Switch

Miriam shrugged, and it was easy to see how she must

have been as a young woman. Stubborn, graceful,

beautiful. 'I can tel it by the paper you don't buy. When you're an old lady, you'l be wise like me, too.'

'I hope so.' I laughed.

'I hope you'l come back and buy yourself that box. It's

meant for you, Paige.'

'I'l definitely think about it. Okay? Is that good enough?'

'If you buy the paper,' Miriam told me, 'I guarantee you'l find something worth writing in it.'

Chapter 02

Shal we begin?

This is your first list.

You wil folow each instruction perfectly. There is no

margin for error. The penalty for failure is dismissal.

Your reward wil be my attention and command.

You wil write a list of ten. Five flaws. Five strengths.

Deliver them promptly to the address below.

The square envelope in my hand bore the faint ridges of

realy expensive paper and no glue on the flap, like the

reply envelope included with an invitation. I turned the

heavy, cream-colored card that had been inside it over

and over in my fingers. It felt like high-grade linen. Also

expensive. I fingered the slightly rough edge along one

side. Custom cut, maybe, from a larger sheet. Not quite

heavy enough to be a note card, but too thick to use in a

computer printer.

I lifted the envelope to my face and sniffed it. A faint,

I lifted the envelope to my face and sniffed it. A faint,

musky perfume clung to the paper, which was smooth but

also porous. I couldn't identify the scent, but it mingled

with the aroma of expensive ink and new paper until my

head wanted to spin.

I touched the black, looping letters. I didn't recognize the

handwriting, and the letter bore no signature. Each word

had been formed carefuly, each letter precisely drawn,

without the careless loops, ticks and whorls that marked

most people's writing. This looked practiced and efficient.

Faceless.

The paper listed a post-office box at one of the local

branch offices, and that was it. Since moving into

Riverview Manor five months ago, I'd received a few

advertising circulars, requests for charitable donations

addressed to two different former tenants and way too

many bils. I hadn't had any personal mail at al. I turned

the card over again, listening to the soft sigh of the paper

on my skin. It didn't have a name or address on the front.

Only a number, scrawled in the same languid hand as the

note. I looked closer, seeing what in my haste I hadn't

noticed before.

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