Holly Lisle - Minerva Wakes

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2024-12-14 0 0 389.04KB 240 页 5.9玖币
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CHAPTER 1
"No! Please don't shoot!" The hospital's data processing
director groveled in the aisle. "I'll never do it again, I prom-
ise! Just let me live—" Mrs. Mindley was on her knees,
begging and sobbing. Minerva had. waited a long time to see
her like that.
"Too late, you inconsiderate cow—you've blocked the
aisle one time too many. Now you die!" The machine gun
in Minerva's hands jumped and. snarled, and Minerva
gleefully splattered hits of Mrs. Mindley over the entire
soup section.
Minerva Kiakra's lips curled into a tight smile as she imag-
ined that scene. It- beat reality. Reality was that Mrs-.
Mindley's shopping cart angled across most of the
Soup/Sauce/Pasta aisle, allowing no passage, while Mrs-
Mindley's wide-load rear end blocked the rest. The woman
bent over the display of Tomato and Rice soup, carefully
choosing cans—Minerva was unable to determine the
method the other woman was using to establish can ripe-
ness, but three out of every tour of the little suckers were
obviously failing some sort of test.
The Chicken and Noodle soup was tantalizingly within
view, and completely out of reach.
"***Chicken and Noodle soup—6 cans!!!" Dariyl had
marked on the shopping list.
2 HoUy Lisle
Minerva stared at the list, and gritted her teeth, and
waited.
But patience wasn't going to work. Minerva suspected
malice in Mrs. Minctle/s glacial slowness. She was going to
have to be direct. Toughness was what the situation called
for, she decided.
She cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Mrs. Mindley, but
I'm in a huny."
The woman didn't even look up. She just waved her hand
in one of those dismissive "wait a minute" gestures that
meant she'd move when she was damned good and ready,
and not before.
Minerva raised her voice a notch. "Mrs. Mindley, I need
to get past you."
Her voice sounded contemptible and pleading in her own
ears. She could imagine how it sounded to Mrs. Mindley—
and sure enough, the woman continued to ignore her.
Minerva watched her knuckles whiten on the cart handle.
"My baby-sitter needs to get home, and she can't leave until
I get there."
The other woman glared up at her and, with a vicious
snort, moved her cart just enough that Minerva could
squeeze by if she dragged her left shoulder along the shelves
on the opposite side. Naturally, doing that meant all the
boxes of macaroni and spaghetti stacked on chose shelves
toppled to the floor. They rattled loudly behind her, and
Minerva cringed—but the baby-sitter really was in a hurry,
and the weather was building toward a North Carolina ic-e
storm that was going to lock everyone in for a week or bet-
ter. She was miserably short of time. So, feeling guilty, she
left the boxes on the floor, and, as she'd expected, she heard
the old bat snort again.
"The nerve of some people"
Minerva's imagination created a fantasy shopping cart for
her that featured twin-mounted submachine guns on the
front end and a flamethrower at ankle height, and pleased
herself by mentally frying Mrs. Mindley to a cinder after
gunning her down. That would teach the old harridan to
block the aisle. Or to drop a stack of reports on Minerva's
MINERVA WAKES 3
desk and demand that she handle them because they dealt
with data problems in the Administrative, not Data Process-
ing, Department.
Feeling better, Minerva returned to shopping. "Six cans
of Chicken Noodle, some Chicken and Stars for the kids,
and some asparagus soup for me ..." she muttered. Then
she checked the price on the asparagus soup and put it back.
It was a luxury that would have to wait until another time.
She'd have Chicken and Stars with the kids.
She snarled and grumbled her way down the aisles,
checking off Darryl's special items with an extra dash of
venom; Darry! was going on his biennial health kick, which
Minerva knew from experience would last exacdy five days
and would drive the rest of the family nuts in the process.
She also knew from experience that it was easier to give in
to his nonsensical demands than to fight them.
