Read Online Enter Three Witches by Kate Gilmore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Gilmore
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miserable years of her early teens. She smoothed the fur of the plush baby seal she held in her lap, her last stuffed animal, the one she was never going to give up. “Well, Silky, he certainly couldn’t be more different,” she said. “Maybe he’s someone even Dad would approve of, that is, if he’s got pots of money along with good looks and good manners. Ugh. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
What seemed to Erika to be a long procession of boyfriends filed past in her imagination—older boys mostly, good dancers with cars who took her places she wasn’t allowed to go, handsome, fun-loving, and ultimately disappointing. “I’m getting old, I’m settling down!” she said to the stuffed seal. “What a funny thing to happen in New York, of all places.”
Erika stared at the red ball of the sun, willing it to set, and because it was already so close to the horizon, it seemed to obey her command. Briefly the shore of New Jersey, with its isolated towers, was silhouetted against an orange sky. The river was dark blue watered silk, on which a single white sail skimmed in to harbor at the Seventy-ninth Street boat basin.
Erika felt a growing sensation of warmth in her seat. The radiator was coming on. “It’s going to be cold tonight,” she said, and she jumped up and strode off to her bedroom for a serious consultation with her wardrobe.
The long closet was divided into two distinct collections, one (large) consisting of clothes her father had bought and she refused to wear, the other (small) of her own purchases. Ranks of tweed skirts with matching cashmere sweaters, of silk shirts, tailored slacks, and jersey dresses gave way to a row of more eccentric garments, predominantly black. Already dressed in black jeans and a white, ribbed turtleneck, Erika added a black V-neck sweater that was several sizes too large for her slender frame and stood back to study the effect in the full-length mirror. She pushed the sleeves of the sweater up to her elbows and added a huge, black digital watch to one white-clad wrist.
“Warm enough?” she asked the girl in the mirror. “Well, maybe not.” She reflected that Bren, though clearly a passionate and creative person, might be a slow starter when it came to keeping a person warm, so she pulled out a black gypsy shawl tasseled with jet beads. “Mmmm, festive,” Erika murmured when she had layered the shawl over the sweater. She glanced at her outsized watch, saw that only fifteen minutes remained of the interminable day, and decided to meet Bren in the courtyard.
Bren approached the Apthorp with a quaking heart and cast about for an explanation to banish the tremors that grew with every step he took toward the tall iron gates. Neither his continuing ignorance of the ballet nor the forbidding aspect of Erika’s building seemed enough to cause such turmoil. He refused to recognize his symptoms as the disorder known to all on the brink of an important first date.
The courtyard was filled with autumn dusk, warmed by the glow of the ornamental lamps around the garden and a scatter of lighted windows in the gray walls. It was very quiet. Bren could hear the splash of the fountains, and then he saw Erika by the nearest one, straining her eyes into the gloom. The light picked out her white turtleneck, her small white face and strawberry hair.
“Hey, Bren?” she called softly, as if still unsure who he was, and stood up as he crossed the driveway into the garden. They confronted each other, tongue-tied for a moment.
“What a spooky place,” Bren said at last. “Doesn’t anybody ever come or go?”
“This is just a weird, in-between sort of time,” she said. “Half an hour ago the shrieking of five-year-olds and thunder of tricycles was probably deafening, and any minute now there’ll be beautiful people popping out of all four doors headed for night life—just like us,” she finished with a flashing silver smile.
“I see you’ve given up keeping
What seemed to Erika to be a long procession of boyfriends filed past in her imagination—older boys mostly, good dancers with cars who took her places she wasn’t allowed to go, handsome, fun-loving, and ultimately disappointing. “I’m getting old, I’m settling down!” she said to the stuffed seal. “What a funny thing to happen in New York, of all places.”
Erika stared at the red ball of the sun, willing it to set, and because it was already so close to the horizon, it seemed to obey her command. Briefly the shore of New Jersey, with its isolated towers, was silhouetted against an orange sky. The river was dark blue watered silk, on which a single white sail skimmed in to harbor at the Seventy-ninth Street boat basin.
Erika felt a growing sensation of warmth in her seat. The radiator was coming on. “It’s going to be cold tonight,” she said, and she jumped up and strode off to her bedroom for a serious consultation with her wardrobe.
The long closet was divided into two distinct collections, one (large) consisting of clothes her father had bought and she refused to wear, the other (small) of her own purchases. Ranks of tweed skirts with matching cashmere sweaters, of silk shirts, tailored slacks, and jersey dresses gave way to a row of more eccentric garments, predominantly black. Already dressed in black jeans and a white, ribbed turtleneck, Erika added a black V-neck sweater that was several sizes too large for her slender frame and stood back to study the effect in the full-length mirror. She pushed the sleeves of the sweater up to her elbows and added a huge, black digital watch to one white-clad wrist.
“Warm enough?” she asked the girl in the mirror. “Well, maybe not.” She reflected that Bren, though clearly a passionate and creative person, might be a slow starter when it came to keeping a person warm, so she pulled out a black gypsy shawl tasseled with jet beads. “Mmmm, festive,” Erika murmured when she had layered the shawl over the sweater. She glanced at her outsized watch, saw that only fifteen minutes remained of the interminable day, and decided to meet Bren in the courtyard.
Bren approached the Apthorp with a quaking heart and cast about for an explanation to banish the tremors that grew with every step he took toward the tall iron gates. Neither his continuing ignorance of the ballet nor the forbidding aspect of Erika’s building seemed enough to cause such turmoil. He refused to recognize his symptoms as the disorder known to all on the brink of an important first date.
The courtyard was filled with autumn dusk, warmed by the glow of the ornamental lamps around the garden and a scatter of lighted windows in the gray walls. It was very quiet. Bren could hear the splash of the fountains, and then he saw Erika by the nearest one, straining her eyes into the gloom. The light picked out her white turtleneck, her small white face and strawberry hair.
“Hey, Bren?” she called softly, as if still unsure who he was, and stood up as he crossed the driveway into the garden. They confronted each other, tongue-tied for a moment.
“What a spooky place,” Bren said at last. “Doesn’t anybody ever come or go?”
“This is just a weird, in-between sort of time,” she said. “Half an hour ago the shrieking of five-year-olds and thunder of tricycles was probably deafening, and any minute now there’ll be beautiful people popping out of all four doors headed for night life—just like us,” she finished with a flashing silver smile.
“I see you’ve given up keeping
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