本帖最后由 sammy 于 2012-6-26 18:38 编辑
Smoke
by Michael Gallowglas
The door at the end of the alley gaped open, and Charmagne Constance convinced herself that the prickling the hairs on the back of her skull was because she'd stepped from the dusty street into the shaded alleyway. Yes. That's why the sweat running down the backs of her ears, her sides, and her legs suddenly chilled. It had nothing to do with the darkness behind the door looking like some void waiting to suck her in. She'd corresponded with Nigel St. James for the better part of a year, and he had helped her focus her talents in order to defend against those who would prey on her. Steadying herself, Charmagne headed for the door.
Garbage littered the grounds, obscuring several sleeping vagrants obviously seeking solace from the mid-day heat. Just outside the door, sat an old lady, face a map of wrinkles. A hand-rolled cigarette smoldered between her lips, and at least half a dozen bottles lay scattered around her. The lady's eyes focused on some faraway time or place.
Charmagne went up to the door, and called in, "Mr. St. James? It's Charmagne. May I come in?"
"You may," a deep voice said, "but on the condition that you call me the Nigel. I believe we should proceed as equals. While my knowledge is considerable, your talent far outstrips mine."
Charmagne went inside. Her head swam as she inhaled the pungent smoke wafting through the room. A voluminous man lounged in a wicker chair. Even in his immaculately tailored suit, she could see the rolls of his arms and hips spilling over the edges of the chair. A platter of pastries lay on the table before him, next to a large hookah.
"Please sit," Nigel waved to a seat across from him, "and we will discuss how the Silver Twilight can best use your talents."
Charmagne sat. Nigel opened the hookah and loaded it with tobacco. Then he took a single dried rose petal and placed it on top of the tobacco before lighting it. Nigel puffed, filling the room with even more smoke. Charmagne coughed. Her head swam. Nigel's form blurred.
"Oh, yes." The voice sounded as if it came from far away. "We can definitely use your talent."
Hours later, as dusk came, the aged hag who sat outside the dark, gaping doorway shifted over about a foot. The pretty thing that had gone to see Nigel St. James should be coming out right about...
She shuffled out of the doorway, and slumped to the ground. Her dark eyes were sunken, almost hollow. Her lips had already begun to thin, and wrinkles formed on the backs of her hands. Bits of grey had begun to streak throughout her now disheveled hair.
"This will take the edge off." The woman, who had only been this ancient thing for a few months, handed a cigarette to the young lady.
"How long?" the not-so-pretty thing asked.
"Until he uses your talent."
"And then?"
The old lady waved to the vagrants - no, not vagrants, corpses - lying throughout the alley.
The girl who was once Charmagne took a drag off the cigarette and reached for a bottle.
BH开工
