Threading the Labyrinth by Tiffani Angus

Author:Tiffani Angus [Angus, Tiffani]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9781912658107
Publisher: Unsung Stories
Published: 2020-01-30T16:00:00+00:00

“It was dead,” I said. “A brick, all last night. And now it wakes up.”

It was Kevin.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing out of his mouth.

“Why is everyone apologizing to me?”

Lauren flinched, but I didn’t care. I was starting to feel like everyone was keeping secrets from me, like nothing in my life was under my control. I didn’t know whether to do the Zen thing and go with it, or to fight back. After a night on the floor, my mood said fight but my body wasn’t having any part of it.

Kevin didn’t say anything, and for a second I thought I’d lost the connection.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Toni, I’m sorry but I have to quit.”

“Okay.” What else was there to say?

He went on, explaining about a gallery in Albuquerque and classes he wanted to take and a litany of excuses. I let him talk and rested my gaze on the green around me. When he was done, I asked him to stay until after the Tyler show, giving me time to come back to the States and take over from there.

“My assistant just quit,” I said after hanging up. I expected to feel angry and panicked, but I was calm.

Lauren raised her eyebrows in commiseration. “Can you drive me to the station? I’m wiped out.” As I started to explain, I felt a deep sadness come over me and tears began to pool in my eyes. Lauran patted my shoulder and I had to stop myself from leaning in for a hug before being led to the car. It was only when I got back to my hotel room that I remembered she’d said she had something to show me. But I’d just spent the night on a mattress I’d rather never think about again and had eaten purse-rummage. I was dirty and tired and hungry, and it wasn’t like The Remains were going anywhere. I, on the other hand, was low on cash and only had a couple more days until my flight back.

So I ordered room service, put on some jammies, turned on the TV to have background noise, and settled in for the night. I fired up my laptop and logged onto a genealogy site. My parents led to my grandmother, who led back to England before World War Two, which was what I’d expected. No surprise there. Tracing the female line was tricky, with name changes and all.

I dragged the box of papers towards me and skimmed through the contents again, looking for names to pop out at me. Ralston, Seawell, Thomas Hill, Samuel, Doris Miller, and on the oldest-looking paper, Wm and Joan Cokestole. General searches on the first name sent me down the research bunny-hole into gardening history. The Hill names were too general and sent me nowhere. Seawell was an interesting find; turns out he was an artist in the Victorian era, and a page showed some of his work. The earlier stuff was nothing too special, but the Garden Gothics? What I wouldn’t give to have those in my gallery.

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