“Forgive me such crude sentiment, beloved...but I think it was a mistake for you to come here.” The mahogany-haired woman said to her husband while she reached to touch his white face, both of them shrouded by the incomplete darkness of their balcony box, the most famous balcony box in the world. “You don’t look as though you feel all that well, of a sudden. Of course, it could just be this dim light. Oh, my...you’re so clammy! Are you all right? I...   read more »

My dear brother, As I know you have not yet met your demise, I am sending you a houseguest to help care for your burns. You were so kind to me about my injuries, how could I possibly ignore yours? Besides, I know you are already quite familiar with her. I believe she comes bearing a gift of olive oil. I deposited an extra 25 mil in your account for good measure. Best, Frater.   (l.85)


Dearest Frater Major, Thanks ever so for the surprise package. As you probably know by now, my treasured valise was a casualty of what turned out to be a most extraordinary train trip. I afforded many years to the collection that I thought had been lost to me forever. However, due to your gracious gift, I have now begun replenishing and replacing the little "doodads" that made my...   read more »

Constance Greene sat in her favorite chair in the mansion at 891 Riverside Drive; she was writing in her journal. Categorizing the events of her day and the emotions that came with them. She heard the front door close; Aloysius Pendergast was home and she heard his shoes drop to the floor.

But wait— She thought. If he’s wearing them why did they drop? They wouldn’t drop if he was wearing them, only if he was carrying them and then let them fall or if—

Constance shut her journal and rose, poking her head cautiously out the door, finding nothing in the immediately hallway, she crossed to the banister overlooking the foyer. Pendergast stood in the hall, his jacket wrapped around a willowy boy with pale blue hair. He held the boy in his arms while Proctor took a backpack from his shoulder and sat it by the door....   read more »

The directions had been difficult to follow, but Pendergast knew he was at the right place. It was in the atmosphere; the lull of the crickets in the tall grasses, the sheen of the afternoon sun warming the still river, the Spanish moss hanging in the trees—even the smell of the woods and the river and something else, a heady vapor on the breeze unlike anything he’d ever smelled before. Something about it made his muscles tighten with trepidation.

He crossed the plank bridge over a tributary to the unpainted, tin-roofed shack, hyperaware of the silence after all the racket that it had taken him so long to grow accustomed to in New York City, where he’d lived for several years. With his steps on the plank bridge, even the crickets had quieted. The sky, reflected in the tea-colored river water, was a bright, beautiful blue. A few cottony clouds...   read more »

They pulled him out of the basement, wide-eyed and soot-covered and shivering through the intense heat. His bad eye had secreted so many tears, trying in vain to counteract the soot and smoke in the air, that it was gummed shut, and the flesh surrounding it was red, raw, and painful. The world had been utterly silent to him, in addition to its customary monochromatic cast, and the activity around him looked, for all intents and purposes, like a manic adventure of the Keystone Cops. He had laughed a little, and well-meaning strangers wrapped him in a blanket and slung their arms over his shoulder and—he knew, although...   read more »

She looked into his extraordinary pale blue eyes, so informed and intelligent, yet infused with an ineffable sadness born of personal tragedy and emotional isolation. Without thinking, she reached up and lightly stroked his fine blond hair.

He stiffened slightly, gazing at her, his pale cheeks slightly flushed, but he did not stay her hand. She caressed his cheek, marveling at the pale beauty of his features and, when he offered no resistance, lightly stroked his long neck, pressing her lips to his skin, feeling his pulse quicken beneath her lips.

He turned to face her, holding her face in his hands, and then gently bringing his lips to hers. She felt a thrill course through her as the kiss intensified. She sighed and moved closer to him, her breasts pressed against his chest, her legs against his hard thighs. She felt his body tremble in an internal struggle for control and...   read more »

Delilah Monroe gazed out over the decadent reception area of the gallery, taking in the spectacle. The hyperindulgent, ridiculous spectacle, she thought uncharitably. She had never really enjoyed large, ritualized social events, and the glamorous opening of a major New York art gallery…well, it hardly got larger or more ritualized than this. But she couldn’t afford to let these feelings interfere, especially not tonight. The first person you have to sell when you’re selling lies, her father had taught her, is yourself. And of course he was perfectly right. Delilah inhaled slowly, assuming her role. I’m a perfectly respectable individual and I’m here for perfectly innocent reasons, she told herself. I’m a successful author, everybody knows me, and I’ve never actually broken the law (which was, she thought wryly, actually the truth). I have no plans to break any laws tonight. I’m just here to support my brother in...   read more »

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