Read Online Death Wish (The Ceruleans: Book 1) by Megan Tayte - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Megan Tayte
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Gotta be enough for the whole
rhyme, I reckon.’
‘Okay, Enna. You start.’
Little voices chanting, mittened hands pointing.
‘One for sorrow.’
‘Two for joy.’
‘Three for a girl.’
‘Four for a boy.’
‘Five for silver.’
‘Six for gold.’
‘Seven for a secret never to be told.’
‘Eight for a wish.’
‘Nine for a kiss.’
‘Ten: a surprise you should be careful not to miss.’
‘Eleven for health.’
‘Twelve for wealth. There, that’s it! We got them all.’
‘Silly, Scarlett. You missed the last one. Thirteen:
beware, it's the devil himself. See there, up in the sky? Another magpie
flying. That’s means he’s coming.’
‘Who’s coming?’
‘The devil.’
10: TRUST ME
Sunday passed quietly and slowly, especially after I
discovered that the Tudors box set actually contained only one of the
thirteen discs. After a long lie-in ruined by unsettling dreams, I pottered
about aimlessly, tidying the house, putting a wash on, hunting for the key to
the attic. I had the unsettling sense that I was wasting time, but really, what
else was there to do on a Sunday in Twycombe? And a quiet day would at least
not add to the residual tiredness.
Dealing with Mother’s package killed all of ten minutes. The
contents, it turned out, were decidedly random. Inside were seven boxes of
soup-in-a-cup, a huge bar of fine chocolate, a bottle of expensive
lemon-scented shampoo, a pair of ludicrously high red strappy sandals, a stack
of cheesy old romance videos and an enormous lump of colourful rock. Her
attached note was just as bizarre:
My Scarlett,
A little provisions pack for you.
I know how you young girls love your slimmer soups, and
of course you’ll be watching your weight, but I’ve slipped in a little treat
for a ‘naughty’ moment. The shampoo smells just like that sorbet you’re so keen
on – or was it Sienna who liked that? Forgive me; you were so alike.
The shoes will suit you. It’s about time you stopped
shying away from scarlet! I saw them in Vogue the other month on a model with
just your colouring. And you know I always say you need heels, to make up for
your height. Don’t you just love them?
The films are to see you through all those quiet nights
in. Lots of them. You aren’t gallivanting, are you?!
As for the lurid rock thing; it’s chalcanthite, Hugo says
– whatever that is. I found it in Sienna’s room at the cottage when we came
down to clear it. We had it sent for valuation, but it’s practically worthless;
a hundred pounds at most. I thought, perhaps, you may like to have it.
Hoping to hear from you soon – and missing you, darling,
and thinking of you –
Mother
PS. Father sends his love.
I sighed. The chocolate was decent. But slimmer soup?
Really? And yes, it was Sienna, not me, who liked the sorbet. And no, I didn’t
love the shoes, which I was quite sure I would never manage to walk in. And
nineties’ chick flicks? No, thanks. And as for Father sending his love; well, I
doubted very much that had come from him.
Strange, emotional, half-thoughtful and half-thoughtless –
it was typical Mother. The eclectic mix of objects found their way into the
back of cupboards, except for the rock. I examined it closely. It was jagged,
sharp mass of prismatic crystals in the most striking shade of blue – like a
bolt of lightning during an electrical storm. The colour was so vivid it looked
unnatural, but when I typed ‘chalcanthite’ into Google Images I quickly
realised this was the real deal – a mineral whose name translated to ‘copper
flower’. What Sienna was doing with it, I had no idea, but I could see why
she’d have kept it as an object of beauty. I put it on the nightstand beside my
bed.
With the laptop booted up for the web search, it made sense
to check my emails. I braced myself as they downloaded. Mother had recently got
to grips with email as a form of communication, and given the numerous missed
calls and
rhyme, I reckon.’
‘Okay, Enna. You start.’
Little voices chanting, mittened hands pointing.
‘One for sorrow.’
‘Two for joy.’
‘Three for a girl.’
‘Four for a boy.’
‘Five for silver.’
‘Six for gold.’
‘Seven for a secret never to be told.’
‘Eight for a wish.’
‘Nine for a kiss.’
‘Ten: a surprise you should be careful not to miss.’
‘Eleven for health.’
‘Twelve for wealth. There, that’s it! We got them all.’
‘Silly, Scarlett. You missed the last one. Thirteen:
beware, it's the devil himself. See there, up in the sky? Another magpie
flying. That’s means he’s coming.’
‘Who’s coming?’
‘The devil.’
10: TRUST ME
Sunday passed quietly and slowly, especially after I
discovered that the Tudors box set actually contained only one of the
thirteen discs. After a long lie-in ruined by unsettling dreams, I pottered
about aimlessly, tidying the house, putting a wash on, hunting for the key to
the attic. I had the unsettling sense that I was wasting time, but really, what
else was there to do on a Sunday in Twycombe? And a quiet day would at least
not add to the residual tiredness.
Dealing with Mother’s package killed all of ten minutes. The
contents, it turned out, were decidedly random. Inside were seven boxes of
soup-in-a-cup, a huge bar of fine chocolate, a bottle of expensive
lemon-scented shampoo, a pair of ludicrously high red strappy sandals, a stack
of cheesy old romance videos and an enormous lump of colourful rock. Her
attached note was just as bizarre:
My Scarlett,
A little provisions pack for you.
I know how you young girls love your slimmer soups, and
of course you’ll be watching your weight, but I’ve slipped in a little treat
for a ‘naughty’ moment. The shampoo smells just like that sorbet you’re so keen
on – or was it Sienna who liked that? Forgive me; you were so alike.
The shoes will suit you. It’s about time you stopped
shying away from scarlet! I saw them in Vogue the other month on a model with
just your colouring. And you know I always say you need heels, to make up for
your height. Don’t you just love them?
The films are to see you through all those quiet nights
in. Lots of them. You aren’t gallivanting, are you?!
As for the lurid rock thing; it’s chalcanthite, Hugo says
– whatever that is. I found it in Sienna’s room at the cottage when we came
down to clear it. We had it sent for valuation, but it’s practically worthless;
a hundred pounds at most. I thought, perhaps, you may like to have it.
Hoping to hear from you soon – and missing you, darling,
and thinking of you –
Mother
PS. Father sends his love.
I sighed. The chocolate was decent. But slimmer soup?
Really? And yes, it was Sienna, not me, who liked the sorbet. And no, I didn’t
love the shoes, which I was quite sure I would never manage to walk in. And
nineties’ chick flicks? No, thanks. And as for Father sending his love; well, I
doubted very much that had come from him.
Strange, emotional, half-thoughtful and half-thoughtless –
it was typical Mother. The eclectic mix of objects found their way into the
back of cupboards, except for the rock. I examined it closely. It was jagged,
sharp mass of prismatic crystals in the most striking shade of blue – like a
bolt of lightning during an electrical storm. The colour was so vivid it looked
unnatural, but when I typed ‘chalcanthite’ into Google Images I quickly
realised this was the real deal – a mineral whose name translated to ‘copper
flower’. What Sienna was doing with it, I had no idea, but I could see why
she’d have kept it as an object of beauty. I put it on the nightstand beside my
bed.
With the laptop booted up for the web search, it made sense
to check my emails. I braced myself as they downloaded. Mother had recently got
to grips with email as a form of communication, and given the numerous missed
calls and
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