"Wheat germ. Ri-i-i-i-ight. He's going to sprinkle it on a
huge serving of ice cream and cl<um ifs a health treat. And
I'll end up sneaking it into ca-sseniles and homemade cook-
ies for a year to get rid of it." Nevertheless, she did find
some wheat germ and tossed it into the cart.
"Sunflower seeds." She just rolled her eyes and sighed.
She brushed her bangs out of her fcice and surveyed die
list critically. Thank God she was almost done. The cart
would give a junk-food junkie nightmares—it was full of
whole-wheat crackers and bean sprouts, exotic vegetables
and strange fruits, and chicken and fish and expensive lean
ground beef. And this mess, most of which she and the kids-
would eat after Darryl got bored playing fitness expert, was
going to cost twice the usual weekly amount.
She cruised into the cereal aisle in a foul temper.
^WHEATIES-IH—BIG BOX!!! the list demanded.
That was the last other beloved spouse's special items.
Wheaties, for chrissakes, she thought. Uf^h! Not cucn /
kke them.
She marched the entire length of the aisle, looking for
Wheaties. There weren't any.
"Oh, damn," she muttered. Darryl would throw a royal
tantrum. She turned around and looked hack the way .she
4 HoUy Lisle
had come. There, at the very opposite end of the row, on
the very top shelf, a single box of Wheaties sat in lonely
splendor.
She sighed and backtracked, carefully not looking at the
box. If she looked at it, some other shopper was sure to
notice the direction of her glance and decide to beat her to
it. Grocery shopping was a vicious, competitive event even
in good weather. Right before an ice storm, when "Snow-
bound Panic" took over. it became truly bloodthirsty.
However, this time her strategy worked. The box was still
there when she shoved her cart in front of it and reached up.
Her reflexes were a little off. It had been an awful day,
which was segueing into an awful evening. Edgy as she was,
her reach for the Wheaties was more of a desperate grab.
The box was hers—until she tumbled it away with one
clumsy move . . . and saw it grabbed in midair by another
shopper.
Like a wild thing, she faced the devious thief, teeth bared,
warning growl readied in the back of her throat—
The growl stopped, strangled, halfway to delivery.
A dragon stared back at her out of serene amber eyes.
It looks real, Minerva thought. What sort of promotion is
FoodUon having that uses a dragon? Dragon Days? They're
going to give some old lady a heart attack with that thing.
Or me. They may give me a heart attack.
The vertical slits in the dragon's amber eyes dilated, and
it cocked its head to one side, staring at her as if it found her
as peculiar-looking as she found it.
It had a bony, oversized snout full of curved ivory teeth
the size of ten-penny nails. Its delicately scaled blue hide
shimmered with rainbow iridescence. The pale, glossy wings,
of flesh around its face and down its neck flexed and spread
with a slow, steady rhythm; its long, thick tail trailed around
the comer, while two membranous pale blue wing* unfurled
slightly as she glared at it.
That's real, she thought with growing wonder- No one
makes costumes that perfect.
Other shoppers hurried past. They pushed their carts by
without paying attention to either the dragon or Mineiva,
MINERVA WAKES 5
but Minerva noticed that they detoured around the space
the dragon occupied and kept their eyes averted.
There is something standing there. It isn't just a figment
of my imagination. Could it, perhaps, be a woman—and I'm
just seeing a dragon?
That's it I'm hallucinating. I've cracked up. I'm about to
get into a fight with Mrs. Mindley over Darryl's fucking
Wheaties, and my mind has turned her into a dragon.
The dragon clutched the box against its belly scales with
one wickedly taloned hand and grinned at Minerva, exposing
even more teeth. It definitely had a Mrs. Mindley-ish smile.
Then the dragon dropped the box into its own shopping
cart.
A vision of Darryl deprived of Wheaties danced in front
of Minerva's eyes. Darryl's voice, whining, "Is it such a prob-
lem for you if I ask you to get me a few simple things? Can't
you even take the time to do a little favor for me, when you
linow I'm trying to fake care of myself?" droned through her
memory.
