Read Online Summoned by Anne M. Pillsworth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne M. Pillsworth
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“Sure,” Helen said. “About the windows?”
“No, about the Elder Sign.”
She couldn’t have heard him correctly. “What?”
“The Elder Sign. I thought you might know about it, working in the archives and all.”
Helen watched Sean’s flush deepen, then realized she was staring as if he’d said something shocking. Well, shocking was a strong word, but he had surprised her. She mustered a smile, as if teenage boys asked her about the Elder Sign every day. “I’ve just started studying the Cthulhu Mythos myself,” she said. “But I’ve read about the Sign.”
Sean dashed wispy hair out of his eyes. “The thing is, which is the right one? The Star or the Branch?”
“Some authorities say only the Star is authentic. Some say only the Branch. A few say to use the Star in certain circumstances and the Branch in others, but then they don’t agree on the circumstances.”
“That sucks,” Sean said. “That they don’t agree, I mean. But maybe either one would work?”
As serious as Sean looked, Helen couldn’t keep back a laugh. “Theoretically, I suppose. But then, it’s all theory, isn’t it?”
“You mean the Mythos? Oh yeah. It’s not real. I mean, it’s real like…” He seemed hung up on a word.
“Like any mythology is real, in a sociological sense?”
Sean considered this. After a moment he nodded. “I guess so.”
“Why are you interested in the Sign?”
He shrugged. “Oh, you know. I read about it in stories. No big deal. Thanks, Ms. Arkwright.”
With that he turned and ran back toward the gates.
No big deal. No, after centuries of contentious scholarship, the question of the Elder Sign’s true form (if any) probably wasn’t the hottest issue, particularly not in a teenager’s life. Helen smiled, watching Sean’s coltish lope. She’d have to mention him in her letter to Marvell, who often laughed about the twists pop culture gave the Mythos. Making a good joke of the encounter would prove she wasn’t tying herself into such knots over Marvell’s semi-disclosure that she’d lost her appreciation of everyday absurdities.
6
Apart from the windows Dad designed himself, the ones in the Arkwright House library were the coolest Sean had ever seen, especially the one with the Black Man. He’d have to snag some of Dad’s documentation photos to show Eddy.
It was three o’clock before they had the windows in their transport frames. Dad and Joe-Jack wouldn’t need Sean again until they carried the frames to the van, so he asked if he could run up to Horrocke’s. From behind the handkerchief he was mopping his face with, Dad managed a muffled “yes.”
Sean took off. He’d already snuck a look at Helen Arkwright’s Yellow Pages and found Geldman’s Pharmacy. It was on the corner of Gedney and Curwen, a couple blocks beyond the old railroad station. He found Gedney without a problem. It was a funky street. Half the shops were trendy, in restored buildings. The other half were ratty and run-down: a barber’s, a newsstand, a Portuguese grocery with dried fish and hundred-year-old sausages hanging in its streaky window. That place would have made Mrs. Ferreira puke.
Geldman’s, next to the grocery, across the street from a café, was obviously old but as shiny as the newest boutique. Its spring-green trim looked freshly painted. Its plate-glass windows were spotless. Even the yellow-glazed bricks of the building—the pharmacy occupied the whole first floor, an apartment the second—gleamed like someone had scrubbed them that morning. Suspended on chains in one window were two glass urns shaped like upside-down teardrops. You’d think they’d have ferns or spider plants in them; instead one held an emerald-green liquid, the other a ruby red. Freaky. Plus there was a scale outside the door that would give you your fortune with your weight. Sean didn’t have time for that.
He pushed open the plate-glass door and stepped inside to the ringing of an invisible bell.
“No, about the Elder Sign.”
She couldn’t have heard him correctly. “What?”
“The Elder Sign. I thought you might know about it, working in the archives and all.”
Helen watched Sean’s flush deepen, then realized she was staring as if he’d said something shocking. Well, shocking was a strong word, but he had surprised her. She mustered a smile, as if teenage boys asked her about the Elder Sign every day. “I’ve just started studying the Cthulhu Mythos myself,” she said. “But I’ve read about the Sign.”
Sean dashed wispy hair out of his eyes. “The thing is, which is the right one? The Star or the Branch?”
“Some authorities say only the Star is authentic. Some say only the Branch. A few say to use the Star in certain circumstances and the Branch in others, but then they don’t agree on the circumstances.”
“That sucks,” Sean said. “That they don’t agree, I mean. But maybe either one would work?”
As serious as Sean looked, Helen couldn’t keep back a laugh. “Theoretically, I suppose. But then, it’s all theory, isn’t it?”
“You mean the Mythos? Oh yeah. It’s not real. I mean, it’s real like…” He seemed hung up on a word.
“Like any mythology is real, in a sociological sense?”
Sean considered this. After a moment he nodded. “I guess so.”
“Why are you interested in the Sign?”
He shrugged. “Oh, you know. I read about it in stories. No big deal. Thanks, Ms. Arkwright.”
With that he turned and ran back toward the gates.
No big deal. No, after centuries of contentious scholarship, the question of the Elder Sign’s true form (if any) probably wasn’t the hottest issue, particularly not in a teenager’s life. Helen smiled, watching Sean’s coltish lope. She’d have to mention him in her letter to Marvell, who often laughed about the twists pop culture gave the Mythos. Making a good joke of the encounter would prove she wasn’t tying herself into such knots over Marvell’s semi-disclosure that she’d lost her appreciation of everyday absurdities.
6
Apart from the windows Dad designed himself, the ones in the Arkwright House library were the coolest Sean had ever seen, especially the one with the Black Man. He’d have to snag some of Dad’s documentation photos to show Eddy.
It was three o’clock before they had the windows in their transport frames. Dad and Joe-Jack wouldn’t need Sean again until they carried the frames to the van, so he asked if he could run up to Horrocke’s. From behind the handkerchief he was mopping his face with, Dad managed a muffled “yes.”
Sean took off. He’d already snuck a look at Helen Arkwright’s Yellow Pages and found Geldman’s Pharmacy. It was on the corner of Gedney and Curwen, a couple blocks beyond the old railroad station. He found Gedney without a problem. It was a funky street. Half the shops were trendy, in restored buildings. The other half were ratty and run-down: a barber’s, a newsstand, a Portuguese grocery with dried fish and hundred-year-old sausages hanging in its streaky window. That place would have made Mrs. Ferreira puke.
Geldman’s, next to the grocery, across the street from a café, was obviously old but as shiny as the newest boutique. Its spring-green trim looked freshly painted. Its plate-glass windows were spotless. Even the yellow-glazed bricks of the building—the pharmacy occupied the whole first floor, an apartment the second—gleamed like someone had scrubbed them that morning. Suspended on chains in one window were two glass urns shaped like upside-down teardrops. You’d think they’d have ferns or spider plants in them; instead one held an emerald-green liquid, the other a ruby red. Freaky. Plus there was a scale outside the door that would give you your fortune with your weight. Sean didn’t have time for that.
He pushed open the plate-glass door and stepped inside to the ringing of an invisible bell.
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