"Laura Anne Gilman - Retrievers 03 - Bring It On" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gilman Laura Anne)

Young, maybe midtwenties. Long, naturally blond hair pulled back into a thick braid, classic Princess
WASP features enhanced by just the right amount of cosmetics, darkening the blond eyebrows and
enhancing the pale peach mouth to be noticeable but not stand out. Everything about the girl said
MoneyтАФbut her dark green eyes were sharp, and showed a wry understanding of where she was and
what she was doing.

Hiring a Retriever.

тАЬYouтАЩreтАжThe Wren?тАЭ

тАЬNone other.тАЭ And she didnтАЩt offer any more information than that. Within certain ever-expanding
circles, her identity was well-known, but for various reasons she preferred to go by the nickname she
worked under.

And you screw all secrecy-for-a-reason by inviting her to meet here? In your home?

Shut up, she told the voice, and focused her attention outward, honing herself into a version of SergeiтАЩs
тАЬAll Business, All The TimeтАЭ persona, as best she could. Beside. WasnтАЩt as though the Council didnтАЩt
know where she lived. The Silence, too. And pretty much every fatae in the city, since this summer and
LeeтАЩs wake, which she still sometimes had nightmares about. Might as well just put a sign over her door:
Wren Valere, Available Here.

Focus, Valere.

Miss RosenтАЩs peach mouth quirked into a smile that showed perfect, perfectly white teeth and meant
absolutely nothing. Wren returned the same, aware that her own beige featuresтАФbrown hair, brown
eyes, and pale beige skinтАФnever made that much of an impression. Curse and a blessing: if asked by
anyone Official, this Anna Rosen wouldnтАЩt be able to remember anything about Wren that could be used
to identify her. She hoped.

тАЬCome in,тАЭ Wren said, opening the door all the way.

The apartment was large by Manhattan standardsтАФthree tiny shoebox bedrooms off a narrow hallway,
a kitchenette to the right, and one large main room to the left of the front doorтАФbut it was almost
painfully bare of furniture. Despite living there for dog years, Wren had never really had the time to think
about buying chairs. Or a sofa. Or putting anything on the landlord-white walls.

Clients never, but never saw her home. She had lived here a year, in fact, before anyone other than her
mother and Sergei walked through the door. There had been more people in this space in the past four
months than in all the time previous, and Wrenhated it. But it also made her look around and notice that
her nest was missing a few items most folk would consider essentials. Like, oh, furniture.

Given the choice of using the two narrow and more than a little beat-up chairs in the kitchen for this
meeting, or sitting on the floor, Wren had finally broken down and, after confirming the appointment,
bought a small wooden table and two reasonably comfortable wooden chairs to go with it from a
secondhand junk/antique dealer a few blocks away. Those, and the overstuffed upholstered chair that
had seen better decades, were still the only pieces of furniture in the main room, other than the stereo
system set against the far wall, and two extremely expensive speakers in either corner.

Maybe the client would think that she rented the place. That would work, yeah.