Read Online Paper Tigers by Damien Angelica Walters - Free Book Online Page A

a hand to her forehead. “That’s right. I totally forgot. I’m sorry.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m a little early. Now go, change your clothes before you catch a cold.”
    â€œYes, Mother,” she said in a singsong voice.
    Alison took the bag in hand again and headed upstairs with careful steps, her hip protesting every movement, her shoes leaving a trail of water. In her room, with a towel draped across her shoulders, she took the photo album from the bag and set it on the foot of the bed.
    â€œOkay,” she said, flipping the cover open.
    So far, so good. She turned to George’s photo, then to the photo of the house, but when she tried to turn that page over, it didn’t budge. She held the album on its side and gave it a shake. “Come on,” she said. She flipped past George to the house, and once again, the page wouldn’t turn. It made no sense. Why would it let Elena look at all the pages and not her? How was that even possible?
    She stuck her hand in her pocket, suddenly sure the paper had disappeared, but she found it tucked deep in the corner and breathed a sigh of relief that it was still dry. Holding her lower lip gently between her teeth, she unfolded the paper. It was a newspaper clipping, not nearly as old as she’d expected.
    August 4, 1992. Last night, a four-alarm blaze destroyed the house known to local residents as Pennington House. Originally built in the 1800s by one of the state’s wealthiest families, the house had been vacant for years, caught up in a legal battle between distant relatives. Two children, identified as Michelle and Zachary Phillips were rescued from the fire. Arson is suspected.
    The rest of the article was lost beyond a neat tear. Above the article, a photo showed a familiar house with curtained windows and gleaming paint. Another photo, obviously taken many years later, revealed peeling paint, boarded-up windows, and a definite lean on the right side of the porch, but there was no picture of the house post-fire.
    Alison read the article twice. There was no indication as to whether or not the clipping was from a local newspaper, and the name of the house didn’t sound familiar at all, but both would be easy enough to find out.
    Had the house burned down completely? They didn’t always. Sometimes only the inside burned, leaving an almost normal façade, save for the scorch marks leading from the windows and doors and a gaping hole where a roof should be—
    â€œAlison?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI’m going to start making the salad, okay?”
    â€œOkay, that’s fine,” Alison called out.
    She put the newspaper clipping in her jewelry box, next to a plastic hospital identification bracelet and a tiny diamond
    reminder
    ring and changed her clothes.
    Maybe the album wasn’t magic at all. Maybe it was haunted.

    Her mother set down her fork. “Am I crazy, or do you smell flowers, too?”
    Alison sniffed, shifting in her seat as her hip gave another twinge of pain. “I don’t smell anything except the food.”
    â€œIt smells like roses, lilies, lilacs, and a bunch of others.” She gave a small laugh. “Like we’re standing inside a garden.”
    â€œNope, no flowers here. Did you wear a new perfume today?”
    Her mother’s brow creased. “I’m not wearing any at all. It’s so strange.” She shook her head in dismissal. “So, what prompted you to go out today?”
    â€œIt was nothing, really. I went back to that shop, where I got the photo album.”
    â€œThat’s twice now, and today, well, it was during the day. You haven’t gone out like that in a long time. I’m proud of you.”
    Alison nodded. “I know you are.”
    â€œIt’s a big step, I know, and I hope it’s the first of many. You need to get out more often. It’s good for you. I know if you keep