Wolf Gift 02: The Wolves of Midwinter: The Wolf Gift Chronicles by Anne Rice

Author:Anne Rice [Rice, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, Occult & Supernatural, Ghost
ISBN: 9780385349970
Google: tCr1rJ2xANsC
Amazon: B00CGI3DZI
Publisher: Knopf
Published: 2013-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

19

THE TERRACE PAVILION WAS ABLAZE with light and sound and streaming with people when they got out of the car. The orchestra was rehearsing with the boys’ choir in a positively magical blend of glorious sound. Phil was already there, standing with his arms folded, listening to the music in obvious awe, while reporters and photographers from the local papers took pictures, and groups of mummers in medieval costume—teenagers mostly—came up to greet them until Felix introduced himself and told them how pleased he was, and instructed them to take up a position in the nearby oaks.

Reuben hurried upstairs to change. He took the fastest shower in human history, and Lisa helped him dress, handling the studs on his boiled shirt for him, and tying his black silk tie. The jacket had been “perfectly measured” for him, she was right about that. And he was pleased that she’d arranged a black vest for him and not a cummerbund, which he hated. The shining patent-leather shoes were also a good fit.

He had to laugh when he saw Stuart, because Stuart looked so uncomfortable in his black-tie finery, but he looked pretty terrific at the same time, freckles and curly hair and all.

“You’re growing right before my eyes,” said Reuben. “You must be as tall as Sergei now.”

“Rampant cell division,” muttered Stuart. “There’s nothing quite like it.” He was anxious, uneasy. “I gotta find my friends, and the nuns from school, and the nurses. And my old girlfriend who threatened to kill herself when I came out of the closet.”

“You know what? This place is done up so beautifully and this is all going to be so much fun, you don’t have to do any heavy lifting. And your old girlfriend, she’s okay now, right?”

“Oh yes,” said Stuart. “She’s getting married in June. We’re e-mail buddies. I’m helping her to pick out her wedding dress. Maybe you’re right. This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

“Well, let’s make it fun,” Reuben said.

The main floor was filled with people.

Caterers were rushing back and forth from dining room to kitchen. The table was laden from end to end with what appeared to be the first course—hot hors d’oeuvres of countless kinds, hot chafing dishes of meatballs in sauce, fondue, plates of crudités, nuts, wheels of French cheese, sugared dates, and a huge china tureen of pumpkin soup to be ladled into mugs for the asking by a stiff young attendant who waited with hands clasped behind his back.

The raw and beautiful sound of a string quartet suddenly broke through the murmuring of the crowd all around him, and Reuben caught the soft heartbreaking strains of the “Greensleeves” carol. The music drew him as much as the food—he drank down a mug of the thick soup immediately—but he wanted to see that orchestra outside. It had been too long since he’d seen a live orchestra of that size and he headed through the press in the front room to the door.

To Reuben’s surprise, Thibault appeared

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