Read Online The Ghost Sonata by JENNIFER ALLISON - Free Book Online Page B

competition. Objectively, she knew that winning a competition had nothing to do with the half bowl of Cheerios she had consumed that day or the strawberry scent of her long hair, but the repetition of as many of the details as possible of that first winning morning reassured and calmed her on the day of a performance. And the truth was, it did seem to bring a kind of luck; she had won many competitions since that day.
    â€œWendy, I don’t think you’re weird at all. I just think you’re crazy.”
    â€œThe thing I love about your jokes, Gilda, is that they’re so well-timed. It’s like you can tell I’m just sitting here wishing that someone would make fun of me as my entire life falls apart.”
    â€œCome on—my brother was just telling me about this baseball player who has a ritual of eating nothing but chicken on the day of a big game because he’s sure it helps him win.”
    â€œWhat happens if he doesn’t eat chicken?”
    â€œI don’t know. I guess he loses the game.”
    â€œThat really helps me.”
    â€œWendy, we both know your ritual is not what makes you able to play the piano brilliantly, okay?”
    â€œMaybe not, but it makes me believe that I can play.”
    Gilda thought for a moment. “Look, maybe you can do part of your lucky ritual. There isn’t time to wash your hair and all that, but why don’t I run downstairs and fix you a bowl of cereal while you get dressed? I bet Mrs. Luard has some English cereal like Weetabix or Shredded Hedgehog Crisp, or something.”
    â€œWhat about my hair?”
    â€œJust brush it.”
    â€œI’m supposed to wash it!”
    With a surge of frustration, Gilda grabbed Wendy’s strawberry shampoo from its perch on the wardrobe and thrust it in Wendy’s face. “Wendy, stop acting like a spoiled child star. This bottle of pink chemicals does not hold the key to your piano performance, okay? It makes you smell like a cough drop anyway.”
    â€œIt smells like strawberries.”
    â€œWell, today you’re going to pretend you’re English royalty, and go without bathing or shampooing.”
    â€œI bet Prince William takes showers.”
    â€œI’m talking about the queens of the olden days,” said Gilda, absentmindedly sticking Wendy’s bottle of strawberry shampoo into her shoulder bag. “We’ll just squirt some perfume on you like they did during the Elizabethan era when nobody bathed.” Gilda remembered reading in a history book that Queen Elizabeth I used to bathe once a year with a stick of butter. “Now—I’m going to head downstairs to get your cereal. When I come back, I expect you to be dressed. Okay?”
    Wendy sighed. “Okay.”
    As she turned to leave Wendy’s room, Gilda noticed something unusual on the floor. She stooped to pick it up, and when she flipped it over, she felt an icy sensation in her stomach. She stared at the object for a minute, trying to absorb its significance. It was a tarot card—the Nine of Swords. The frightening thing about the presence of the card on Wendy’s floor was that it was from a completely different deck of cards than the one Gilda owned. The image on this version of the Nine of Swords featured the enormous numeral 9 and the word despair looming over a darkened landscape. A lone, shadowy figure walked amid nine swords piercing the dry earth. The picture had a moody, nightmarish quality. It was as if some phantom had read Wendy’s future during the night, leaving behind a cryptic, bleak verdict.
    â€œWendy,” said Gilda cautiously, “you didn’t buy a deck of tarot cards yesterday, did you?”
    â€œWhen would I have time to buy tarot cards?” Wendy grabbed a wool sweater from her wardrobe and hurriedly pulled it over her head.
    â€œJust wondered . . .” Gilda didn’t want Wendy to see the card before her performance, but it