Throne by Phil Tucker Read Free Book Online Page A

tilted her head back so that she gazed full upon him. He was so beautiful, yet there was something terrible to his beauty, alien, frightening. It was like a flame, and she wanted to burn.
    “I…” she managed, but could say no more.
    “There is no need for such pain, such sadness. Not for one such as you, with a life so short and precious. You can escape it all if you wish.” Each statement had the ring of truth to it. She didn’t doubt him. “I can help you, Maya, I can make your life a joyous thing, a wonder of delight and beauty, eternal while it lasts. There is so much more beyond the walls of your city, the press of your sky, the rise and fall of the earth. There are dreams and pleasures, madness most sweet and delirium to thrill your soul. All yours, yours for the taking, sweet Maya, if you but wish to be my queen.”
    Where was her scorn, her customary and practiced derisive laughter? But his eyes. How they burned and bored into her, with such strange and compelling power. Her heart fluttering in her chest like a captive bird. She saw Meimei pause again at the end of the hallway, turn and walk away. Chang’s garlic breath. Mrs. Peng’s avaricious eyes, lizard eyes. Paula’s smile, so gentle and damning. Mrs. Mercedes, her hard hands and callous appraisals. But more. All her defenses were falling apart, collapsing before his gaze. Memories and pain were summoned, that could not be controlled.
    With a pang she thought of her mother, her father, their faces, gone these past years, the doubt and fear when they had seen her off at the airport, promising to meet her in New York soon, that she would stay for but a week with her aunt until they followed right after her. A sob tore free, brutal and harsh with its sudden violence.
    “Your queen?” she asked, her voice so small she didn’t think he could hear her.
    “Yes,” he sighed, “My queen, the Lady of Light and Laughter. I will open the doors, but you will have to step through them. Come find me, my love, I will be waiting.” Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, it wasn’t a kiss but a touch of his smooth, dry skin against hers, and she was shaking, shaking, his face pulling back, the river surging and roaring by her side, the pavement slipping out from under her, and then darkness.
     
    Someone was shaking her by the shoulder. Maya opened her eyes but had trouble focusing on the face above her own. It wasn’t his. The ground was hard, wet, cold beneath her, the slush having soaked through her coat, the fabric of her pants. She was shivering, and there were voices about her.
    “Are you all right?” Asked the man, his voice gravelly and accented. British, she thought, an Englishman. His face was broad, square, his hair gray and thinning. He was bundled up in a thick gray coat and standing behind him and looking down at her over his shoulder was an older woman, face misting up even as Maya’s eyes filled with tears.
    “Here, are you all right? Miss?” Strong hands slid under her shoulders and carefully helped her sit up. Her clothing clammy and cold. She felt disoriented. The river to her right, the East River. She had indeed come here then, with a man. Maya looked sharply about her, suddenly needing to see if he was close, to spot him, but he was gone.
    “Miss?” The British voice, like something from an old movie. “Miss? What happened? Do you need an ambulance?”
    Maya opened her mouth, and nothing came out. She couldn’t exhale. It was as if a stopper had coagulated in her throat, a mass of air, dense and impenetrable. Nothing. She put both hands to her throat, strangling and choking as she tried to force out words, then cupped her own face and gave up trying to speak. The moment she did so, air rushed into her lungs with a frightful wheeze.
    “I think she’s choking, Harry,” said the woman, her voice frightened.
    She wasn’t though. She could breathe just fine. Again she tried, turning to look at the man’s wrinkled face,