White Queen by Gwyneth Jones Read Free Book Online
Authors: Gwyneth Jones
school Juliet. She thought it would be so romantic to meet in the broken tower at midnight: now she wasn’t so sure.
“What do you want from me? Why did you ask me to meet you here? Who is it you’re afraid of?”
The upper lip curled wide.
She pushed her torch into a loop on her sleeve, to free her hands. She reached out to him.
Her whole body was shaking. Her sweet eyes had filled with tears.
Johnny yelled, suddenly terrified. She wasn’t speaking English! The words were in his mind. He dropped his flashlight, groveled to retrieve it. Crouching, he brandished it at her.
“What are you talking about—! My daughter’s in New York.”
She seemed to get a shock, then came back fighting. She did not speak his language, not any language: he understood every word.
Johnny was suffering some kind of psychic invasion.
“No!” he shouted. “You’re crazy! It’s not true! Get out of my mind!”
She heard something from outside. Her head jerked to the sound Johnny hadn’t caught.
she cried, not using words.
She dropped to her hands and…feet. Like a bear. She was wearing a loose khaki colored jumpsuit, cuffed close at the wrists and ankles, with lots of loops. It was what she always wore, it made her look like a theatre nurse, or a waste disposal worker: formal but ready to get dirty. Her legs inside the trousers moved around, the joints turning upside down. It was obvious that the girl was doing this, it wasn’t just happening; but hardly consciously. She was a wolf, a baboon with a semi-human face. She was above him, seeming much bigger than her real size, the way a big dog does when it gets too close. She howled something, and leapt up the wall.
Johnny couldn’t jump like that. He rushed out of the fort.
His flashlight, lost under the glow of the sky, caught a loping shadow. He heard a sharp intake of breath close by. It wasn’t Braemar. The alien girl’s enemies were around him. They either didn’t see him or they didn’t care. They ran and piled—several figures—into a big dark car. It rolled away, Johnny ran after it. Outside the gates the convertible was waiting. He jumped in. Braemar had something else wrapped around her head besides the 360: a nightsight visor. She’d switched to the car’s powerpack, which wasn’t going to carry this juggernaut very far over rough roads: but never mind, for the moment they could follow the quarry lightless and practically silent.
“What happened, Johnny? Is she real?”
He had recovered some semblance of cool. “I don’t know. She heard them, whoever they are, and panicked before we got anything going.”
“They were at the convertible. I went back for…to fetch something, and they were crawling over it like traffic wardens. Gave me a proper turn. They ran off when they heard me.”
About a mile beyond the last suburban lights the burr of a gashog engine left the Macmillan. Braemar turned after it onto a suicide track that had never been paved. The big car jounced and bounced along ruts deep as streambeds, Johnny could see nothing of Braemar’s view.
“We’re going to roll over,” she grumbled. “I wonder what would happen if I tried to put the wheels away at this speed….”
“That’s what I saw,” said Johnny. “She put her wheels away.”
He couldn’t hear the other engine anymore.
“Lost them,” muttered Brae. “Pulled off the road. Damn.”
They hadn’t pulled off the road, they’d pulled across it. Braemar gasped and thumped the brakes. The convertible’s lights leapt out automatically, a safety routine. Dark figures appeared transfixed, one of them four footed, big as a wolfhound at the shoulder. Braemar grabbed something and jumped out. It
“What do you want from me? Why did you ask me to meet you here? Who is it you’re afraid of?”
She pushed her torch into a loop on her sleeve, to free her hands. She reached out to him.
Her whole body was shaking. Her sweet eyes had filled with tears.
Johnny yelled, suddenly terrified. She wasn’t speaking English! The words were in his mind. He dropped his flashlight, groveled to retrieve it. Crouching, he brandished it at her.
“What are you talking about—! My daughter’s in New York.”
She seemed to get a shock, then came back fighting. She did not speak his language, not any language: he understood every word.
Johnny was suffering some kind of psychic invasion.
“No!” he shouted. “You’re crazy! It’s not true! Get out of my mind!”
She heard something from outside. Her head jerked to the sound Johnny hadn’t caught.
She dropped to her hands and…feet. Like a bear. She was wearing a loose khaki colored jumpsuit, cuffed close at the wrists and ankles, with lots of loops. It was what she always wore, it made her look like a theatre nurse, or a waste disposal worker: formal but ready to get dirty. Her legs inside the trousers moved around, the joints turning upside down. It was obvious that the girl was doing this, it wasn’t just happening; but hardly consciously. She was a wolf, a baboon with a semi-human face. She was above him, seeming much bigger than her real size, the way a big dog does when it gets too close. She howled something, and leapt up the wall.
Johnny couldn’t jump like that. He rushed out of the fort.
His flashlight, lost under the glow of the sky, caught a loping shadow. He heard a sharp intake of breath close by. It wasn’t Braemar. The alien girl’s enemies were around him. They either didn’t see him or they didn’t care. They ran and piled—several figures—into a big dark car. It rolled away, Johnny ran after it. Outside the gates the convertible was waiting. He jumped in. Braemar had something else wrapped around her head besides the 360: a nightsight visor. She’d switched to the car’s powerpack, which wasn’t going to carry this juggernaut very far over rough roads: but never mind, for the moment they could follow the quarry lightless and practically silent.
“What happened, Johnny? Is she real?”
He had recovered some semblance of cool. “I don’t know. She heard them, whoever they are, and panicked before we got anything going.”
“They were at the convertible. I went back for…to fetch something, and they were crawling over it like traffic wardens. Gave me a proper turn. They ran off when they heard me.”
About a mile beyond the last suburban lights the burr of a gashog engine left the Macmillan. Braemar turned after it onto a suicide track that had never been paved. The big car jounced and bounced along ruts deep as streambeds, Johnny could see nothing of Braemar’s view.
“We’re going to roll over,” she grumbled. “I wonder what would happen if I tried to put the wheels away at this speed….”
“That’s what I saw,” said Johnny. “She put her wheels away.”
He couldn’t hear the other engine anymore.
“Lost them,” muttered Brae. “Pulled off the road. Damn.”
They hadn’t pulled off the road, they’d pulled across it. Braemar gasped and thumped the brakes. The convertible’s lights leapt out automatically, a safety routine. Dark figures appeared transfixed, one of them four footed, big as a wolfhound at the shoulder. Braemar grabbed something and jumped out. It
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