Dark to Mortal Eyes by Eric Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

the keys.
    Ske-skereech!
    That stupid bird. Still shrieking. Why didn’t the thing shut up?
    As sunlight sliced through the trees, Beau blocked the rays with outstretched hands. His fingernails turned deep orange, as though he’d scratched at the burning sphere and got its rinds beneath his nails. Even dropped into his lap, the fingers retained a numinous glow that empowered him.
    Enabling. Enervating … Ha, there was a big word for ya! In cauda venenum.
    Still no sign of the queen. Where was she?

    At the foot of the vineyard’s curved drive, beneath the stucco archway, Kara sat in her Z3 and let the sun run its fingers through her hair. The light caressed her face, soothing and warm. She looked back to ensure that she was out of sight of the manor, out of sight of Marsh’s study on the second floor.
    She needed this. A moment of peace before facing Josee this afternoon.
    With head tilted against the headrest, she looked at herself in the mirror.Despite the fashion sense she displayed at social events and the airy demeanor she pasted on during winetastings, she felt timid. Did others see through the facade? Did they detect her insecurities?
    Look at me. I can’t even work up the will to leave the property
.
    She watched the day advance while whispering prayers to stifle her ebb and flow of emotion. She smeared a tear from her cheek and laughed. Was this the plight of the female species: slavery to estrogen and to men who did not understand?
    As if we enjoy such fluctuations. What nonsense
.
    It was true that the mere suggestion of a reunion with Josee had caused Kara’s emotions to spike. And the questions had returned with new vigor. Phantoms. Plaguing her sleep, skirting the edges of her daily activities, always haunting her.
    Indeed, what sort of mother would surrender her child at birth?
    How had Marshall been able to erode her intention of keeping the baby?
    Why had she caved to the pressure of her own father who, as a respected deacon, told her he would be shamed? What hypocrisy! She’d been tempted to accept the money he offered, but amid 1981’s conflicts between choice and life, she had settled on adoption.
    Had selfishness caused Kara and Marsh to shirk the burden of a sick child?
    And for all these years, what questions had chased through Josee’s head?
    “I’m so sorry. Josee, forgive me.” Kara’s hands wrung the steering wheel. The words sounded hollow, but with only hours until their reunion she hoped beyond hope that her daughter would look past facades and recognize her mother for the woman she was—and the woman she wasn’t.
    “Help her to understand the battles I’ve fought. Please, God,” Kara begged, “open her eyes.”

    Seven o’clock sharp. Time for war.
    On the study’s chess table, crystal soldiers faced each other, glittering and poised for the day’s first sortie. Marsh heard the computer turn itself on. Thetask launcher was taking him to the online gaming zone where his opponent would be waiting. A battle to the death would ensue.
    The zone’s slogan read like a rallying cry: “Chess … sixty-four squares, thirty-two pieces, one winner! No weak-kneed pseudojocks allowed.”
    For years, to prime himself for entrepreneurial challenges, Marsh had wrestled the same adversary routinely on the Internet, a person who played under the user name Steele Knight. Marsh knew little of the opponent’s background, physical appearance, or location. These topics were taboo, as though to discuss such details would provide an edge. Through combat alone, he had learned the intricacies of his opponent’s mind-set.
    And vice versa, no doubt.
    Torch-lit and cavernous, the gaming zone materialized. Steele Knight wandered into view, a brown-robed entity wielding an iron mace.
    Marsh felt his pulse quicken. Time to sharpen the senses. With the mouse, he clicked Play Game and watched the entrance of his own virtual persona: a blank-eyed mannequin plastered with quartered black and yellow