Read Online Throne by Phil Tucker - Free Book Online

West Village must be very successful indeed.
    Stepping out of the cab, she absentmindedly handed the driver twenty dollars and turned to face Ms. Silestra’s shop. The red palm glowed like warning sign. Halt , it seemed to say. Do not advance further. Danger lies within . Straightening her dove gray coat, Maribel raised her chin and opened the door. It was too late for such warnings.
    Soft music was playing. The door opened into a small lounge, two couches set around a coffee table, both broad and inviting. A bookshelf reared up behind each couch, and the colorful curtains were pulled open so that clear light fell angled perfectly across the open book that a young woman was reading as she sat on one of the couches. Maribel paused, glanced at the closed door that led deeper into Ms. Silestra’s domain, and then at the young woman who was rising to her feet, a smile on her faced.
    “Welcome,” she said. “I’m Ms. Silestra. Come in, please.” She was older than she had seemed at first, mid-thirties, a little older perhaps than Maribel herself. Her hair was cut close to her scalp, but was so thick and luxurious that it seemed more the pelt of a black panther than human hair. A handsome face, broad cheekbones, and dark eyes that smiled as she set the book down on the table.
    “Hello,” said Maribel. “I don’t have an appointment.”
    Ms. Silestra smiled, and walked around the table to take her coat. “I know. That’s not a problem. I have time to see you now, if you like.”
    “Yes,” said Maribel, allowing her coat to be taken and hung from a series of pegs on the wall. There were no crystals in evidence, no New Age posters. She couldn’t decide if this was a good or bad sign. “Yes, that would be good.”
    Ms. Silestra turned back to her, and quite naturally reached out and took her hands in her own. The skin of her hands was rough, warm, as if she spent her time handling concrete. Their hands hung between them like an inverted suspension bridge as Ms. Silestra searched Maribel’s face. The smile faded from her eyes, and her mouth pursed into a line. “Oh,” she said, and shook her head. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She reached out, with the same lack of self-consciousness, and cupped Maribel’s face with her rough hand.
    As if her touch had broken something, Maribel’s eyes flooded with water. Clenching her jaw, suddenly furious, she stepped back, and drew her sleeve across her face. She wasn’t wearing make-up, thank god, but still, how dare she? Maribel felt as if Ms. Silestra had espied a crack in the field of ice that held her together, and, without thought, simply pushed her hand through it to touch her.
    “Come,” said Ms. Silestra before she could remonstrate, turning and walking to the closed door. “I think we have a lot to talk about.” She opened it, and stepped out of sight, leaving it ajar. The quiet music played on, and Maribel found herself blinking rapidly and suddenly, terribly adrift. What had just happened? It had been like a jolt of electricity. Had Ms. Silestra remained in the room, she would probably have said something cutting and left, but now she had no choice but to follow, reluctantly curious, a curiosity more real than her previously abstract interest. Could she really know something that might....?
    Beyond the door was a short hallway. Several doors were closed off of it, but the one at the end was ajar and soft light from a lamp poured through, illuminating the dark hall. Tentative, Maribel walked toward it, and reached out to open it slowly. A square room lay beyond, dominated by a circular table covered in a black cloth. A large plate was set in its center, painted an arterial red and filled with still water. Candles were arrayed along shelving that circled the walls, and a soft scent of incense pervaded the air.
    Ms. Silestra was seated across the table from her, having donned a long robe of pale blue silk. She looked almost foolish wearing it, as if she had purchased it