Elvis back on her shoulder. Picking up on her sense of urgency, he muttered enthusiastically.
She went back down the stairs and out onto the street. The fog had thickened. That was going to slow traffic even further. There was a good chance now that she might actually be late to the wedding. Somehow she did not think that Fontana would appreciate that. Guild bosses were probably accustomed to punctuality from others.
She stepped out into the empty street. Halfway across, cold dread and icy panic swept through her senses, an invisible gale-force wind that stole her very breath.
Instinctively, she stopped. Elvis went immediately from a ball of fluff to a sleek little predator, all four eyes showing. He growled softly in her ear. She looked around frantically. This was the same feeling sheâd experienced this afternoon just before the Oscillator 600 had nearly flattened her. But there were no vehicles in sight, and she heard no engine.
She searched first one end of the street and then the other, turning on her heel. Nothing moved in the gray mist.
Whatâs wrong with me? Maybe Iâm losing it. Too much stress. Not enough sleep.
Elvis muttered again, more urgently this time. She realized
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