Usher's Passing Read Online Free PDF Page A

His broad, handsome face was almost free of lines, though he was only three months shy of his thirty-seventh birthday; he might easily have passed for twenty-five. His full, wavy hair was a darker shade of brown than his brother's, and his clear, deepset eyes were amber with dark green flecks. He was husky and broad-shouldered, and he looked in the prime of health. "Sorry about your attack," he told Rix. "I wouldn't have pulled such a stupid trick if I'd been thinkin' right. I saw the thing hangin' in a magic shop's window on the way over here, and I thought... I don't know, I thought you might get a kick out of it. Do you know I haven't had an attack for over six months? And the last one wasn't too bad—it was over in about three or four minutes. Maybe I've forgotten how bad they can be." He turned away from the window to look at his brother— and froze.
    It was almost a year since he'd last seen Rix, and he was stunned at the way his brother had changed. In the light, all the fine wrinkles and lines on Rix's face resembled cracks in porcelain. Rix's pewter-colored eyes were red-rimmed and weary, his high forehead deeply furrowed. Though Rix was four years younger than Boone, he appeared to be at least forty-five. He looked emaciated and sickly, and Boone saw that gray was spreading at his temples. "Rix," he whispered. "God Almighty! What's happened to you?"
    "I've been sick," Rix replied, but he knew that wasn't all of it. In truth, he didn't exactly know what was happening to him—other than that his attacks were vicious and unpredictable, his sleep was continually jarred by nightmares, and he felt seventy years old. "I guess I've been working too hard." He eased himself down into a chair—carefully, because his bones were still throbbing.
    "Listen. You need to start eatin' steaks to build up your blood." Boone puffed out his chest. "I eat a steak a day, and look at me! Healthy as a stud hoss."
    "Great," Rix said. "How'd you know I was here?"
    "You called Katt and told her you were flying up from Atlanta to meet with your agent today, didn't you? Where else would you stay but this old dump when you're visiting New York?"
    Rix nodded. The De Peyser Hotel had been purchased in 1847 by Hudson Usher, when it was a magnificent Gothic showplace towering over the rough harbor city. As Rix understood it, Hudson Usher's gunpowder company, based near Asheville, North Carolina, shipped tremendous quantities of powder and lead bullets to Europe through New York City; Hudson had wanted to keep an eye on the middlemen, and had outfitted this suite with a rubber-walled Quiet Room, in case he was stricken with an attack. The Quiet Room had remained virtually unchanged, used by generations of Ushers, as the suite gradually became more tawdry. Rix surmised that his father, Walen, was only holding on to the De Peyser until he got a good offer from a co-op builder. The family rarely left Usherland, their rambling estate twenty miles north of Asheville.
    "You shouldn't work so hard. When's your next book coming out?" Boone poured himself another drink of Scotch and sat down again. When he lifted the glass to his mouth, light sparkled off the large diamond pinky ring he wore. "It's been a long time since Fire Fingers, hasn't it?"
    "I've just finished a new book."
    "Oh yeah? When's it comin' out?"
    "Maybe next summer." He was amazed that the lie came so easily.
    Boone propped his feet up again. "You ought to write a real book, Rix. You know, something that could really happen. That horror shit is junk. Why don't you write a book you'd be proud to sign your real name to?"
    "Let's don't get into that again, okay?" Every time he got near Boone, he wound up defending his choice of subject matter.
    Boone shrugged. "Suits me. Just seems to me there must be somethin' a little wrong with people who write shit like that."
    "I know you didn't come here to discuss my literary career," Rix said. "What's going on?"
    Boone paused to take a swallow of his