Read Online Once a Witch by Carolyn MacCullough - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carolyn MacCullough
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singing with appears at his side.
“We're up, baby,” she coos into his ear. She gives me a fleeting smile, a lip spasm, really, before winding her long white arms around Gabriel's neck as if preparing to drag him back to the stage. ''Tomorrow? '' I nod.
“Where?”
“Chester and Rennie's house.” I frown.
“Why there? It's… oh, are you staying there? I thought you were staying in the dorms at Juilliard?” I thought you were like me.
“I am. Sometimes I practice there with the band. Anyway, tomorrow. Eight o'clock?”
“Sure,” I call as he follows the girl back to the stage, their hands entwined.
SEVEN
FAINT STREET NOISE penetrates the thick walls of Uncle Chester and Aunt Rennie's townhouse: the occasional honk of a horn, a burst of song from someone passing by the windows. But inside, the house is silent, waiting. Gabriel stares at the painting on the wall for so long that I think he's gone into a trance.
It's a drawing room scene, very similar to the upstairs drawing room. Rich yellow drapes with fancy-looking gold tiebacks frame the large picture windows and the room is scattered with sofas and chairs. A fire is blazing in the fireplace, the flames looking as though they're about to leap beyond the fire screen.
However, the three people standing in the picture don't seem to be paying attention. Two of them are men, dressed in long black frock coats. Their backs are turned to the viewer while the third figure, a woman, is caught in profile. My eyes wander over her slim painted features and then over her dress, a brilliant red, which is a perfect echo of thetiny points of red, maybe rubies, on the face of the clock hanging directly above her head. The clock that looks exactly like the one that Alistair wants me to find.
“That's not the same clock,” Gabriel says at last. I've been holding my breath without realizing it, and now it all escapes me in a rush that sounds like a cross between a what and a huh.
“Whua!”Smiling for the first time since we entered the house, he says,
“'Whua'? Well–”But I'm not in the mood.
“Look!” I snap Alistair's painting at him, the paper making a crackling noise as I wave it in front of Gabriel's face.
“It's exactly the same. And that explains why it was so familiar to me,” I add, rattling Alistair's paper some more.
“Obviously, I've seen Uncle Chester and Aunt Rennie's painting before.”
Gabriel looks at the print I'm holding and then at the painting on the wall.
“Yeah, I know,” he says with what I feel is exaggerated patience.
“Let me explain again. That object”–and here he points to the clock in the painting–
“is not what you told me you want to find.”
“What do you even mean?” I ask, trying not to sound sulky. Gabriel walks over to the massive staircase and folds his long frame onto the second step. There's a rip in his jeans and his right knee pokes through briefly as he arranges his legs in a sprawl. I follow, sit beside him. After a minute,he sways his knee into mine and says gently,
“It's not calling to me the way that it normally does. It doesn't feel real. Maybe it never really existed.”
“But it might have,” I say softly.
“Right?” Gabriel shrugs.
“Possibly.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, more to myself than to him, as the glimmerings of an idea are taking shape in my head.
“The clock in the painting and the clock on this piece of paper are one and the same. I'm sure of it. But you can't find this clock” I fan him with the edge of the paper.
“It's not–”
“Shhh!” I knock the back of my hand against his arm.
“I'm processing” Another term I learned from Agatha.
“That's an old painting there,” I say slowly.
“I checked the date. 1899. And he said the clock was lost in 1887. So maybe you can't find it now because it doesn't exist anymore. But it does in that painting” I try to keep my voice level.
“Gabriel, don't you think that's it? That it existed once but it doesn't
“We're up, baby,” she coos into his ear. She gives me a fleeting smile, a lip spasm, really, before winding her long white arms around Gabriel's neck as if preparing to drag him back to the stage. ''Tomorrow? '' I nod.
“Where?”
“Chester and Rennie's house.” I frown.
“Why there? It's… oh, are you staying there? I thought you were staying in the dorms at Juilliard?” I thought you were like me.
“I am. Sometimes I practice there with the band. Anyway, tomorrow. Eight o'clock?”
“Sure,” I call as he follows the girl back to the stage, their hands entwined.
SEVEN
FAINT STREET NOISE penetrates the thick walls of Uncle Chester and Aunt Rennie's townhouse: the occasional honk of a horn, a burst of song from someone passing by the windows. But inside, the house is silent, waiting. Gabriel stares at the painting on the wall for so long that I think he's gone into a trance.
It's a drawing room scene, very similar to the upstairs drawing room. Rich yellow drapes with fancy-looking gold tiebacks frame the large picture windows and the room is scattered with sofas and chairs. A fire is blazing in the fireplace, the flames looking as though they're about to leap beyond the fire screen.
However, the three people standing in the picture don't seem to be paying attention. Two of them are men, dressed in long black frock coats. Their backs are turned to the viewer while the third figure, a woman, is caught in profile. My eyes wander over her slim painted features and then over her dress, a brilliant red, which is a perfect echo of thetiny points of red, maybe rubies, on the face of the clock hanging directly above her head. The clock that looks exactly like the one that Alistair wants me to find.
“That's not the same clock,” Gabriel says at last. I've been holding my breath without realizing it, and now it all escapes me in a rush that sounds like a cross between a what and a huh.
“Whua!”Smiling for the first time since we entered the house, he says,
“'Whua'? Well–”But I'm not in the mood.
“Look!” I snap Alistair's painting at him, the paper making a crackling noise as I wave it in front of Gabriel's face.
“It's exactly the same. And that explains why it was so familiar to me,” I add, rattling Alistair's paper some more.
“Obviously, I've seen Uncle Chester and Aunt Rennie's painting before.”
Gabriel looks at the print I'm holding and then at the painting on the wall.
“Yeah, I know,” he says with what I feel is exaggerated patience.
“Let me explain again. That object”–and here he points to the clock in the painting–
“is not what you told me you want to find.”
“What do you even mean?” I ask, trying not to sound sulky. Gabriel walks over to the massive staircase and folds his long frame onto the second step. There's a rip in his jeans and his right knee pokes through briefly as he arranges his legs in a sprawl. I follow, sit beside him. After a minute,he sways his knee into mine and says gently,
“It's not calling to me the way that it normally does. It doesn't feel real. Maybe it never really existed.”
“But it might have,” I say softly.
“Right?” Gabriel shrugs.
“Possibly.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, more to myself than to him, as the glimmerings of an idea are taking shape in my head.
“The clock in the painting and the clock on this piece of paper are one and the same. I'm sure of it. But you can't find this clock” I fan him with the edge of the paper.
“It's not–”
“Shhh!” I knock the back of my hand against his arm.
“I'm processing” Another term I learned from Agatha.
“That's an old painting there,” I say slowly.
“I checked the date. 1899. And he said the clock was lost in 1887. So maybe you can't find it now because it doesn't exist anymore. But it does in that painting” I try to keep my voice level.
“Gabriel, don't you think that's it? That it existed once but it doesn't
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