Read Fever 1 - Darkfever for Free Online

tell you what to think. A good book lets you choose a few thoughts for yourself. Movies show you the pink house. A good book tells you there's a pink house and lets you paint some of the finishing touches, maybe choose the roof style, park your own car out front. My imagination has always topped anything a movie could come up with. Case in point, those darned Harry Potter movies. That was so not what that part-Veela-chick, Fleur Delacour, looked like.
    Still, I'd never imagined a bookstore like this. The room was probably a hundred feet long and forty feet wide. The front half of the store opened all the way up to the roof, four stories or more. Though I couldn't make out the details, a busy mural was painted on the domed ceiling. Bookcases lined each level, from floor to molding. Behind elegant banisters, platform walkways permitted catwalk access on the second, third, and fourth levels. Ladders slid on oiled rollers from one section to the next. The first floor had freestanding shelves arranged in wide aisles to my left, two seating cozies, and a cashier station to my right. I couldn't see what stretched beyond the rear balcony on the upper floors but I guessed more books and perhaps some of those baubles the sign mentioned. There wasn't a soul in sight.
    "Hello!" I called, spinning in a circle, drinking it in. A bookstore like this was a fabulous find, a great end to an otherwise awful day. While I waited for my taxi, I'd browse for new reads. "Hello, is anyone here?"
    "Be with you in a trice, dear," a woman's voice floated from the rear of the store. I heard the soft murmur of voices, a woman's and a man's, then heels clacking across a hardwood floor. The full-bosomed, elegant woman who came into view had once been stunning in the way of movie-star divas of old. In her early fifties now, her sleek dark hair was gathered back in a chignon from a pale-skinned, classic-boned face. Though time and gravity had traced the supple skin of youth with the lines of fine parchment and creased her brow, this woman would always be beautiful, right up to the day she died. She wore a long tailored gray skirt and a gauzy linen blouse that flattered her voluptuous figure and revealed a hint of a lacy bra beneath. Lustrous pearls glowed softly at her neck, wrist, and ears. "I'm Fiona. Is there something I can help you find, dear?"
    "I was hoping I could use your phone to call a taxi. Of course, I'll buy something too," I added hastily. Many of the local businesses posted placards advising that phones and bathrooms were only for paying customers.
    She smiled. "No need for that, dear, unless you wish. Certainly, you may use our phone." After paging through the phone book and dialing up a cab, I set off to make good use of my twenty-minute wait, collecting two thrillers, the latest Janet Evanovich, and a fashion magazine. While Fiona was ringing me up, I decided to try a stab in the dark, figuring anyone who worked with so many books surely knew a little of something about a lot of everything.
    "I've been trying to find out what a word means but I'm not sure what language it's in, or even if I'm saying it right," I told her.
    She scanned the last of my books and told me the total. "What word would that be, dear?" I glanced down, rummaging in my purse for my credit card. Books weren't in my budget and I was going to have to float them until I got back home. " Shi-sadu . At least that's what I think it is." I found my wallet, withdrew my Visa, and glanced up at her again. She'd gone still and looked white as a ghost.
    "I've never heard of it. Why are you looking for it?" she said tightly. I blinked. "Who said I was looking for it?" I hadn't said I was looking for it. I'd just asked what the word meant.
    "Why else would you be asking?"
    "I just wanted to know what it means," I said.
    "Where did you hear of it?"
    "Why do you care?" I knew I'd started to sound defensive, but really, what was her deal? The word obviously meant something to her. Why