The Hunger by Whitley Strieber Read Free Book Online Page A

beauty of the women.
    “Well,” Alice said when they were done, “that’s that.” She was flushed, which accentuated her incipient womanhood. A pang passed again through John’s heart.
    He knew all the things Miriam was able to do to people. It was impossible to tell exactly what treatment was intended for Alice. Miriam could bless or destroy. Sometimes she would compel them to violence as a cover for her own activities. Other times, there could be unimaginable bliss.
    Miriam was practical; she did what was most useful. Alice, for example, would inherit a considerable fortune, as John had. That could be the motive for Miriam’s interest. She was always short of money, and those who loved her gave her everything.
    “Let’s have a drink,” Miriam said. She picked up the Madeira from the bar. It was an 1838 Warre, bought from the old Berry Brothers Stores in London. As it had aged it had become first strong and sweet, then full of subtle overtones. Now it was almost light, but possessed of complex and ancient flavors. It was certainly the finest Madeira in the world, perhaps of all time.
    “I’m not supposed to have liquor.”
    Miriam poured Alice some of the wine.
    “It’s very light. Only barbarians would refuse their children the right to a glass of wine.”
    Alice swallowed it at a gulp and held out her glass for more.
    “That’s a sacrilege,” John said. “You’re drinking it like tequila.”
    “I like the way it makes me feel, not the way it tastes.”
    Miriam poured her another glass. “Don’t get drunk. John molests the helpless.” The remark came unexpectedly and shocked John.
    Alice laughed, her eyes regarding him with taunting appraisal. Rather than endure that, John retreated. He gazed out the window, forcing himself to concentrate on the view. Across the street was a block of cooperative apartments. It seemed such a short time ago that houses such as their own had lined both sides of the street, it was hard to believe that vines could already be growing up the front of one of those new buildings. The cries of children came as always from the street. John was touched by the eternal shrill excitement of those voices, a sound that belonged to all time. Maturing was the horrible process of losing immortality. John felt his face. Already the whiskers were coming back. He had inexplicably entered the deadly shadow; it could no longer be denied.
    Alice came to his side, her shoulder just touching his elbow. No doubt she told herself that she ought to conquer him, to include him. But he suspected it was really a simpler and more morbid interest: she wanted to see him suffer. In that sense she was as natural a predator as Miriam herself — or as John.
    “What are they playing, Alice? Ringolevio?”
    “Ringo — what?”
    “Ringolevio. The game.”
    “They’re playing Alien.”
    Miriam watched her destroyed man. He could have killed her this morning. Killed. The thought of it made her feel cold toward him, but only for a moment. She had fought hard to make him perfect. It was so sad to see him disintegrating even more quickly than his predecessors. Eumenes had been with her more than 400 years, Lollia nearly as long. Until now not one of her transformations had failed to last 200 years. Was she getting worse at it, or was the strength of the human stock in decline?
    She took another swallow of the Madeira, held it in her mouth. Time itself must taste so. In wine time could be captured and in life delayed, but not forever. In John’s case not even for very long.
    There was much to do and possibly only a few days of grace. She had been moving slowly, capturing Alice by careful degrees. Now it was an emergency. She had to prepare for the storm that was going to break when John discovered his predicament, and at the same time prevent Alice from knowing what was happening to him. As Alice was to be his replacement it would be most inconvenient if she learned the consequences of