The Worms of Heaven by Misha Burnett

Author:Misha Burnett [Burnett, Misha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Misha Burnett
Published: 2014-08-23T23:00:00+00:00

--The Orchid.

“Great,” I said. “An evil genius and a bad poet.”

“That's a truly horrifying combination,” Kay agreed.

Chapter Thirteen

“these words alone. not was one more required for in those days as now there were those who were such fools as to believe that worlds were forged by chance.”

“James?” AJ asked.

“We found a note,” I said. “To me, from somebody called 'The Orchid'. Mean anything to you?”

“Orchid,” she pondered. “Well, they're epiphytes, some species are parasitic, and the word means testicle.”

“You don't remember running across anyone with a particular fondness for orchids,” I suggested, “Someone who maybe would have a reason to hate you?”

A pause. “Many people I run into have a reason to hate me,” she admitted, “but no orchid fanciers come to mind. The symbolism does suggest an Ambimorph, though, does it not?”

That had occurred to me, too. The words on the card, though—“Godiva didn't write this, it's not her style. She read books on biochemistry for fun.” I snapped a picture of the text with my phone. “I assume you can see this?”

“It does seem rather adolescent,” AJ agreed.

Kay had opened the last door. “There's no way I'm going up those stairs,” she pointed out.

The stairs in question were wooden, narrow, and steep. Kay was right, they didn't come close to being able to hold her weight.

“Okay,” I decided, “You stay here and wait for Russwin and the Thomases. I'll go after the crazy goth girl who wants me dead all by myself.”

“Then what?” Kay wanted to know.

“kill the orchid. return agony.” Catskinner said.

“Okay,” Kay nodded. “Keep it simple.”

“Catskinner specializes in simplifying things,” I explained.

There was gray light filtering down from up above, a window or a skylight someplace up ahead. The stairs were probably original construction, replaced by newer, open stairwells elsewhere in the building, but never removed. The wood was old and well worn, layers of paint applied and then abraded by generations of traffic. There was the smell of age, dust and a faint suggestion of rot.

I felt Catskinner's attention, feeling the empty space ahead of me, but he held back and let me to the walking. When he took over he could burn through a thousand calories in minutes. It was best if he stayed in the background until something happened.

At the top of the stairs was a narrow hallway, one wall crumbling brick and the other bare drywall. Light slanted across the space from louvered windows, along with shafts of cold air. I continued on. The hallway seemed to run the whole length of the building. It was empty and surprisingly clean. Half way down I saw something posted on the wall. As I got closer I saw it was a calendar, brittle with age. August, 1971, with a picture of a lake surrounded by mountains, the deep blue of the water and sky faded towards gray.

“Did Catskinner just do something?” AJ asked suddenly.

“No,” I answered. “Why?”

“You're standing still now, right?” AJ continued.

I had stopped to examine the calendar. “Yes.”

“Could you walk forward, please, at your regular pace?”

Okay.

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