Amulet of Doom Read Free Page A

night with one of her girlfriends, she realized how much she would miss the creaky old place she had called home for so long. There was something different about a house that had been lived in—a sense of ongoing life, a kind of old-shoe comfort that she never felt in a newer place.
    â€œIsn’t that right, Brick?” she asked the cat, as if he could read her mind.
    Brick looked at her as if he couldn’t believe his ears. Then he reached out a paw and batted her on the side of the face.
    â€œBe that way,” she said, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground. He meowed in protest and began rubbing about her legs to be picked back up.
    She ignored him and turned her thoughts back to the house. The fact that the place really belonged to Zenobia, that she had lived here as a girl herself, made it even more special. Her ownership was also the reason that Marilyn’s parents, even though they paid a respectable rent, could hardly refuse Zenobia whenever she decided to visit. Marilyn was glad of that. Given their own way, they would probably have tried to find some excuse to make the old woman stay at the Kennituck Falls Motel.
    She tried to imagine life without Zenobia. The prospect was so dull it made her shudder.
    She heard the thump of a basketball on asphalt coming from Kyle’s driveway, and the excited shouts of her brother and his friend. The sounds made her feel lonely. Rubbing her arms against the cool of the breeze, which was starting to pick up strength, she hurried back to the house.
    Brick, still feeling affectionate, followed at her heels.
    In her room she stripped off her jeans and blouse and burrowed into an old flannel nightgown. The pink plaid fabric was far from glamorous, but it did have the virtues of being warm, soft, and exceedingly comfortable.
    Marilyn popped the cast album from Carousel , her favorite Broadway show, into the CD player, then flopped across her bed and tried to figure out her aunt’s curious behavior on the porch. Brick curled up on her back and began to rumble his deep, familiar purr.
    After a round of intense but unproductive thought Marilyn decided to chalk Zenobia’s mood up to the peculiarities that accompany genius, forget it, and go to sleep.
    Hours later she was still wide awake. She tossed and turned, practiced deep breathing, and even tried counting sheep. It was no use. Sleep would not come.
    She was not used to being awake at this time of night. Usually she dropped right off.
    She sat up in bed. The silence was driving her out of her mind.
    Heaving a sigh, she went to her dresser and picked up her brush. She looked in the mirror and grimaced as she began to work the brush through her tangles. Anyone named Sparks should be spared the burden of having such bright red hair.
    Well , she thought as she began the vigorous brushing, at least I was spared the freckles .
    Somewhere after the thirtieth stroke she heard a knock at her door.
    Marilyn paused, the brush still in her hair. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand.
    It was after two.
    â€œWho is it?” she asked softly.
    The door opened a crack; Zenobia peered into the room. A smile creased her face. “Thank goodness you’re still awake. I have to talk to you!”
    Marilyn put down her brush and crossed to the door. “Come in,” she said, swinging it open. She was delighted to see her aunt. But she was also very confused—and a little frightened. Because in Zenobia’s eye she had caught a glimpse, brief but unmistakable, of something she had never expected to see there.
    She had caught a glimpse of fear.
    And the idea of something that could make Zenobia Calkins afraid sent shivers trembling up and down Marilyn’s spine.
    A moment later Zenobia was sitting cross-legged on Marilyn’s bed. She wore a loose-fitting cotton gown and a white linen robe. Except for her white hair, now hanging loose and long over her shoulders, from behind she would have looked