Pokrewne

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Chelsea Handler Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang (epub
Brit Brinson [Dia of the Dead Dia of the Dead (epub)
Cody Goodfellow [Radiant Dawn Radiant Dawn (epub)
Cate Tiernan [Immortal Belove Immortal Beloved (epub)
Carl Ashmore [Time Hunters 01 The Time Hunters (epub)
Drew Hayes [Super Powereds 02 Super Powereds Year 2 (epub) i
Beth Harbison [Shoe Addict 02 Secrets of a Shoe Addict (epub)
Buck Rogers 01 Buck Rogers in Addison E Steele (v1.0) (epub)
C M Kars [Never Been Kissed Never Been Kissed (epub)
Brylant Pindara Katie Hickman

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.The water and the rocks were not in the mansion.But they weren’t far away either.They seemed right beneath me.They hummed of mystery.My clothes were gone.I was naked beneath the sheets.New clothes were laid out for me on the nearby table.No one else was in the room.I slipped from the bedclothes.The air was cold and fresh and it gave me goose bumps.The luxury carpet was thick and soft.It felt good beneath my feet.Folded neatly on the table were undergarments, a white t-shirt, a red V-neck sweater, and blue jeans.Snug shoes lay on the floor.All my new clothes fit as though they had been tailored to my petite size.The clothes had tiny rough filaments that only a Blood Vivicanti can feel.They scratched my skin, satisfying places I never knew had been itching for years.My clothes smelled of fresh laundry.I love that scent too.Yet their aroma was also the scent of direction.I could tell where they’d come from, how they’d been handled, the kind of people who’d touched them.I opened my chamber door.I peeped through the crack.The hallway was more ornate than my room.Empty too.I crept from my room into the hallway.Like my room it too was carpeted in luxury.The hallway was lined with various chairs from various periods in history – the French Revolution, the Industrial Revolution, and even the Computer Revolution.On both sides of the hallway, soft cream-colored lights hung in sconces.On one side were marble statues of Christian saints and Greek gods.On the other side were suits of shiny armor standing in chivalrous formation.Small tables between them had flower heads floating in bowls of water.Computer panels were imbedded into the walls near doors that led into other rooms.All the other rooms were empty.I had this wing all to myself.Hanging from the walls were several paintings that I’ve come to love.San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk.Monet.Starry Night.Van Gogh.No.5, 1948.Pollock.Girl Before A Mirror.Picasso.None were copies.All were authentic and I could particularly smell the scent of each painter.I could relate to the Picasso.Still can.Sometimes the girl in the mirror is too much Blood Vivicanti and not enough Mary Paige.I can also relate to the Pollock.A reviewer once referred to it as “baked macaroni.” Sometimes I feel similarly when I’m bloated on too much blood.The scent of the hallway exposed the fullness of its history.I could smell Pollock painting.I could see his fingerprints in the paint.I could smell knights of yore fighting in their armor.I could see the spots where their blood had been wiped away.I could smell the electricians who’d been in the hallway.And the carpenters who’d been building and the housemaids who’d been cleaning and the mice that were always scurrying through the wainscoting.My mind could envision their images before me – like ghosts.My photographic memory recalled facts that I had read about the paintings themselves, and general facts about painting canvases and houses.My memory recalled more facts – facts I’d read about interior design – facts about floristry – facts about housekeeping and heraldry and hosting parties like Mrs.Dalloway.All these facts came together in my mind.They touched one another.Then they wove together into a lovely pattern of human behavior.And they helped me perceive how everything in this hallway was connected in some way.The arrangement of the art and furniture explained the psychology of the one who had arranged it.It hadn’t been Wyn.I could smell Earl Gray tea steeping in a kitchen.The kitchen was a few stories below me.The bitter aroma of the tealeaves stretched out before me like a lightshow, revealing a map of their history.The scent told me that they’d been grown in India, stored in London, imported in a hermetically sealed container, and flown in on Wyn’s private jet plane.In the same way that my clothes had been tailored to me, these tealeaves also had been gathered specifically for the taste buds of a Blood Vivicanti.They were for my particular sense of taste.All of it was Wyn’s gift to me.He knew my Blood Vivicanti senses would be more intense than any human sense.He knew the right scent that would perfectly please my sense of smell.He knew the right flavor that would rocket my taste buds into orbit.Wyn is a scientist.This means that he has the emotional capacity of a Vulcan.Yet his capacity to show kindness always surprises me.Wyn and I are similar in that way.We have to think about being kind.We don’t do it naturally.We have to watch how kinder people behave.And then, when an opportunity for kindness arises, we have to tell ourselves: What would a kind person do?Thinking how to be kind is how we are kind.At the end of the hallway was the master stairwell.It was white marble.Down the middle ran a long black rug.My body moved nimbly now.My footfall hardly made a sound going down each step.I didn’t have to tiptoe, but I did anyway.I didn’t feel safe yet, like a cat left to her own devices.I was acting the way I once did in grade school: I was trying to go unnoticed.Life had taught me thus far to avoid looking at my own power.So at that time I couldn’t see how powerful I’d become.I could have slammed my foot down and shaken the stairwell with the force of an earthquake.Perhaps even shattered it to shards.I must be careful how I walk.The stairs ended in the main foyer.It was as ornate as the upper floors.It was as large as an ordinary house.The floor tile was a black and white checkerboard pattern.The walls had bright white wainscoting.The wallpaper above was rich red cloth.Along the walls were matching red sofas with ebony frames.A grandfather clock stood beside one sofa, ticking and tocking.A round marble table was in the center.On it stood an immense spray of sweet smelling orchids.The delicious scent made my head spin.The aroma of the tea had moved.Now it was coming from an adjoining room.It was a library.Tall bookcases almost touched the high vaulted ceiling.Small staircases led to a platform halfway up.Books of all shapes and sizes and of all subjects filled each bookshelf.Their various colored spines painted the room like a rainbow.Some books were from the 12th century and some were from the 21st.It was the scent of human progress throughout recorded time [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]