 VI. Abai 11:00 AM The library, the housekeeper mentioned, was at the opposite part of the house, located in one of the towers. It was only connected to the rest of the house via the foyer and a small alcove. The housekeeper herself never went in the library. “It just makes me feel odd,” she explained tersely, refusing to elaborate. Only Palwick entered to occasionally keep the dust off the books that Ira’s deceased husband, Donald, had collected. After breakfast, Reine had made it a point to explore Ira’s mansion even if Ira herself wasn’t present to be the tour guide. She started at the library. It’s sole entrance was a plain tiny door in the alcove in the foyer. The door to the cloakroom was larger. Was the library simply an afterthought in the building’s planning? The doorknob turned easily under her hand and a gray room, dimly lit by the partially drawn drapes in the front of the room, greeted her. There was a fireplace at the opposite end and shelves of books on either side. Three armchairs faced the fireplace. One of the armchairs, particularly the one facing away from her, seemed to be occupied. “Is anyone here?” Silence greeted her. Unnerved, she flipped the switch beside the doorway. A series of lamps from the ceiling flooded the room with light. She could see now that the drapes weren’t really partially drawn. They were actually gauzy material similar to the cloth used as drapes on her bed. A broken grandfather clock stood next to the window. The floor was actually a mosaic of a compass pointing north, south, east, west, as well as northeast, northwest, southeast, southwest. With the light on, the tiles gleamed a dull gold as if they had just been unearthed from a grave. Reine stepped forward, toward the armchairs. In the light, it looked like someone with white hair was sitting on the chair. “Ira? Is that you?” She was finally within arm’s reach. She touched the hair, intending to gently wake the sleeping hostess. The hair slipped and fell to the floor. “Ira?” She stepped over to face the armchair, only to find that the thing occupying the chair was not a person, but a mannequin. The faceless doll, once crowned with a white wig, was now bald. It wore a gown of the late Victorian period with stays on a corset and dark purple lace and ribbons. But the gown itself was torn at the bodice, straight down the middle revealing the doll’s breasts and crotch, which were covered with a liquid, glistening substance. She backed away. “I am not hyperventilating. I am not hyperventilating. I am not hyperventilating…” Her right hand instinctively found their way into her pocket where she kept the pouch of seeing stones. She clutched them like a talisman. “Reine?” She screamed. “Reine, it’s only me.” Marcus steadied her by her waist as she flailed backwards. The pouch flew out of her hands, landing on the east marker of the floor compass. One stone rolled out of the pouch. “Marcus.” She let out a breath and stooped to pick up the pouch and the stone. She tucked the pouch back into her pocket, but held the stone in her hand for reassurance. She examined the color. It was dark purple. She shoved the stone into her pocket, rattled. “Is anything wrong?” “I’m just a little rattled, that’s all.” “What’s that?” “No! Don’t go over there…” But he strolled over to the armchairs despite her protests. He blanched when he saw the desecrated mannequin. “And I thought blow-up dolls were bad.” He stepped backwards and pulled Reine out of the library. She didn’t resist. “Maybe we should tell someone.” “Telling someone is the last thing to do. Considering Mary said that Palwick was the only one who ever goes in there.” “The butler?” Reine shuddered. “You would think that a butler would be more discrete.” “It might not be the butler. Think of all the people who are under the roof right now.” “Well, it’s not you, right?” “I would think that you thought more highly of me.” Reine later pleaded a case of nerves and retreated back to her room. She flopped back on her unmade bed thinking that sleeping might be a good cure for the scare she had in the library. But as she thought about it, the fear turned to distaste. She took out the pouch of seeing stones again. There were twenty-four stones currently in her possession. Lying on her side, she opened the bag and spilled the stones onto the mattress. They glittered eerily. Were they trying to tell her something? From her previous conversations with Ira, there were supposedly twenty-five stones. The twenty-fifth stone was lost, somewhere in the house or the property. But finding it would be like finding a needle in a haystack. Reine did not believe in fortune telling or seeing the future. Her life path had always been