"NO!" Minerva yelled, willing to face down a woman who
made her job hell, or even a real dragon, to avoid that selt-
pitying whine. She grabbed at the cereal box.
Opalescent blue-green fingers gripped viselike around
her wrist, and a sub-bass voice rumbled in her ear, "MINE."
As abruptly as that, she found herself sitting on a bruised
rump on the cold tile floor, staring up at the dragon's reced-
ing sapphire-blue back as it strolled casually down the aiiile-
That. lady, is one hell of a muscular hallucination, she
told herself.
The dragon and its shopping cart made two stops. Ifs get-
ting Pop Tarts and Instant Breakfast, Minerva noted,
bemused. Then it turned the comer, and disappeared.
Taking the Wheaties with it.
"Darryl, there was this dragon in the supermarket today,
and it snatched the only box of'Wheaties out of my hfind and
wouldn't give it back," Minerva imagined herself saying.
Right. Darryl will love that. I could save myself a lot of time
by going to the Emergency Room and. telling them the saiw
thing. They could check me into a padded room in a hum/.
6 Holly Lisle
A padded room seemed like a nice idea. It would be a
quiet room, with people to take care other, round-the-clock
tranquihzers, no responsibilities, no hassles, no chores. It
was obviously something she needed, something she'd been
building up for.
WeU, fighting with a dragon in the supermarket ewer a
box of cereal no one in my house likes is definitely stupid.
And probably crazy. So is sitting in the aisle, waiting to get
run over by a erased shopper.
She got up, dusted off the back of her slacks, and began
shoving the cart toward the dairy section.
But, delightful as a stay in a sanitarium would probably
be ... we don't haw the time or the money for me to lose
my mind this month.
She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly-
You're going to have to he okay, Minerva, she told herself.
fou don't have any choice.
The checkout lines stretched endlessly. The weather serv-
ice was calling for four inches of snow and freezing rain hy
morning. They might be wrong; they were often enough,
after all. But everyone in town was stocking up on staples,
just in case. Checkout line camaraderie was high. Neighbors
and strangers alike chatted about the impending storm,
about their snow tires or newly bought tire chains, about
their lads and their kids' sleds that would probably only get
one use this winter. Minerva submerged herself in the chat-
ter and felt better.
Outside, pushing the cart across the parking lot, freezing
as the wet, cold wind bit through her sid jacket and gabar-
dine slacks, Minerva managed to put die dragon incident out
of her mind-
Jamie is having a spelling test tomorrow—fifty words.
Did we have fifty words at a time in fourth grad^? J can't
remember.
She shoved paper bags into die back of the station wagon,
wedging them in against each other so they wouldn't tip and
dump groceries all over the car.
And work is going to he heU tomorrow. The visit hy Joint
Commission means a ton of extra paperwork. Cod, hut I
MINERVA WAKES 7
hateJCAH visits. I'R have to start on revisions of the organi-
zation charts and Mr. Asher's presentation for the trustees
first thing in the morning, or J'U he buried in paper by next
week.
She slammed down the hatch, and pulled her keys out of
her sid jacket. There was a shrill squeal of tires on cold pave-
ment from across the parking lot, and she glanced over.
A red sports car. Mazda Miata? Yeah, a Miata. Even own-
ing one of those things, and red at that, is begging for killer
insurance premiums—and then to drive the way that idiot is
driving— She shook her head, bewildered.
There had been a time in her life when she'd dreamt of
red sports cars. It was hard to remember what that was like,
wanting a racy, sexy little convertible two-seater to show off
in—and to hell with the practicality. Remembering that was
almost like trying to remember fourth grade. She'd been a
different person both times.
She stared at her white LTD wagon with loathing. For
just a second, she could almost reach into her past to touch
the Minerva who'd wanted that red two-seater—but reality
reminded her that a cute little car wouldn't cany her own
three lads and several of their closest friends, or all die gro-
ceries, or half the PTA moms. A Mazda Miata was not a
mommy car.
