Ginny had thought herself a fairytale princess, but now she felt more like a spy. Snooping through her husband’s possessions, sneaking out the back of the tailors to track down the name she’d found--- all she needed was a ring filled with poison. Or a note written in code. She would use her hatpin to stab anyone who tried to hurt her. Ginny told herself she should have a spy name—an alias they called it. Like Carmen. Or Blanche. No—Genevieve—Yes---Genevieve. She had always liked the name Genevieve. She could be a Genevieve.
No.
She was being a fool. Telling herself that she was strong, that she was crafty, that she hadn’t spent this entire trip resisting the impulse to scream and run at any unexpected noise. That the goosebumps on her neck are only from the biting, autumn air. That each step she took, boots crunching on the dead, beautiful leaves, wasn’t really that loud. She used her stories like medicine to salve her fears and homesickness, to energize her, but Ginny knows she needs something different now. As Mother had said: one type of medicine can’t cure everything.
She must act.
Ginny arrives at 176 Queen Peony Court. The house’s door is green, the silver doorknocker a ring of a snake eating its own tail. Ginny uses it to knock. Nothing happens; she doesn’t knock again, only waits for a moment. The door opens.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m here for Mala—Mr. Malatan.”
“Do you have an appointment, Miss ---?”
“Mrs. Richard Templeton.” She answers before she can think. “And, no, I don’t.”
“Mrs.---Mrs. Templeton, please come inside. Follow me.”
Inside, the house’s only decoration is a rug running from the foyer, where they stand now, and into a nearby hallway. Thrown over the house’s dark wood floors, the rug’s ends are tasseled, its design a pattern of red and soft yellow roses. Ginny thinks it pretty.
“This way, Ma’am.”
The old butler follows the same path as the rug; Ginny realizes that it goes all the way to the end of the hall. They pass a door on the left, one on the right, another on the left, and when Ginny, still walking, glances down she almost stops. The rug is patterned with snakes. Black and silver snakes in rings, eating their own tails and interlocking with each other. No, that wasn’t right. The rug had been red. But they have reached the end of the hall. The butler knocks on the door, and Ginny adjusts her gloves taking one last look around.
There is a painting of a woman. Her hair is unbound, and she holds a golden arrow in one hand, a stemmed orange in the other. She is naked. Ginny is shocked but less disturbed by the nudity than she is by the eye. The eye between the woman’s breasts. A huge eye. Staring at her as she stares at it.
This is occult.
Ginny knows nothing about the occult but knows this occult. She feels it. She realizes the rug—the rug. This person—this Malatan---does magic. She needs to leave.
She glances at the butler. He waits by the open door to Matalan’s office. Just as she should’ve known this place was a place of magic, she should’ve known her husband was involved with the occult. There was no other explanation what she heard, what she felt coming out of his study.
This place is dangerous—Ginny should leave—but leaving is dangerous too.
Mrs. Richard Templeton (3), Set #1 - Large Straight
No.
She was being a fool. Telling herself that she was strong, that she was crafty, that she hadn’t spent this entire trip resisting the impulse to scream and run at any unexpected noise. That the goosebumps on her neck are only from the biting, autumn air. That each step she took, boots crunching on the dead, beautiful leaves, wasn’t really that loud. She used her stories like medicine to salve her fears and homesickness, to energize her, but Ginny knows she needs something different now. As Mother had said: one type of medicine can’t cure everything.
She must act.
Ginny arrives at 176 Queen Peony Court. The house’s door is green, the silver doorknocker a ring of a snake eating its own tail. Ginny uses it to knock. Nothing happens; she doesn’t knock again, only waits for a moment. The door opens.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m here for Mala—Mr. Malatan.”
“Do you have an appointment, Miss ---?”
“Mrs. Richard Templeton.” She answers before she can think. “And, no, I don’t.”
“Mrs.---Mrs. Templeton, please come inside. Follow me.”
Inside, the house’s only decoration is a rug running from the foyer, where they stand now, and into a nearby hallway. Thrown over the house’s dark wood floors, the rug’s ends are tasseled, its design a pattern of red and soft yellow roses. Ginny thinks it pretty.
“This way, Ma’am.”
The old butler follows the same path as the rug; Ginny realizes that it goes all the way to the end of the hall. They pass a door on the left, one on the right, another on the left, and when Ginny, still walking, glances down she almost stops. The rug is patterned with snakes. Black and silver snakes in rings, eating their own tails and interlocking with each other. No, that wasn’t right. The rug had been red. But they have reached the end of the hall. The butler knocks on the door, and Ginny adjusts her gloves taking one last look around.
There is a painting of a woman. Her hair is unbound, and she holds a golden arrow in one hand, a stemmed orange in the other. She is naked. Ginny is shocked but less disturbed by the nudity than she is by the eye. The eye between the woman’s breasts. A huge eye. Staring at her as she stares at it.
This is occult.
Ginny knows nothing about the occult but knows this occult. She feels it. She realizes the rug—the rug. This person—this Malatan---does magic. She needs to leave.
She glances at the butler. He waits by the open door to Matalan’s office. Just as she should’ve known this place was a place of magic, she should’ve known her husband was involved with the occult. There was no other explanation what she heard, what she felt coming out of his study.
This place is dangerous—Ginny should leave—but leaving is dangerous too.
She walks through the door.