Alchemystic Read Online Free PDF Page A

the empty echoes down here in the family crypt.
    “Thanks, guys,” I said, leaning against one of the pillars, wrapping my arms around myself. “You somehow made this all a bit more bearable.”
    “Absolutely,” Rory said, coming over and hugging me close. “It’s the least a best friend could do.”
    Marshall came over and hugged me as awkwardly as only he could. “I know I’m relatively new to your guys’ life and all, but I’m glad to be here, too.”
    After the hug lingered on for a bit, Rory finally put a hand on both our shoulders, pushing the three of us apart. “No hitting on the grieving,” she said. “Got it?”
    Marshall’s face went beet red. “I—I wasn’t. I mean…I’d never—”
    “There you are,” my father’s voice called out from somewhere farther forward in the crypt, the hint of his Slavic accent in his words, even though he was third generation and born here. “I thought I might find you down here.” He approached us, his balding head sweating. He dabbed it with a handkerchief held in one of his meaty hands, then gave a nod to Marshall and a firm smile to Rory. “Aurora, thank you for coming. God bless and keep you.”
    Despite the solemn occasion, Marshall couldn’t help but snicker at the use of her proper name.
    “Marsh!” Rory snipped. “What are the rules?”
    He fought back his smile by coughing into his hand. “No laughing at your full name,” he said. “
Aurora.
Sorry. Rory.” Composed once again, he turned to my father. “Sorry, Mr. Belarus. I don’t mean any disrespect. I just get nervous laughter when it’s most inappropriate.”
    There was a sadness in my father’s eyes, but he managed a kind smile. “Dark times could use a little lightness,” he said, then turned to Rory. “Aurora is a fine name.” He clapped her on both shoulders. “Your boyfriend should call you that more often.”
    Rory’s face went pale. “Marshall’s
not
my boyfriend.”
    My father turned to me, his eyes narrowing. “Hey! He’s not my boyfriend, either,” I said, quick as I could. “I’ve only known him as long as Rory’s been going to the Manhattan Conservatory of Dance!”
    “No, no,” Marshall said, feigning disinterest. “Please don’t all jump at a chance to date me at once, ladies. My dance card is pretty full.”
    This seemed good enough to satisfy my father that Marshall was no threat, and he turned back to Rory. “Again, thank you so very much for coming,” he said, softer once again, “but I must steal my daughter away from you.”
    I stiffened. “You need me
now
?” I asked. “Don’t you have, like, a million people up there who want to talk to you?”
    “Yes,” he said, all pleasantries falling from his voice as heturned to me, somber. “That is why I need you, Alexandra. There are people you
must
come meet.”
    My stomach clenched up at the underlying implications of it all—that now that Devon was gone, I would have to take his place. “Dad, I’m really not feeling it. You know I’d do anything for you. But are you sure it’s the best time for a meet-and-greet right now?”
    “Alexandra,”
he snapped, his voice raised. Marshall jumped. My name echoed over and over through the silence of the lower catacombs. “It is
not
a request. Come.”
    His words struck my soul. I looked to my friends, but they were too stunned. My father turned and walked off without another word, not bothering to excuse himself from Rory and Marshall’s presence.
    A chill ran down my spine. I thought it must have been my father’s words and his tone, but it felt like more than just that. The catacombs seemed alive despite the heavy air of death that permeated it. The carved faces on the tombs seemed to follow me with their stares, as well as those of the blank-eyed gargoyles lining the tops of the support columns. The occasion itself and my father’s sudden harshness put such a creeped-out mood over me that I found myself startled, swearing I saw a movement