Orpheus and the Pearl & Nevermore Read Online Free PDF Page B

this tarted-up bit of
fluff?”
    It seemed to Catherine that she felt Mrs.
Wallston slam into her before she saw her move or heard her shriek.
But she must’ve seen her, for she had instinctively raised her
right arm to protect herself. The nails of Mrs. Wallston’s right
hand raked Catherine’s cheek, as her other arm grabbed Catherine’s,
and those hideously beautiful eyes, narrowed now in rage, lunged
toward her. Catherine barely kept from falling as Mrs. Wallston,
oblivious to either decency or pain, clamped her jaws down on the
forearm Catherine had raised in defense. Her teeth were no danger
through the leather, but Catherine wondered at the force of her
bite; it seemed much more powerful than what the human jaw muscles
should be able to exert. Dr. Wallston had grabbed his wife from
behind and was shouting for her to stop, but for several seconds
all three of them were struggling, before he got her off and put
himself between the two women. He had a hold of his wife’s shoulder
as he looked to Catherine. “You’re hurt. Are you all right?”
    Catherine could only nod,
tasting the blood as it trickled down to her mouth from the four
gashes on her cheek. She was panting for breath after the
unexpected assault, and she could see that Mrs. Wallston stood
impassively, not breathing at all, and with a grotesque attempt at a smile curling
her lips. Dr. Wallston still tried to take control of the
situation. “Victoria, will you please stop?! This is
serious.”
    Mrs. Wallston wrenched her
shoulder free of his grip and took a step back. “What’s serious,
Percy, is how hungry I am. The same gnawing hunger you’ve condemned
me to every minute of this purgatory. With all your foolishness
about bringing an Irish nurse-maid into the house, at least I can
count on long-suffering Romwald to fix a decent steak.” She
shrugged. “Have your esteemed colleague join us, if you must.” She
fixed her hellish gaze again on Catherine. “I don’t care about your
cold comfort or pity, doctor , so
long as I get some steak and scotch that are both warm. I feel a
little chilly.”
     
    Catherine had removed her Medieval garb and
stanched the bleeding of her cheek, but foregone a bandage. The
deepest gash, from Mrs. Wallston’s middle finger, might leave a
scar, but the other three were barely noticeable even now.
    Mrs. Wallston was at the far end of the table, the
sunlight from the window behind her throwing her front into shadow.
Dr. Wallston was at the middle of the table and rose when Catherine
entered. The seat closest to the door was empty, and Romwald
appeared from the door to the kitchen and pulled it out for her. In
front of her and Dr. Wallston were bowls of a potato and onion
soup. As discreetly as possible, so as not to incite another
incident, Catherine glanced at Mrs. Wallston’s plate and saw four
paper thin slices of steak. Even from this distance across the
table, the shiny redness of both the meat itself and the blood that
pooled on the plate were vivid and nauseating to Catherine. Next to
the bloody plate was a water tumbler of scotch, the amber liquid
swirling with the oily currents of strong liquor.
    Mrs. Wallston fell to her carnivorous repast
with gusto, while Catherine and Dr. Wallston sipped more daintily
at their soup. Mrs. Wallston made little attempt at conforming to
typical table manners, smacking as she chewed and slurping the
scotch. Catherine could swear she heard the clacking of the rocks
inside the dead woman, and once again she had to exert herself to
keep her stomach from heaving. When Mrs. Wallston belched loudly,
they ignored it, but the second time Dr. Wallston tried to
intervene, however mildly. “Victoria, please, we have a guest.”
    Mrs. Wallston looked up from her plate for
the first time. Now her lips were obscenely painted a glistening
crimson from the bleeding meat. She took up the scotch for a long
gulp, which at least had the benefit of mostly clearing the blood
from around her