Blythe
of the Gates
by
Leah Erickson
Genre:
Historical Fiction
Can
the gates of perception be bypassed?
A
rash love affair with a member of the Irish Mafia catapults Luna
Mulkerrins into scandal, murder, scorn and decadent friendships in
Ragtime Manhattan. Escaping from the blaze of publicity, a new Luna
emerges: Blythe of the Seven Gates. Her meteoric rise as a magician
leads to fame, vaudeville, silent movies and the notoriety of a
damaging court case. Can Luna reclaim her reputation and reinvent
herself as an independent woman of the time?
From
Leah Erickson, author of The Brambles, winner of the Crime Fiction
award from the IPA.
Leah
Erickson is the author of the novel "The Brambles" (2017)
and "Blythe of the Gates." She is the recipient of the 2018
Independent Press Award and the Independent Book Award. Her short
fiction has appeared in many magazines and journals in print and
online, including The Fabulist, Pantheon Magazine, The Saint Ann's
Review, Eclectica, The Coachella Review, and many more. She lives
near Newport, Rhode Island with her husband and daughter.
Covered
in cracked, brown leather and very old, the box had rows of hammered
brass
tacks along its edges, the lock held shut with a heavy latch of
blackened
metal.
Only the Magician was allowed to use the key, and he kept it in his
breast
pocket
at all times.
Luna
knew about the faded red velvet lining. And she knew how the antique
metal
hinges creaked when he opened it. She knew about the ancient smell of
mildewed
newspaper, the smell of trapped life, the smell of time passed by …
“Luna.
Open your eyes and look at it!”
Why
the Magician did this to her, she did not know. Some nights when he
was
in
a particularly wicked mood, he'd take the box down from the top of
his closet
and
make Luna look inside, even though she turned away, and shut her eyes
to it.
This
made him laugh. “Girl, I am your husband. Listen to me! Look
at it.”
But
it was unbearable, to look straight into it, because it hurt.
Looking straight
into
the thing was like looking straight into the sun; when she shut her
eyes, she
saw
pulsing blood, red and floating orbs …
“Look.”
To
look inside the box was to feel dissolution, deep down in her very
center,
spreading
out and out until she had no more edges to her.
But
once she did look, it was so hard to look away again.
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