At the Twilight's Last Gleaming Read Free Page B

was coming toward us!
    “Oh my god, is he going to talk to me?” I muttered. “Why would Peter want to talk to me?”
    “Maybe he knows about what’s in the bag,” said Harold. “And what your afternoon plans are.”
    “Nobody knows that. Nobody knows but you and me, Harold.”
    Peter Harrigan moved was about halfway down the table from us. He looked directly at us. When he saw me, he smiled and gave a nice, gentle wave. Then he sat down. Immediately, he opened a book.
    With extreme delicacy, he drew out a pair of reading glasses from a sleek black case, put them on, and absorbed himself in a history book.
    He recognized me!
    We had no classes together. Peter was a senior, and I was a junior. I saw him only when he came into the library while I was manning the front desk during my library period.
    As far as he knew, my vocabulary was limited to “Hi,” and “I’m afraid this book is overdue.”
    “Harold,” I said, kicking his leg.
    “Oh, hi,” said Harold. “Got a history test today, Peter?”
    “Yes,” said Peter. “Well, actually just a quiz.”
    “Uhm – I’m not really much at history but my friend here…. is just the best history scholar you’ve ever seen!”
    “Oh, yes,” said Peter. “You work at the library, don’t you? I’ve seen you.”
    I nodded. It wasn’t one of my more articulate moments.
    “I’m pretty good at American History,” continued Peter. “But this is World History and the teacher, I believe, is a frustrated English scholar with his head in the clouds. All kinds of strange theories. We’re studying the Victorian period now, and I’m at a bit of a loss.”
    The Victorian period!
    I lived in the 19 th Century!
    “Well, as a matter of fact!” I said, suddenly finding my voice.
    It was then that disaster struck.



CHAPTER FOUR
    I N MY VICTORIAN World, the sun had been coming up and shining on me through the smile of my beloved!
    Suddenly, it was a dark and stormy night.
    Disaster! Unmitigated disaster!
    Two dark forms moved like shadows, settling down into seats, separating Peter’s bright eyes from my hopeful smile. One shadow was tall, yet stooped. The other was short and squat. One was male and one was female.
    They looked like cut-outs from a particularly creepy Charles Addams cartoon. They were talking to each other in a kind of loud mumble I could not decipher and didn’t care to at the time.
    Peter, of course, used the opportunity to shrug, wave a kind of sweet toodle-loo, and immerse himself back in his books.
    “Do you two
mind
!” I said, losing control. “We were just having a conversation here!”
    “Pardon?” said the guy.
    His head was covered in long, limp hair that didn’t look recently washed. He had a long high forehead, and deep set eyes. He had high cheekbones and a sharp regular chin, but any good looks were diminished by the extreme pallor of skin. He had the paleness of a dead earthworm you find washed up on your sidewalk after a storm.
    His companion was a short lump of a girl, dressed in black, with limp black hair too, but with a doughy face too, pale and not much character. Only her eyes showed any life about her. They had a kind of dim, almost interesting glow.
    “Good morning, Rebecca,” said the guy.
    “Good morning,” I said, with cutting politeness. “You kind of interrupted us.” I whispered pleadingly.: “Could you move?”
    “Move?” said the girl. The glow in her eyes turned a bit crimson, almost baleful.
    “Ummm…or how about this,” said Harold. “We trade places, okay. Only six minutes till the bell. What’s the harm?”
    The guy’s eyebrow furrowed. He got a look of righteous indignation on his face, flavored with a bit of hurt.
    I knew this guy.
    Not well, but I’d talked to him.
    His name was Emory Clarke. He was the son of a U.S. Senator who’d been in Congress since before Emory had been born.
    Emory Clarke had a soft-spoken Southern accent and seemed to have more manners than your average high