"Charles L. Grant - Raven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Charles L)

of forgotten lore.' "
" 'While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,' " Trish whispered at the window, " 'as of
some-one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.' " She grinned proudly. "Poe, right?"
I'll be damned, Neil thought; surprise me again, young lady.
"How the hell'd you know that?" Ken asked, not amused.
"I went to school," she answered bluntly, "and paid attention."
Another burst of wind that shook the pane briefly, shim-mered the reflections. Neil shortened his vision, looked at
the faces, wondered why Ken didn't seem to care, admired Trish's open admiration, didn't much like the way Brandt
had cocked his head, closed one eye.
They said nothing.
Cold spilled from the wide sill, across the table, over his hands. He flexed them without lifting them, pressing
fin-gertips to the wood.
The raven fluffed its feathers again, and strutted along the rail to the next post, hopped onto it, and turned, strutted
back. Stiff-legged. Slow.
Standing guard, he thought.
"Night," said Trish then.
"What?" He and Ken together.
She nodded toward the bird. "It's night. It's late. What's it doing out there now?"
A brush against his hip, and Brandt hurried away before he could respond. He heard the gambler mutter something
about finding a gun, and, gesturing to the couple to keep watch, call out if the bird left or did something different, he
followed the older man into the lounge. Just as he reached the steps, he heard Trish say, "Snow."
Brandt lurched past the metal coatrack as he announced the sighting to the room, and moved to raise the bar flap so
he could get behind. Julia blocked him.
"Forget it, Nester," Neil told him.
"But damnit, Neil, that thing's a trophy. A goddamn trophy!"
Davies and his sisters headed to the front.
 "You're not going to shoot it."
Brandt turned on him. "You got a gun back there, I know it, I've seen it. You pop that sucker out there just right,
you'll have the biggest goddamn trophy in the whole goddamn state. It'll be worth a goddamn fortune." He turned to a
distinctly unimpressed Julia. "It's big as a dog, I swear it." He spread his hands apart to indicate the size. "Beak to tail,
I swear to God."
Low voices up in the restaurant.
When Julia noted them with a curious glance, Neil told her to go ahead and have a look; Nester, for once, wasn't
exaggerating. They exchanged places without letting the gambler slip past them, and Brandt swore he'd use a
sling-shot if he had to. Something like that was too good to pass up.
Neil took his arm. "Leave it," he said evenly. "Just leave it, Nester, all right?"
Brandt glared at him, dared him, lowered his gaze and angrily shrugged off the grip. "Once a fucking cop."
Neil stared, disbelieving, felt his left hand curl into a loose fist while his right hand fluttered sharply, a cat's tail
trying to whip energy away. He and Brandt had known each other for over ten years, and while they weren't exactly
close friends, not once had the man ever mentioned his police background unless it was in teasing. This wasn't. This
was sullen. This was anger. And he could only watch, baffled, as Brandt stomped in frustration across the floor and up
the steps, watch the empty space he left behind and take several deep breaths to calm himself down. He looked at his
fist and waited until it opened. He glanced at the backyard and saw a few darts of white vanish into the dark.
Why the hell don't they just leave it alone?
A sad cry from the front.
A moment later, Julia returned, followed by the others.
"It's gone," she said simply.
The tone was meant to tell him she didn't much care, but he couldn't help noticing how, once back behind the bar,
she immediately immersed her hands in the sink's soapy water, agitating it, pulling out a glass and nearly dropping it.
She gripped the stainless steel rim and smiled at him wanly.