Alice At Heart by Deborah Smith Read Free Book Online

amazing, younger, one luxuriously dark-haired, one a flamboyant redhead, their hair upswept, their manner regal, their green-eyed regard so stunning that everyone, everyone turned to stare. They wore the finest rich silks, pearl bracelets, diamonds, delicate and elaborate gold pins with handsome gemstones in them. They stood out like angelfish among plain brown trout. Every man in the crowd wanted to touch them. Every woman wanted to be them. I had never seen females so beautiful in my life.
    “Alice,” the silver-haired doyenne said aloud, in a voice as lyrical as a southern trade wind. She put more devotion in my name than I’d ever heard before. “ Alice, my dear. We’re your father’s family .”
    Everyone gasped. I took a step back, shaking my head. I felt bewildered, afraid, enthralled; I was half-fainting. What to say, what to do? How did she know me, and what did she know about me? My father’s family? Impossible. His identity was a mystery to me, to my mother’s family.
    My mother’s eldest sister leapt to her feet, frowning at the strangers, who ignored her. “Alice,” she called out loudly. “I don’t know what this is about, but take that award and say thank you, right now . Alice . Get off the stage. If you know what’s good for you, take the award and quit standing there like a fool.”
    My gaze sank, defeated, away from the silver-haired woman’s troubled scrutiny. Shame clouded my vision. I looked down, down. At the same time, I slid my shaking hand out to one side, to take the proffered plaque.
    Alice, don’t accept so little when you deserve so much . The stranger’s voice rang in my head again. Look at our feet, Alice. Recognize your own kind.
    I peeked furtively through the bandstand’s railing. All three women had slipped off exquisite shoes, here in the mountains in the middle of winter, on ground so cold particles of ice crunched in the dead grass. To show me their feet . Delicate, arching feet. Perfect, strong feet. Sensual feet, outrageous feet. Adorned with jeweled ankle bracelets, the nails gleaming with glossy polishes. The silver-haired one shifted one naked foot just so, arching it like a swan’s head, spreading her toes. The others did the same. I uttered a low, keening sound.
    Webbed feet. Like mine.
    “Take the damned plaque, Alice,” my mother’s eldest sister warned again.
    My head snapped up. I looked at her, then at the presenter, then at the plaque. I jerked my hand away. I staggered down the bandstand’s steps, threw off my coat, and fled, gasping for breath.
    In the chaos that ensued, Pearl Bonavendier sighed in dismay. Mara Bonavendier rolled her eyes. “Pathetic,” she couldn’t help saying.
    Lilith frowned and signaled for them to follow.

5

    Land People fight and struggle and yearn to find magic in their lives. Water People hide behind that magic, but realize the loneliness of it.
    —Lilith
    I hovered like a ghost, shadowed in the ultraviolet glow of the fish tanks at the Riley Pet Shoppe. I waited for the three web-footed women to find me. I knew, instinctively, that they would.
    I smelled the fragrance of their fine perfumes and fabrics as they made their way down the alley behind the shop; I heard the whisper of their fabulous feet on the concrete lane, there; I imagined just the slightest, alluring tang of seasalt in the air around them. My chest heaved. I clutched a countertop for support.
    It was a Sunday, and the shop—or shoppe , as the owner insisted on calling it—was closed, the lights off, the blinds drawn. The gloaming of the winter afternoon dropped deep shadows over the shelves and cages. Watching me was a menagerie of hamsters, mice, parakeets, snakes, iguana lizards, and hundreds of small fish. Every creature, whether fin, fowl, fur, or reptile, moved to the fronts of their cages and tanks. The parakeets twittered at me; the hamsters made soft, squeaking sounds. The fish merged in neat schools, all facing toward me. I was a magnet for