Reality reminded Minerva that she was a mommy-
She backed out of her parking space, wormed her way
into the solid block of cars trying to get out of the lot, and
inched forward.
There was another screech of tires, and the sleek red
Miata siddded over the grass to the right of the drive, and
nosed back in, right in front of her.
She stared at the license plate, which read "FLAMER."
I'll remember that aU right, she thought.
The bumper-sticker was even worse- "I V VIRGINS," it
declared. The most obnoxious thing about the little red car
was the yellow diamond stuck to the darkly tinted rear win-
dow, though. That told the world, "Living Legend On
Board."
"What an asshole," she muttered.
8 Holly Lisle
As if the little convertible's driver had heard her, the dark-
tinted window on its driver's side rolled down.
The blue dragon leaned its head out of the window and
grinned its cocky grin at her. Then, as the line of traffic
surged forward, the dragon gunned the engine and roared
out into the river of cars.
Minerva floored her own gas peda] and shot after it in
desperate pursuit.
Thirty-five miles per hour through here, Minerva, her
reality-based self growled. A ticket will raise your insurance.
Goddamned dragon driving a goddamned Masda Miata
at fifty, and I'm going to catch it and find oitt why! the rest
of her growled back. Or die trying.
There were, surprisingly, no police cars in sight. She
and the dragon made it through the center of town
without injury, and headed toward suburban streets, and
her house. The dragon kept to the main highway. Minerva
stuck to the dragon. The LTD's speedometer crept to the
eighty-miles-per-hour mark, and then past it. Minerva
didn't care.
One street from her house, the dragon slowed enough to
hang a rubber-burning right- Minerva followed suit, then
gunned after it, accelerating into the curve and giving die
car a little extra gas to cut down the fishtailing as she pulled
the car straight and closed on her target.
The dragon dove into another right, with Minerva moving
in fast.
Then the Miata slowed way down and turned right again
onto an incredibly overgrown dirt road in the middle of what
Minerva would have sworn was a vacant lot the last time she
looked. She stopped. The little sports car's red taillights flick-
ered down tile tunnel-like gloom. She watched them dim,
then vanish.
She started to swing her car onto die side road—the com-
pulsion to follow that dragon was overwhelming.
But-
But the ice cream in the back of the car would melt, and
Carol needeo her costume started. But the baby-sitter
needed to get home, and Jamie had a test he would need
MINERVA WAKES 9
help studying for. But a storm was coming, and it was time
for supper, and—
As if to add emphasis to the real world, the first light
flakes of snow drifted through the beams of her headlights
and across her windshield. Feeling that adventure was pass-
ing her by, she nosed the station wagon onto the dirt road
and executed a neat three-point turn.
Home, she told herself. Go home right this minute like the
responsible adult you are. and no more dragons in Mazdas.
No matter what it might have meant.
Minerva had second thoughts the whoie last block and a
half to home.
Bamey met her at the door, mil of four-year-old angst.
They won't let me play," he wailed. "They said I'm a litde
boy. I'm not. I'm a big boy, and I can play, too!"
Carol and Jamie looked up from Chutes and Ladders,
and Jamie said, "Un-UH! Yon can't count and you cheat on
the chutes!"
Carol added her own five-year-oid wisdom. "When you
get bigger, you'll be able to play. Right, Mommy?"
Seventeen-year-old Louise had her jacket on, and her
books piled in her backpack, and revulsion in her eyes. "You
promised you'd get here half an hour ago, Mrs. Kiakra- I'm
going to be late for my date."
"Going to be an ice storm tonight, Louise. You might
have to cancel. But I'm sony I'm late. The supermarket was
a zoo." She handed Louise her cash, and watched her baby-
sitter flounce out the door without so much as a "thanks."
"You ought to be used to zoos," she heard the girl mutter.
I love you too, dear, Minerva thought.
The phone rang.
