Read Online The Horses of the Night by Michael Cadnum - Free Book Online Page B

gaze down into it. “I’m so glad to see you,” I began to say. But the words were not enough. I kissed her yet again.
    We went upstairs.
    Her hair was dark, not true black but black with a radiance, a reddish tint that caught even the weak moon from the clerestory windows, and held it. Her eyes were dark, too, and when she looked at me there was the strangest glow.
    â€œI fell asleep on the airplane for a couple of minutes,” she breathed. “And you know what I dreamed?”
    She unbuttoned my shirt, each button taking far too long. I sensed some awareness in her, some discovery that made her look up at me, into me as though she could see something in my mind.
    â€œYou’re trembling like someone who’s gone swimming recently.”
    â€œI’ve given it up,” I whispered.
    â€œIt’s suicide,” she said, but neither of us were drawn into conversation now.
    She put her lips to my ear. “Do you know what I dreamed?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œI’ll show you.”
    She was a glow in the darkness. Her lips tasted of cognac, although I was certain that she had not been drinking, and of something else, something unnamable.
    Later, downstairs again, I made tea laced with the rum Collie kept in the cubboard with the Earl Grey and orange pekoe. Even in her absence, Collie’s character was a part of the house, in the strong, naval rum, in the way the kitchen towels were folded, tidy and what Collie called “seamanlike.”
    Nona wore one of my silk dressing gowns. It flowed over her, and made her look like a sorcerer’s apprentice.
    My rooms were usually the picture of hurried efficiency, a marriage of software and oak furniture, ferns and phone proposals. Now each room looked like a quarry in the half light, and white dust, faint and visible only when smudged, covered every surface.
    She took in our surroundings. “I thought they were coming to fix all this pretty soon.”
    Not even Nona knew the extent of my financial trouble. I nodded, shrugged: me too.
    â€œJesus, you can’t live like this.”
    Nona is a woman who will not suffer delay, or fools. “They said they were running late.”
    â€œRunning isn’t exactly the word. What’s the matter, Stratton?”
    â€œIt’s you. You vanquish speech.”
    She smiled, acknowledging the flattery. But she was a physician. Human frailty attracted her eye. “I’ve never seen you so nervous.”
    â€œI’m worried,” I said, trying to undercut the meaning of the words with a soothing voice. “You’ve never seen me worried before?”
    â€œNot like this.”
    â€œThere’s something wrong with Blake Howard.” I gave her the barest sketch of Blake’s mood, my theories, and touched upon the subject of his unanswered phone. I didn’t bother explaining that what upset me at the moment was that I was sure I had heard a winged creature, in this hall, in this room.
    What I had really meant to say was: There is something wrong with me.
    I was about to tell her about the wings. I parted my lips, dazzled by her, wanting to tell her everything. There were wings, I nearly said. Big wings, feeling the story melt and dissolve, because I knew it was foolish. The rooms were empty. There was nothing here, just as there was probably nothing wrong with Blake.
    â€œThey must have had some good things to say about your proposal,” I said, sipping the fragrant tea.
    â€œThey loved it. Everyone wants to know more about what they are calling ‘my children’s dreams.’ My children. As though they all belonged to me.”
    â€œThey do, in a way.”
    â€œThey’re calling it a landmark study of children’s dreams. Everyone says it would be great if we could spend more money on children. They say, ‘We love your ideas, Dr. Lyle.’”
    â€œBut they won’t come up with the money,” I