Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) Read Free Page B

fork in her right hand while manipulating the keyboard with her left.
    She scanned a long list of spam, searching for the rare gem of a personal message. From Daniel, nothing.
    There was only one address she recognized. From Dr. Tom Gregory, the message was headed, “Our meetings.”
    A thin breath escaped between Stevie’s teeth as she clicked Read.
    Dear Miss Silverwood, I’m dropping you a line to see how you are. I’m sorry that you couldn’t make our six-monthly follow-up—glancing at my calendar, I see that it’s nearly a year since we last spoke. Please do drop me a line or phone the office to make an appointment so I can fit you in before Christmas. You’ve made wonderful progress but I must emphasize the importance of continuity. It’s all too easy for clients to slip back into difficulties, so this is just a friendly reminder that I’m always here for you, a phone call away. I appreciate you are busy, but it is so important that we keep up our regular chats. I look forward to seeing you soon.

    Yours,
    Dr. Gregory
    Stevie paused, feeling a small flame of annoyance in her stomach. She closed the message and pressed Delete.
    The lasagna was a disappointing mush. She mentally kicked herself for forgetting to buy chocolate cookies. There might be a can of peaches in the cupboard. Perhaps she could mix the juice with her wine to create a sort of cut-price peach Bellini. Grimacing, she washed away the fatty cheese taste with more wine, undiluted.
    She paused to watch the television news. There were floods devastating a Caribbean island, an earthquake near Pakistan’s mountainous border. Film was shown of people wandering about covered in dust, weeping, devastated. She changed the channel. Her throat tightened and she felt guilty for turning away, but there was so much devastation every day that her emotional reservoir was dry.
    She opened her web browser and tapped Daniel’s name into the search engine.
    There weren’t many results, but the most useful appeared at the top: a website for the Jellybean Factory, an arts and media cooperative in North London with studios, offices and function space to rent. It was so long since she’d heard from Daniel, over a year, she’d forgotten he worked there until the parcel came. She clicked the link, clicked again on “Daniel Manifold” in the list of artists in residence.
    There was only one example of his work: a thumbnail of the triptych he’d sent her. The auburn-haired sorceress stood in all her mystical glory, one hand raising a crystal globe to the heavens, the other pointing to a boiling-yellow crack in the earth.
    The title was Aurata’s Promise .
    The accompanying text was minimal. “Daniel Manifold is a twenty-eight-year-old from the Midlands who works with a mixture of materials to create ‘Icons for the New Age.’” A few more words described his background, and noted that he’d been at the studio for two years. He was just a name in a long list of artists, designers, filmmakers. The only contact number was for the Jellybean Factory itself.
    Stevie put her dirty plate in the sink, picked up the telephone. She dialed, but got an answering machine; of course, they were probably closed by now.
    Was it his own decision, to offer so little information? That was hardly great publicity. If he wanted the world to see his work, surely there were better ways. Websites, exhibitions … She took the folded note from a pocket and reread it. Sorry can’t explain. D.
    Just not right. Crawling anxiety threw the world off-kilter. The ceilings seemed to press down, and she glimpsed the pale shape again, like a tiny leopard lying, tail swishing, along the arm of the sofa.
    It had to be a visual anomaly, seen from the corner of her eye. She’d even joked to Fin about her “ghost cat,” but the apparition always unsettled her. Not knowing what it meant , that was the worst. She half-wished she’d gone to Fin’s after all, rather than stay home alone with her