"Laura Anne Gilman - Retrievers 02 - Curse the Dark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gilman Laura Anne)

refocused her attention inward, to where the tendrils of current coiled and flickered within her like snakes
in a pit.

She wasn't a good flyer even under the best of circumstances. No, call a spade a spade and admit that
she was aterrible flyer. She avoided traveling by air whenever possible. Sometimes, though, it wasn't
possible. Sometimes, you just had to suck up the phobia and get on with it.

Unfortunately, the only thing worse than a phobic Talent under stress was a phobic Talent under stress
near a lot of electronics. Such as, oh, the one found when going through departure security at a major
airport just outside ofNew York City .

We shouldn't be here. We shouldn't have taken this job. Don't think about it, Valere. Focus. Stay
calm. Or everything's going to get ugly.

"The usual mess," a man behind her grumbled to his companion. "And what do you want to bet once we
get on the plane we'll be stuck on the tarmac for another hour anyway?"

Oh, God. So much for calm and serenity. Just the thought of that was enough to make her nerves├╣and
the current inside her├╣roil. The "snakes" hissed sparks of current, seething in her own agitation.Damn,
damn and ├╣

There was anothersnap-ping ! noise, and the lights on one of the still-working metal detectors went out,
then came back on. The security guard swore under his breath and said something into his walkie-talkie.
The seven people in front of Wren and Sergei on the security check line groaned. Wren felt a twinge of
helpless guilt, opening her eyes and looking at the chaos she was, however unwillingly, creating.
Admittedly, one of the machines had been out of commission by the time they got on line. She was pretty
sure she wasn't to blame for that one. But the other two had died in a rather spectacular array of sparks
not thirty seconds after they arrived. That was in addition to the meter of the cab that dropped them off,
the check-in desk computer that decided to crash in the middle of confirming their seats, and the cell
phone of the guy next to them on the escalator.

All those old stories about magic being wiped out by technology so had it wrong. Magic didn't hate tech.
Itloved it. So much so that a Talent instinctively wanted to reach out and drag all the lovely bits of power
floating through the wires and tubes and chips of modern society into his or herself. Especially if she was,
even subconsciously, preparing for a worst-case scenario in which she might need all the power she
could grab.

Sergei had suggested a sedative when she started to hyperventilate in traffic this morning, but Wren was
terrified of what she might do if she weretoo relaxed when the inevitable panic hit.

"Last time I got stuck in security I missed my connection and had to wait three hours for another flight,"
Wren heard the woman ahead of them say to her companion, more resigned than annoyed.
 Oh, God. A muffled whimper escaped her, and sparks danced on the backs of her hands until she
shoved them into the pocket of her pale blue linen jacket, bought new for this trip and already stained
under the arms with sweat. "I hate airports," Wren muttered. "They're full of planes." She could hear the
panic in her voice and hated herself for it.

"Hang in there." Sergei shoved the cigarette back into its case and shuffled in line, moving bags and his
laptop case until he stood just behind her, a little closer than the crush of people demanded. At six-two
he was almost a foot taller than she, and broad-shouldered into the bargain, creating a comfortable