The Readaholics and the Gothic Gala Read Online Free PDF

spotlights might be.
    â€œSure do,” she said. “I took tech theater last semester.”
    â€œGreat. We need some light on the stage.”
    â€œNot a prob.” She disappeared up a side aisle and soon the muted clangs of sneakers on metal drifted down. Moments later, three spotlights illuminated the stage, and the floodlights beamed on, as well, blinding me. I blinked my eyes rapidly until they adjusted. Then, the three of us draped the display tables in the dark blue cloths I’d brought, and arranged the auction items upon them. The visiting authors had donated copies of their books, and each offered the opportunity for a winning bidder to name a character in her next book. Gemma had put together baskets with six or eight gothic-themed books, the local movie theater had donated a popcorn bucket that they would fill for a year, and the closest winery had supplied a bottle of Cabernet. Other Heaven merchants had donated auction items, as well. Pride of place went to the three first-edition books, which I propped up on display easels. One was Victoria Holt’s
Mistress of Mellyn
, the second was Phyllis Whitney’s
The Moonflower
, and the third was by Mary Stewart.
    â€œI’m going to buy this,” Brooke said decisively, running a finger down the spine of
Nine Coaches Waiting
. “I loved Mary Stewart and Victoria Holt and Phyllis Whitney when I was in high school. Loved them! It’ll be fun to have a first edition. Maybe I’ll become a serious book collector. Have you finished
Rebecca
?”
    â€œI’m two chapters from the end. I’ll be done before we meet tomorrow. I’m a little weirded out that theheroine doesn’t even have a name. What’s up with that?”
    â€œI want the new Mary Stewart to use my name for a character in her next book,” Axie said. She held the certificate that announced that opportunity. “Maybe she’d make me a vampire. That would be sick. I’ve got forty-three dollars saved from babysitting. Do you think that will be enough?”
    â€œI have no idea,” I said truthfully. I wouldn’t pay twenty cents to have my name in a book, but I remembered reading somewhere that people paid a lot (usually in auctions, like this one, that benefited a cause) to have a famous author use their names.
    â€œDid you enter the writing contest, Axie?” Brooke asked.
    The girl shook her head. “Nah. Lo wanted me to—she said it would look good on my college applications—but I don’t much like creative writing. A friend of mine, Thea, did, though, and she’s a finalist!”
    Entries for the short story contest had been due two weeks ago and had undergone a preliminary judging by Gemma and my mother, who was not only a former librarian but also a prolific book reviewer. They had whittled the entries down to three, which a local actor would read aloud this afternoon. The guest authors, who had been e-mailed copies of the finalists’ stories to select the best one, would announce the winner and award him or her a gift certificate to Book Bliss. I had the finalists’ stories in a file folder and I placed it inside the podium’s cubby.
    â€œI’m starving,” Brooke announced. “Do yourindentured servants get lunch?” She slung an arm around Axie’s shoulders.
    â€œSure,” I said, taking a twenty out of my wallet. “You fly, I’ll buy. I don’t want to leave this stuff unattended now that it’s set up. And I’ve got to put up the signs.” I pointed to a stack of signs I’d had made, directing people from the high school’s front doors to the auditorium.
    â€œI’ll stay,” Axie volunteered. “I can put up the signs and then do some homework if you’ll bring me back a sandwich.”
    â€œHomework?” I said suspiciously. “On a Saturday afternoon?”
    She grinned sheepishly. “Well, there’s this guy