Read Online Midnight Snack and Other Fairy Tales by Diane Duane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diane Duane
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there? Have we removed the reason the stories were told in the first place? If we have, the de-Grimmifiers and the Hans Christian Andersens of the world have a lot to answer for…
But those answers were going to have to come later. Right now she and Matt, or the serpent-thing that was pretending to be Matt, came to her building’s lobby door, and Harry the doorman opened it for the two of them. She saw his glance at Matt: veiled curiosity, nothing more. Plainly everybody else sees the disguise, no matter what I see. Interesting.
And will it stay that way after he eats me? said some cold thought in the back of Caroline’s brain as they went up in the elevator. And what exactly am I planning to do about him? Lecture him on the error of his ways? What if, to keep him from eating me, or anybody else, I have to kill him? Whose body winds up on my kitchen floor? A giant snake’s, or Matt’s?
The elevator door opened, and they headed down toward her door, where Caroline paused, fumbling around in her bag for her keys. She paused in front of her door,
So…coffee. Take your time making it. Think. Think. “Regular coffee,” Caroline said, slipping out of her coat and tossing it over one of the dining room chairs, “or more espresso?”
“Regular’s fine,” the snake said.
“Milk? Sugar?”
“A lot of milk.”
Yeah, she thought, milk. Snakes were supposed to like milk. It’s in Kipling. But Kipling was the wrong place to be looking for answers right now. He had that story about the sea serpent, but that thing was the size of a steamer. No hints for me there. Caroline looked into the little living room, saw the snake gliding gently along the wall and looking at her artwork, or pretending to.
“Some nice watercolors,” the snake said.
It was almost Matt’s voice: almost. There was a strained quality to it. The mouse, inside, struggling—
“Got them in Scotland,” Caroline said, turning away for a moment, trying to get a grip on herself. She glanced at the knife block on the counter. They were all extremely sharp. There was also the gun in the gun safe, but probably no time to get it out or do anything useful with it. And do guns work on curses? Cold iron is the usual thing, in the fairy tales..
The coffee machine burbled quietly to itself. Caroline wandered into the living room, knelt down by the fireplace, where the fire was laid ready as usual, got down a box of matches from the mantelpiece, and reached in to open the damper. The wood caught quickly: it was dry. She looked up, saw the snake looking down at her, gleaming a little already in the light of the flames that were coming up.
She stood up hurriedly. “Sorry,” she said. “I was distracted.” Smile, smile like it’s him that’s distracting you. Or like it’s Matt! Hang in there, Matt! “You take sugar?”
“No, milk’s fine.” With those big cold golden eyes he looked up at the watercolor over the mantelpiece, a landscape, all Scottish heather and clouded hillsides, and a stream running through the heart of it.
Caroline swallowed, turned away again: then paused, surprised. Matt’s coat was over the back of her own, over the dining room chair. Now how’d he manage that? she thought, picking it up: anything to buy herself a few more moments of time. His clothes, then, aren’t just part of an illusion. They’re real, they’re just hidden somehow—” I’ll hang this up for you,” she said, and headed back to the hall closet.
“Thanks,” he said. Caroline was uneasy about turning her back on him, but at the same time, he didn’t seem likely to do anything sudden. Why should he? He thinks he has me where he wants me….
Which he does! yelled one of the more panic-stricken parts of her mind. But Caroline took a long breath, opened the closet, felt around for an empty hanger, didn’t find one right away. She pushed her coats and jackets aside, one after another. All these coats, who needs all this stuff, they’re all out of
But those answers were going to have to come later. Right now she and Matt, or the serpent-thing that was pretending to be Matt, came to her building’s lobby door, and Harry the doorman opened it for the two of them. She saw his glance at Matt: veiled curiosity, nothing more. Plainly everybody else sees the disguise, no matter what I see. Interesting.
And will it stay that way after he eats me? said some cold thought in the back of Caroline’s brain as they went up in the elevator. And what exactly am I planning to do about him? Lecture him on the error of his ways? What if, to keep him from eating me, or anybody else, I have to kill him? Whose body winds up on my kitchen floor? A giant snake’s, or Matt’s?
The elevator door opened, and they headed down toward her door, where Caroline paused, fumbling around in her bag for her keys. She paused in front of her door,
So…coffee. Take your time making it. Think. Think. “Regular coffee,” Caroline said, slipping out of her coat and tossing it over one of the dining room chairs, “or more espresso?”
“Regular’s fine,” the snake said.
“Milk? Sugar?”
“A lot of milk.”
Yeah, she thought, milk. Snakes were supposed to like milk. It’s in Kipling. But Kipling was the wrong place to be looking for answers right now. He had that story about the sea serpent, but that thing was the size of a steamer. No hints for me there. Caroline looked into the little living room, saw the snake gliding gently along the wall and looking at her artwork, or pretending to.
“Some nice watercolors,” the snake said.
It was almost Matt’s voice: almost. There was a strained quality to it. The mouse, inside, struggling—
“Got them in Scotland,” Caroline said, turning away for a moment, trying to get a grip on herself. She glanced at the knife block on the counter. They were all extremely sharp. There was also the gun in the gun safe, but probably no time to get it out or do anything useful with it. And do guns work on curses? Cold iron is the usual thing, in the fairy tales..
The coffee machine burbled quietly to itself. Caroline wandered into the living room, knelt down by the fireplace, where the fire was laid ready as usual, got down a box of matches from the mantelpiece, and reached in to open the damper. The wood caught quickly: it was dry. She looked up, saw the snake looking down at her, gleaming a little already in the light of the flames that were coming up.
She stood up hurriedly. “Sorry,” she said. “I was distracted.” Smile, smile like it’s him that’s distracting you. Or like it’s Matt! Hang in there, Matt! “You take sugar?”
“No, milk’s fine.” With those big cold golden eyes he looked up at the watercolor over the mantelpiece, a landscape, all Scottish heather and clouded hillsides, and a stream running through the heart of it.
Caroline swallowed, turned away again: then paused, surprised. Matt’s coat was over the back of her own, over the dining room chair. Now how’d he manage that? she thought, picking it up: anything to buy herself a few more moments of time. His clothes, then, aren’t just part of an illusion. They’re real, they’re just hidden somehow—” I’ll hang this up for you,” she said, and headed back to the hall closet.
“Thanks,” he said. Caroline was uneasy about turning her back on him, but at the same time, he didn’t seem likely to do anything sudden. Why should he? He thinks he has me where he wants me….
Which he does! yelled one of the more panic-stricken parts of her mind. But Caroline took a long breath, opened the closet, felt around for an empty hanger, didn’t find one right away. She pushed her coats and jackets aside, one after another. All these coats, who needs all this stuff, they’re all out of
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