The Magic May Return by Larry Niven

Author:Larry Niven
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-12-27T16:00:00+00:00

“…but fear

itself.”

Steven Barnes

The door opened slowly, a slender wedge of light falling, widening, on the porch. A withered hand fumbled at the latch, finally holding the screen door open so that a small, sinewy shadow could enter.

“There you are, T’Cori,” Judith said, bending stiffly to scoop the tortoiseshell kitten into her arms. “Momma was afraid you weren’t coming back tonight. That might have been very bad.” She scratched its ear, listening to the bubbling sounds it made. T’Cori backed her head against Judith affectionately. “No, Momma needs you tonight.”

Judith peered out into the street, her dark sunken eyes unblinking as they searched for movement. She shook her head slowly and closed the door, mouth drawn into a taut line.

She set T’Cori down by a saucer of milk in the kitchen, then walked slowly back into the living room, lowering herself into her sewing chair, a vast, flowery thing that nearly swallowed her whole. One thin hand pressed against her chest and she closed her eyes, listening to the labored workings of an ancient and worn machine. “No,” she whispered sternly. “No. Not yet. Not tonight.” For an instant, there was shooting pain along her arm and she inhaled deeply, sucking air in slow, desperate gulps, opening her eyes again as the pain receded. “Tomorrow,” she said, the color coming back to her face. “Tomorrow. Tonight is mine.”

There was a knock on the door, three raps, then two. A smile wound its way onto her face and she pushed herself out of the chair, paused to adjust a black-rimmed portrait of a dark smiling man which sat upright on the mantel.

“He’s come, Josh,” she said to the picture. “He’s a good boy.” Tears burned at her eyes; she fought them and won.

Again, the knock on the door. Judith walked to the front door and opened it again, swinging the screen door wide for the gangling young man who stood in the dim glow of the porch light.

“Good evening, Aunt Judith,” he said, stepping into the room. He pecked her on the cheek and she returned it, scowling.

“You growing a beard, boy?” She closed the door and waved him to an overstuffed chair across from her sewing chair. A single white candle burned on the table.

He nodded and handed her a small brown bag. “Tryin’ to. Here. Just some milk and eggs, but the freezer looked a little empty last time I was over.”

Judith clucked happily as she took the bag into the kitchen. “Bless you, Ronald.”

The young man crossed one denimed leg over the other and stretched back in his chair until he heard grinding sounds in his neck. T’Cori popped into his lap and he wiggled a finger behind her ear as he looked around the room he knew so well. In nearly every spare inch of space, there were plants. Potted ferns, sweet potatoes floating in water, long-stemmed roses cut weeks ago and in some miraculous way still a symphony of bright reds and yellows. Creepers wound about thin

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