She ran for it. "Kiakra Demolitions," she said. She usually
got a kick out of saying that, but this time she just hoped the
ritual family greeting would fend off whichever siding sales-
man, encyclopedia vendor, or purveyor of time-share condos
at Myrtle Beach happened to be calling. But it wasn't a
member of North Carolina's three great growth industries
on the line.
It was Danyl, saying that he was going to be late. Would
10 Holly Lifle
Minerva mind keeping supper in die oven for him, he'd be
there when he could?
Miner/a stared at the groceries, sitting in their bags
silently thawing, at Carol and Jamie squabbling and pouting
over their game, at Bamey crashing his cars into the base of
the television set, at Murp sharpening his claws on the table
leg—and she assured her husband that she wouldn't mind.
She tried to ignore the strained quality of her voice as she
said it. She hoped she gave him a headache when she
slammed the phone down.
"We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to take
you live to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Darryl Kiakra, where
Mrs. Kiakra has just been led from the house, bound in a
straightjacket.
"Inside the house is the scene of recent horrible
slaughter. The bodies of Mr. Dam/I Kiakra; a young
woman identified as Lwiise Simmons, the Kiakra's
baby-sitter; and a large orange tahhy have been found.
chopped into tiny little pieces.
"Neighbors say that Mrs. Kiakra, who has confessed to
slicing up her spouse, the hfihy-sitter, and the cat with a
cheese grater, has always been a fine neighbor. 'She uw>'
always right friendly. Real (/iriet. Real nice.' says one sw.rce
who asks not to be identified. Them's the ones you have to
worry about.'
"Mrs. Kiakra's children have been located (it a friends
house, where they say their mother only told them she was
tired before she sent them off to visit They all three agree
that 'her eyes were real fimny when she looked, at iw,
though.'"
Minerva leaned on the counter and rested her bead in
her arms. Weird, violent fantasies, and images of dragon*;
and fighting kids and Dan-yl-the-wonder-spouse and her stu-
pid job and her boring life all crowded together, and she
scrunched her eyes closed and wished them all away.
When she reopened them, hoping for a miracle, nothing
had changed.
MINERVA WAKES 11
She sighed, screamed at the kids to quit fighting, hissed
at Murp—and began unloading groceries.
Bamey quit playing with his can* and wandered over. He
hugged Minerva's leg.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi, yourself."
She stopped what she was doing for a moment and
picked him up and squeezed him tightly.
"I love you, Mommy," he told her.
She sighed, and smiled. "I love you. too, punkin."
She put him down. He watched her a moment longer, an
intent expression on his litde race. "I will miss you when
you're gone," he informed her.
She nodded, a bit puzzled. Of all her lads, Bamey was the
one who spent the most time out in left field. He was
famous for his cryptic remarks. He probably just meant lie
missed her when she went shopping or somesuch—but she
wasn't about to ask. Bamey's answers to questions tended to
be even weirder than his out-of-the-air comments.
She gave him a tired smile. "Go play, sweetheart, and let
me get done here."
He nodded and wandered back out to the living room,
Darryl Kiakra scrunched lower in the folding chair and
tried to block out Geoff Forests nasa] voice. Geoff stood at
the podium in front of the creative development staff,
exhorting them to greater deeds— Same shit, tiijferent day,
Darryi thought.
The girl in the chair in front of him had pretty hair. It was
long and thick and wavy—glossy chestnut-brown with bright
red-and-gold highlights that didn't come out of a bottle. He
imagined what all that hair would feel like, then extended
his daydream to include the entire girl. She also, he noted,
摘要：

CHAPTER1"No!Pleasedon'tshoot!"Thehospital'sdataprocessingdirectorgroveledintheaisle."I'llneverdoitagain,Iprom-ise!Justletmelive—"Mrs.Mindleywasonherknees,beggingandsobbing.Minervahad.waitedalongtimetoseeherlikethat."Toolate,youinconsideratecow—you'veblockedtheaisleonetimetoomany.Nowyoudie!"Themachin...

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