Edge of Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page A

sense, Antiquarian Books is on the verge of bankruptcy! ” Now enveloped in the cloud of heavy perfume emanating from Marguerite like the evil mist preceding the arrival of a monster in a horror movie, Ember took a step back. “If something isn’t done immediately, we’ll owe the creditors more than it’s worth. Your father would be appalled to find it in such a state—”
    Ember’s temper, volatile under the best of circumstances, snapped.
    “My father would be appalled by a lot of things, Marguerite! Including the way you’ve spent what was supposed to be my inheritance on your own daughters—”
    “How dare you!” Marguerite exclaimed, her bony frame stiffening. Several customers glanced over, but neither Ember nor her stepmother cared. They were sucked suddenly into the ancient morass of animosity that existed between them like quicksand, thick, deep, and suffocating.
    “—And what you’ve done with his work! I’m sure gifting it to your revolving door of boyfriends isn’t exactly what he had in mind!”
    Marguerite gasped. Her face, never flush with a healthy glow in the best of circumstances, paled to a blotchy, unnatural white. She sputtered, “Why you little—”
    “Excuse me,” interrupted a cheerful, familiar voice. Ember looked across the counter to see Asher, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans, clearly amused at the spectacle she and her stepmother made. “I’m looking for a very rare, very expensive book. Which of you lovely ladies can assist me?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Ember, who, instead of clawing her stepmother’s eyes out, released her breath in a hard exhalation.
    Like a snake furling its coils, Marguerite slowly withdrew. She hated men to catch her with her fangs exposed, and so she tried on a chilly smile, which looked out of place on her livid face. If she didn’t know better, Ember would have sworn the woman was hiding a forked tongue in that venomous mouth.
    “Ember would be happy to assist you, sir,” Marguerite said smoothly, still with a frigid smile. Then she turned and hissed under her breath, “We’ll finish this discussion later!” She stalked away and vanished through the swinging door that led to the back of the store.
    “Oh, my God,” said Asher with a shudder as soon as she disappeared. “That woman is frightening! ”
    “Just wait til you see her head spin completely around,” Ember muttered. “You’re lucky she doesn’t know you’re a friend of mine or she might have taken you back to her web to feed to her offspring.”
    He grimaced. “And I thought my mother was bad.”
    “Stepmother,” Ember corrected. “And don’t even start, your mother is amazing.”
    Ember had met Asher’s mother twice when she’d come to visit from Boston. Valeria was zaftig, noisy, and hugged everyone in sight. She wore a rosary of freshwater pearls that was swallowed by her voluminous cleavage, regularly made the sign of the cross over her chest, and cooked authentic northern Italian food so delicious Ember thought she’d died and gone to heaven. Asher was her youngest, the “baby” of six, and her favorite. He complained about her in that way favorite sons do, all grumbling and grousing with nothing substantial behind it, secure in the knowledge he was loved.
    That’s how it is for people who know they’re loved. They have the luxury of being dismissive of love, of taking it for granted. But for the unlucky ones who live day after day with no one who cares whether they live or die, they know exactly what it is they’re missing. And unlike the lucky ones, they ache for love so badly the emptiness inside becomes a thing that pounds and burns, a need so vast and deep there is no end to it, and no bottom.
    “Well, at least she lives three thousand miles away. If I had to see her every day, I’d kill myself.”
    “Yeah,” said Ember sourly. “I know the feeling.”
    He smiled sympathetically at her. “Bet you can’t guess why I’m