House Infernal by Edward Lee Read Free

its end while he talked. "When your
mother told me about the assignment, at first I thought
she said fry house. I thought, That's just great. I put my
daughter through college so she can work the fryer at a
fish-and-chips joint."
    "Your father's being ridiculous, as always, dear." Maxine Barlow thrust her bosom between the seats. Venetia's
mother would be called "pleasingly plump" now that
she'd arrived into her midforties: a stereotypical New En gland housewife who was always preparing for a Tupperware party or the Saturday night spaghetti dinner and
fund-raiser at the church. She always wore smocklike print
dresses and old-fashioned Earth Shoes. "Motherly" was a
good word for her, chunky but still curvaceous, and with a
hefty bosom that still turned heads. Her shoulder-length
hair was a mix of blond, brown, and gray. "A prior house,
or priory as they're sometimes called, is like a monastery.
Surely, Richard, you know what a monastery is."

    "Yeah, our bedroom." Then Venetia's father broke out
into a very uncharacteristic round of laughter.
    All Verietia's mother did was smile and bat her eyes.
"See what happens when you let animals out of their
cages, Venetia?" Her smile beamed. "We'll see how hard
he laughs tonight when I stick that absolutely ludicrous
pipe right up his-"
    "Mom!" Venetia exclaimed.
    Her father smiled back over his shoulder. "Don't worry,
Venetia. Your mother thinks of herself as far too cultured
to use the word 'ass."'
    "He's right, honey. And after we drop you off, I'm going to spend the whole ride home thinking of a nice alternate word for the thing I'm going to kick tonight."
    Richard Barlow chuckled through the pipe. "Sounds
like it might be a pretty good weekend after all."
    Jeez, Venetia thought. Those two. She'd only been back
home for several days, and her parents' jovial sniping was
already wearing her out. But it had been her mother
who'd gotten Father Driscoll to send the recommendation
to the university. Most field studies for theology students
involved little more than endless research at church libraries and diocesan archives. But ... restoring a Prior
House by a famous Vatican architect?
    The prospect sounded fascinating.
    Since she'd been back, the neighbors had all parroted
the same sentiment: "Oh, my gosh, Venetia, we're so
proud of you! You're about to get a college degree after
only two years! That's amazing!" It seemed, however, that
the only person not impressed by this feat was Venetia herself. Big deal, she concluded. If I'd worked harder, I
could've gotten it in a year and a half. She was at least proud
of her discipline to remain goal-oriented. The rest of life
will come later. For me, now, it's school, and then.-. .

    That's what she wasn't sure about yet. The then.
    She'd been worrying too much, and that wasn't like
her. Why worry? She'd only just turned twenty-one. I'm
young, she reminded herself every day. I don't have to decide right now if I really want to become a nun....
    Up front, Venetia's parents were bickering over radio
stations. "Come on, Maxine, the Sox have the damn Yankees at home!" "Just ... shut up, dear, while I find the
gospel station." Venetia was grateful for the break. A bad
night's sleep left her limp in the backseat. She tried to let
her thoughts disband by watching the beautiful New
Hampshire countryside sweep by in the window. Thank
God it's summer. The summers up here were a marvel of
nature; it was the winters that had dragged Venetia down
during childhood and adolescence. Too depressing. She
thought that going to school in Washington, DC, would
be something of a relief from all the snow ... but all she
got instead were ice storms and rain. At least the
weather-not to mention the crime wave-had kept her
inside most of the time, to focus on her studies.
    Eventually, she caught herself nodding in and out of
sleep as she tried to watch the rolling green fields beyond
the window. That weird dream, she