Taltos by Anne Rice Read Free Book Online Page B

blessing,” said Bea.
    “But you did read the file,” Celia had pressed. “It’s very important that you know everything.”
    “Oh, yeah, I read every word of it,” Mary Jane had confessed, “even the ones I had to look up.” She slapped her slender, tanned little thigh and shrieked with laughter. “Y’all talking about giving me things. Help me get some education, that’s about the only thing I could really use. You know, the worst thing that ever happened to me was my mama taking me out of school. ’Course, I didn’t wantto go to school then. I had much more fun in the public library, but—”
    “I think you’re right about the extra genes,” Mona said. And right about needing the education.
    Many, many of the family had the extra chromosomes which could make monsters, but none had ever been born to the clan, no matter what the coupling, until this terrible time.
    And what of the ghost this monster had been for so long, a phantom to drive young women mad, to keep First Street under a cloud of thorns and gloom? There was something poetic about the strange bodies lying right here, beneath the oak, under the very grass where Mary Jane stood in her short denim skirt with her flesh-colored Band-Aid on her little knee, and her hands on her little hips, and her little filthy white patent leather buckle shoe rolled to one side and smeared with fresh mud—with her little dirty sock half down in her heel.
    Maybe Bayou witches are just plain dumb, Mona thought. They can stand over the graves of monsters and never know it. Of course, none of the other witches in this family knew it either. Only the woman who won’t talk, and Michael, the big hunk of Celtic muscle and charm standing beside Rowan.
    “You and I are second cousins,” Mary Jane had said to Mona, renewing her approach. “Isn’t that something? You weren’t born when I came to Ancient Evelyn’s house and ate her homemade ice cream.”
    “I don’t recall Ancient Evelyn ever making homemade ice cream.”
    “Darlin’, she made the best homemade ice cream that I ever tasted. My mama brought me into New Orleans to—”
    “You’ve got the wrong person,” said Mona. Maybe this girl was an impostor. Maybe she wasn’t even a Mayfair. No, no such luck on that. And there was something about her eyes that reminded Mona a little of Ancient Evelyn.
    “No, I got the right person,” Mary Jane had insisted. “But we didn’t really come on account of the ice cream. Let me see your hands. Your hands are normal.”
    “So what?”
    “Mona, be nice, dear,” said Beatrice. “Your cousin is just sort of outspoken.”
    “Well, see these hands?” said Mary Jane. “I had a sixth finger when I was little, on both hands? Not a real finger? You know? I mean just a little one. And that’s why my mother brought me to see Ancient Evelyn, because Ancient Evelyn has just such a finger herself.”
    “Don’t you think I know that?” asked Mona. “I grew up with Ancient Evelyn.”
    “I know you did. I know all about you. Just cool off, honey. I’m not trying to be rude, it’s just I am a Mayfair, same as you, and I’ll pit my genes against your genes anytime.”
    “Who told you all about me?” Mona asked.
    “Mona,” said Michael softly.
    “How come I never met you before?” said Mona, “I’m a Fontevrault Mayfair. Your second cousin, as you just said. And how come you talk like you’re from Mississippi when you say you lived all that time in California?”
    “Oh, listen, there’s a story to it,” said Mary Jane. “I’ve done my time in Mississippi, believe you me, couldn’t have been any worse on Parchman Farm.” It had been impossible to crack the kid’s patience. She had shrugged. “You got any iced tea?”
    “ ’Course we do, dear, I’m so sorry.” Off Beatrice had gone to get it. Celia had shaken her head with shame. Even Mona had felt negligent, and Michael had quickly apologized.
    “No, I’ll git it myself, tell me where it is,”