drawn to truth and fact, not wishy-washy interpretation. That was one of the reasons she never pursued the same goals as her musician parents. Whimsically, she gathered the stones again, mixing them randomly in the pouch. Many traditional fortune telling devices were bowdlerized to more sanitized versions for young girls to see who they married. Who loves me? She reached into the pouch and pulled out three stones. One was black. Another blue. The final one was red. Glancing at them, a brief image of a face flashed in her mind. She gasped. The face was a familiar one. “No. It’s just my hormones talking. Let’s try this again.” Dropping the stones back into the pouch, she slowly framed her next question. Who was with the doll before I arrived? She drew out three stones again. The first one was a blue stone of a lighter shade. The second was white. The third was the same dark purple stone that had rolled out of the bag earlier. “Damn. That’s too much of a coincidence.” She stared at the stones a moment longer, but unlike the first drawing, she saw no face to go with her question. The stones only felt cold and heavy on her hand. A rapping at the door broke through her thoughts. Leaving the stones on the bed, she opened the door. “Marcus. Er, isn’t your room across the hall?” “I wanted to make sure that you were all right.” “Well, I’m better now, I suppose. I wanted to take a nap, but was sidetracked.” “Sidetracked?” She beckoned him inside. “You know the stones that Ira gave me on my birthday?” “Yeah. They were a hell of a better present than mine.” “Your gargoyle is cute,” she said earnestly. “He looks right at home on the dashboard. Anyways, I was fiddling with the stones. I hadn’t had a chance before to really look at them before. You were right. They’re sort of like scrying stones. Instead I get feelings for what they’re trying to tell me.” “Reine, the sober minded, now believes in hocus pocus?” “Let’s say they inhance my intuition.” She pointed to the bed. “I’m testing them. You get to ask the next question.” “You know, a different man would have completely different ideas when confronted with a woman trying to lure him to bed.” “Marcus!” “All right, all right. I get the idea.” He took off his shoes and climbed on the bed to sit cross-legged on the other side of the spread of stones. “So what do you want me to do, meditate?” “Ask a question.” “What did you ask the stones first?” She scowled. “Make up your own question. Mine’s too embarrassing.” “All right. This sort of reminds me of something I read a while back where in the old days, young girls would cook a meal and set it out on a table at midnight and wait. Supposedly the spirit of their true love would come visit them then.” “Yeah? And your point is?” “Well, I’ll ask a sappy question. Who loves me?” Reine sighed and held out the pouch. “I guess I wasn’t so original after all. Take three.” Marcus reached in to pluck three stones and to place them on the bedspread. Surprise briefly flickered over his scarred features. “Well, that was unexpected.” “You saw her, didn’t you?” Reine glanced at the stones he had picked. One was black, another red, and yet another cream, the color of her sweater. “I saw…” “I asked the same question earlier.” “As I gathered, considering the color of your face.” He dropped the stones into the pouch. “I’m fine with it. But what will Hadrian say?” “Hadrian? You saw Hadrian?” “I didn’t see Hadrian. Did you?” “No! Of course not.” Marcus had leaned over, his face close to hers. His dark eyes were searching. “Reine, I didn’t think…” “Maybe you shouldn’t think.” She could feel his breath against her mouth. Her eyes drifted closed. The door slammed, causing the two of them to jerk apart. Hadrian was plastered against the door with Amanda tucked under his right arm. The bulldog’s tongue lolled out. Apparently, the canine was enjoying the ruckus. “She’s after me!” He fumbled into his pocket, taking out a pack of cigarettes. “No you don’t. Not in here,” said Reine. “Ira reserved your room specifically for your habit.” “Damn.” Hadrian shoved the cigarettes back. “How’s a guy going to get a smoke around here? Do you have a closet?” “There’s the bathroom,” said Marcus. “Great. Come on Amanda. We’re going to hide out on the throne while that harpy wears herself out searching through this monstrosity.” Hadrian trotted into the bathroom and locked the door with a click. Reine’s bedroom door opened again. “We need a sign around here,” he joked. “High traffic area.” “Oh, give me a break.” Mrs. Esther Friesner stood in the doorway. “I thought I saw someone come in here.” She blinked, seeing Reine and Marcus in bed. “Oh, sorry. I thought this was a closet.” © 2002, S. Y. Affolee |