BooksBarbecue
Back Black Ambrosia Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  3. Acknowledgments
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. About the Author
  46. About the Cover

I fixed some toast and a cup of tea and sat at my rickety table, worried about the coming evening at the Yacht Club. I would be socializing with older people, people of experience, people with wisdom. How would I appear to them?

I worried that the darkness would overcome me in the midst of a mature crowd, that my behavior would turn bizarre; I worried that this, my first actual social event, would turn bad, and I would have to leave Seven Slopes in fear and shame, like I had left so many places before.

I spread marmalade on my toast and regarded it. My appetite had fled. How on earth did people accomplish their social obligations? Didn’t the stress and tension of it all ruin the experience? Did anyone truly find pleasure in it?

Maybe others just accepted life. Maybe they just accepted their behavior as the manifestation of their personality, and nothing to be ashamed of. Well, it was certainly worth a try. I had made so many strides in Seven Slopes, keeping a tight rein on myself. I couldn’t let fear of my behavior cripple me.

I would go to the Yacht Club and let whatever would happen . . . happen. With this decision, the burden of life seemed to lift from my shoulders. I had no need to fight anymore, I could relax. I began to look forward to the approaching evening.

Then it happened.

I was barely awake, toying with my toast, still groggy from my long sleep. I was feeling a bit of Christmas melancholy, reminiscent, wrapped in a cocoon of my own thoughts, when suddenly it felt like the bottom of my mind dropped out and I fell through, down into a huge void. My stomach lurched, and then—I was face-­to-­face with Boyd. We saw each other only long enough to both register astonishment, and then like a yo-­yo, I was snapped back, the trapdoor slammed shut, and I was sitting in front of my cold toast, sweat gushing from my pores and my head reeling.

I thought for a moment that I would faint.

I made my way back to my bed and lay down, filled with wonder at the vivid hallucination, wonder­ing what possible significance it could have.

The next thing I knew, it was eight o’clock.

Four hours had passed. Four hours with no memory. I hadn’t slept; I knew I hadn’t slept. Panic gripped me. I knew where I’d been. I’d just spent four hours with Her—four hours with the owner of those lips, with the voice of the dark, the music of my dreams. Four hours with the force that had driven me insane in Westwater. Four hours with no memory of it. What had she done to me?