Read Online Running Scared by Elizabeth Lowell - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Lowell
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was for the dumbs. What kept her at it was the belief that someday soon one of the morons who came to Sedona looking for a vortex thrill would be a man rich enough to take care of her and young enough to still get it up. When that happened, Tim and the stupid channeling con were history. Or maybe Tim would get lucky first and find himself a nice rich old lady who believed in talking to Thunderballs or whoever the flavor of the day was. Then Cherelle could live off Tim while she looked over the old lady’s rich male friends.
Thinking of that day was almost as good as doing crack cocaine. Both made her feel like she could fly. One day she would. She’d just step off the edge and fly and fly and fly.
Smiling, dreaming, Cherelle bumped into Virgil. She would have fallen against him if one of his thin, surprisingly strong hands hadn’t clamped around her arm to steady her. Even with that help she had to brace herself on one palm against the cold surface of a man-high stone. Instantly she snatched back her hand as though she had touched a live rattlesnake. She hated those stones with a passion that came straight from fear.
“Thank you,” she said in a low voice. “The energy is so strong here that I forget about the normal world.” Goddamn path could use a few lights, too . But she kept that nonvortex insight to herself.
Tim came up behind her. “Everything okay?”
“Everything is perfect,” she said, shivering and lying through her locked teeth.
She couldn’t dream away the clenching of her stomach any longer, or ignore the cold slide of sweat down her spine. She had nearly peed her pants in raw kindergarten terror the first time Virgil had led her to this place. She didn’t know what waited in the shadows between the three stones, but she knew to the bottom of her feet that she didn’t want any part of it.
She watched Tim go over and lean against one of the big stones, waiting for her to get on with the act. He no more felt anything than the rock did. Less, probably.
The boy was beautiful and could fuck her blind, but he had the IQ of hominy grits.
Virgil gave her a little shake. “Dawn’s coming, Lady Faulkner.”
“Of course.” Belatedly she realized that Virgil was no longer holding the wooden box. She looked around, then jerked. The box was in the center of the ragged circle made by the stones. Some trick of moonlight was making the cracks between the slats glow. “What—” she began, then cut off her own words. Scammers didn’t ask the dumbs any questions. “I presume you wish to speak with Merlin.”
“You got that right.”
Mother Mary, not again . Cherelle bit back her irritation at doing the same old same old one more time. She wondered if that was how Broadway stars felt when they repeated the same performance night after night after night and twice on Wednesday and Sunday.
“Many people wish to communicate with Merlin,” she forced herself to say calmly. “As we have discovered, he rarely wishes to communicate with them.”
“Hell, I know that. Had more than one so-called channel claim he had a direct pipeline. It was crap. Not a one of them could tell me what was in the boxes under my bed.”
When Cherelle understood what Virgil meant, she wanted to scream. He was after a mind-reading act, not a chat with a mythical magician.
And she was no mind reader.
“Someone else in Arthur’s court would be eas—” she began.
“Merlin,” Virgil cut in. “He’s the only one with the power. Let’s go. We’re wasting time. It has to be before dawn, when they’re all shooed back to hell.”
For a moment Cherelle didn’t know what he was talking about. Then she remembered it was Halloween, when spirits supposedly were let out after dark and then harried back into their dank holes at daybreak. She wondered if he also believed in flying broomsticks and dancing toadstools.
She bit the inside of her mouth again, forcing herself not to laugh in the old man’s face.
“Mr.
Thinking of that day was almost as good as doing crack cocaine. Both made her feel like she could fly. One day she would. She’d just step off the edge and fly and fly and fly.
Smiling, dreaming, Cherelle bumped into Virgil. She would have fallen against him if one of his thin, surprisingly strong hands hadn’t clamped around her arm to steady her. Even with that help she had to brace herself on one palm against the cold surface of a man-high stone. Instantly she snatched back her hand as though she had touched a live rattlesnake. She hated those stones with a passion that came straight from fear.
“Thank you,” she said in a low voice. “The energy is so strong here that I forget about the normal world.” Goddamn path could use a few lights, too . But she kept that nonvortex insight to herself.
Tim came up behind her. “Everything okay?”
“Everything is perfect,” she said, shivering and lying through her locked teeth.
She couldn’t dream away the clenching of her stomach any longer, or ignore the cold slide of sweat down her spine. She had nearly peed her pants in raw kindergarten terror the first time Virgil had led her to this place. She didn’t know what waited in the shadows between the three stones, but she knew to the bottom of her feet that she didn’t want any part of it.
She watched Tim go over and lean against one of the big stones, waiting for her to get on with the act. He no more felt anything than the rock did. Less, probably.
The boy was beautiful and could fuck her blind, but he had the IQ of hominy grits.
Virgil gave her a little shake. “Dawn’s coming, Lady Faulkner.”
“Of course.” Belatedly she realized that Virgil was no longer holding the wooden box. She looked around, then jerked. The box was in the center of the ragged circle made by the stones. Some trick of moonlight was making the cracks between the slats glow. “What—” she began, then cut off her own words. Scammers didn’t ask the dumbs any questions. “I presume you wish to speak with Merlin.”
“You got that right.”
Mother Mary, not again . Cherelle bit back her irritation at doing the same old same old one more time. She wondered if that was how Broadway stars felt when they repeated the same performance night after night after night and twice on Wednesday and Sunday.
“Many people wish to communicate with Merlin,” she forced herself to say calmly. “As we have discovered, he rarely wishes to communicate with them.”
“Hell, I know that. Had more than one so-called channel claim he had a direct pipeline. It was crap. Not a one of them could tell me what was in the boxes under my bed.”
When Cherelle understood what Virgil meant, she wanted to scream. He was after a mind-reading act, not a chat with a mythical magician.
And she was no mind reader.
“Someone else in Arthur’s court would be eas—” she began.
“Merlin,” Virgil cut in. “He’s the only one with the power. Let’s go. We’re wasting time. It has to be before dawn, when they’re all shooed back to hell.”
For a moment Cherelle didn’t know what he was talking about. Then she remembered it was Halloween, when spirits supposedly were let out after dark and then harried back into their dank holes at daybreak. She wondered if he also believed in flying broomsticks and dancing toadstools.
She bit the inside of her mouth again, forcing herself not to laugh in the old man’s face.
“Mr.
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