"Whitley Strieber - Cat Magic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Strieber Whitley)

She looked around her. Everything was brown and sad. Since George had bought it from his brother, it
hadтАФif possibleтАФgotten even worse. There was an open chill on it now, as if hate was glaring into every
room, from the walls, the doors, the very air. There was no more hypocrisy here, at least. The body of
the house now reflected its soul.

Standing in the family room, Amanda felt the weight of the place. She remembered one awful night when
she had come in from watchingтАФalmost participating inтАФthe Halloween ritual on the Collier estate. Her
father had slammed her up against that very wall. тАЬNever, never get near that place!тАЭ His voice had been
desolate with sorrow.

What would he think now? In a few days she was going to be working with Constance Collier.

She wouldn't participate in witchcraft. She had no time for such fantasies. Of course, it would be
interesting to learn more about what went on at the estate.

She dropped down onto the old couch, the same one that had been here in her childhood. She was
twenty and living on her own when she discovered that it was not necessary to be sad. Life could be rich
and fulfilling. There was an aesthetic to living that had to be carefully learned, though, or there was the
danger of falling down the same pit that had swallowed her parents, the pit of spiritual bankruptcy and
moral indifference.

Through the dirty glass sliding doors she could see the backyard. The old maple where she had spent so
many summer hours was still here, and her throat tightened a little to see it. Ten years ago she might have
been in that maple on an afternoon like this, sitting in the palace of leaves.

Ten years. The silences were growing longer. Her relationships with her parents continued, dragging
themselves out in her mind. If she had to stay here, memories that were now no more than haunting
would soon become unbearable.

She hoped that Constance Collier would have some space for her out on the estate. Then this hard
journey would become much easier.

The only thing that would ever have brought her back to Maywell was Constance Collier. Now she was
here, chosen to paint the illustrations for the renowned writer's new translation of Grimni's. It was the
biggest and best commission she had ever had.

Mandy had come a long way for a twenty-three-year-old woman. A long, hard way. Of course the
Catdecott Award for her Rose and Dragon illustrations had helped. She believed that the work itself,
though, was what had attracted the secretive and distant Constance Collier's attention to an anonymous
former townie.

She could create whole, complete worlds in her imagination, and paint them down to the last strand of
golden hair.

Hands dropped onto her shoulders. тАЬOh!тАЭ

тАЬSorry. I didn't mean to startle you.тАЭ

тАЬUncle George.тАЭ