The Wolf Gift by Anne Rice Read Free Book Online Page A

always been. Did he ever take a breath without hearing that chorus?
Sunshine Boy, Baby Boy, Little Boy, Little Brother, Little Reuben, what do you know about death, what do you know about suffering, what makes you think, why would you ever try, why, you’ve never focused on any one thing longer than
—. All those words just dried up. He saw his mother. He saw Celeste—saw her small animated face and large brown eyes. But he didn’t hear their voices anymore.
    He leaned forward and kissed Marchent. She didn’t turn away. Her lips were tender, rather like a child’s lips, he imagined, though he had never actually kissed a child since he’d been a child himself. He kissed her again. This time, something stirred in her, and when he felt that stirring, the passion was sparked in him.
    Suddenly, he felt her hand on his shoulder, squeezing his shoulder, and gently pushing him away.
    She turned around and bowed her head like a person catching her breath.
    She took his hand and led him towards a closed door.
    He was certain this was the entrance to a bedroom and he had made up his mind. It didn’t matter what Celeste would think if she ever knew. He had no intention of passing up this opportunity.
    She drew him into a darkened room, and turned on a low lamp.
    Only slowly did he realize the place was a kind of gallery, as well as a bedroom. There were ancient stone figures standing on pedestals, thick shelves, and on the floor.
    The bed itself was Elizabethan, an English relic almost certainly, a coffered chamber of sorts with carved wooden shutters that could be closed against the night’s cold.
    The old coverlet of green velvet was musty, but he didn’t have a care about that in the world.

2
     
    H E WOKE UP out of a sound sleep. There was a low light coming from an open bathroom. A thick white terry-cloth robe hung on the hanger on the hook on the door.
    His leather bag was nearby on a chair and his pajamas had been laid out for him, along with his fresh shirt for tomorrow, still in its wrapper, and his other personal things. His trousers had been folded. And his discarded socks as well.
    He’d left his leather bag in his unlocked car. And this meant she’d gone out there in the dark alone to get it for him, and this made him a little ashamed. But he was a little too happy and relaxed to feel too ashamed.
    He was still lying on the velvet cover, but the pillows had been removed from their velvet shams, and the shoes he’d kicked off in his haste were standing neatly together by the chair.
    For a long time, he lay there thinking about their lovemaking, and wondered that he had betrayed Celeste so easily. But in truth, it hadn’t been easy at all. It had been quick and impulsive but not easy, and the pleasure had been unexpectedly intense. He was not sorry. No, not by any means. He felt that it was something he’d remember forever, and it seemed infinitely more important than most things he’d ever done.
    Would he tell Celeste? He wasn’t sure. He would certainly not spring it on her, and it would have to be very clear in his mind that she would want to know. That meant talk, talk with Celeste about a lot of things, hypotheticals and realities, and the worst reality of all, that with her, he felt relentlessly defensive and inadequate and this had pretty much worn him out. She’d been too surprised that people liked the articles he’d written for the
Observer
. And that had cut him.
    He felt rejuvenated now, and a little elated and guilty, and a little sad. It never occurred to him for a minute that Marchent would invite himinto her bed again. In fact, he was certain she wouldn’t. And he winced when he thought of her patronizing him, maybe calling him a beautiful boy. Seems she had whispered something like that to him when they were in the thick of it, and it hadn’t mattered then. But it mattered now.
    Ah, well, he was surprised by this turn of events, and it seemed mixed up with this house and with Felix Nideck