Read Cat People for Free Online

the dark Gallier eyes.
    This must be Grandfather," she said.
    Paul nodded. "Henry Gallier. That picture was taken around 1910 when he started the circus. Even at its peak it was never what you'd call a big show, but Grandfather really started small. One wagon, an elephant that had seen better days, a couple of clowns who doubled as roustabouts. Oh yes, and one cat."
    Paul reached out and flipped over the album page. Irena stared at the photo of a huge black leopard. Its fangs were bared, its golden eyes held her hypnotically. When she looked up she saw Paul waiting for her reaction.
    "Fierce-looking creature," she said.
    "Of all cats, the black leopard is the most difficult to tame," Paul told her.
    He held Irena's eyes for a long moment. Finally she turned away, trying to make it casual.
    "I think I'm ready to go to bed now," she said.
    "If you want anything, you know where I am," Paul said. "Just pound on the door."
    "Thank you, Paul." She kissed him lightly on the cheek.
    He held her for a moment. Irena could feel the heat of his hands on her back, through the material of her dress. It made her vaguely uncomfortable.
    As though he sensed her uneasiness, Paul stepped back and smiled at her easily. "Good night, little sister. I'm glad you're home."
    "Good night, Paul," she said. "I'm glad too."
    Irena went to her room and found she was even more tired than she thought. She took a nightie from her suitcase, and decided to save the rest of the unpacking until tomorrow. She climbed into bed and sank gratefully into the yielding mattress.
    But she did not sleep. The creaks and groans and sighs of the old house were foreign to her ears, and had to be identified one by one. Outside her window the branch of an elm tree rustled against the iron bars of the balcony railing.
    Finally she dozed off, but almost immediately sat up, wide awake. She had an overpowering sensation of being watched. The room was totally black, with the window a faint gray rectangle over the foot of the bed. Squinting, it seemed she could see a shadow there that was darker than the surrounding night.
    "Who's there?" she called.
    There was no answer.
    Did the shadow move?
    Irena fumbled for the lamp that stood on the bedside table. She found it and switched it on, flooding the room with light. Nothing lurked outside the window except the gently waving branch of the elm tree.
    Irena put out the light and lay back down. Nerves, she told herself. It had been a long, eventful day. Nothing was out there watching her. Still, it was a long time before she fell into a fitful sleep.

Chapter 4
    It was late, and Ruthie Warren was tired.
    Too much time on my feet today, she thought with grim humor, and not enough on my back.
    She paused on her way down Bourbon Street to look into the window of an X-rated bookstore. There was a heavy crimson drapery behind the glass to give the customers inside a measure of privacy while they browsed among the fleshy magazines. It also provided a good reflection for people passing on the street.
    Ruthie frowned at the image that looked back at her. Christ, she was showing all of her twenty-nine years tonight. All right, then, her thirty-three years. Hooking was a young girl's profession. What she dreamed of was latching on to some well-fixed john who would put her up in a little pad of her own and give her spending money. Not a whole lot, just enough to buy little things now and then.
    The whore's dream, she thought bitterly. Fat chance of it ever coming true. Definitely not taking calls from the crummy massage parlors on Bourbon Street. When Eddie Mays had called her tonight she felt like telling him where he could stick his business. But face it, she could use the extra bread.
    Ruthie patted her Farrah Fawcett wig, turned away from the window, and click-clacked on up the street on her spike heels. The tourist crowd was way off tonight. There was no convention in town, nothing going on in the Superdome. Just a lot of kids looking to score