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

 "Damn," he said.
A third one, and a fourth, a fluttering shower of sparks.
Nothing now but the three diffused bulbs down at the foundation, creating a disconcerting haze that softened the
cold's edges and made the woods seem as if they were drifting back into fog. In the distance all was black and grey.
"Hey, Nester," he said, still looking around the birch, "I think maybe Curt and Bally have come to party."
The woman beside him tensed; he could feel it, saw it in the way she shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot.
He assured her the Holgates weren't worth her con-cern. Local jerks, experts in pinhead harassment, and like all bullies
they were cowards when it came to confrontations they didn't expect. He touched her shoulder and walked away,
grabbed his jacket from the rack and headed into the restaurant, Brandt right behind.
"Gun?"
Neil looked at him.
"Just thought I'd check."
They crossed the floor, slipping into their coats, snap-ping up their collars.
Muttering behind them, inquisitive but not excited.
"What's eating you tonight, Nester?"
"Nothing much. The usual."
He swung the door open, held his breath when the cold wrapped him and pulled.
"She's gonna leave me, you know. She really means it this time."
He looked over his shoulder; Brandt wasn't kidding.
One of those nights, he reminded himself; just one of those nights.
They swung to the left, passing the automobile and the van, and Brandt's bicycle leaning against the front of the
building. Around the corner, where Julia and Willie parked their cars. A look up the path. A look into the branches.
Brandt puffing steam, his boots nearly silent. Past the kitchen door, Willie standing there, peering out, a knife in one
hand.
At the back corner Neil held Brandt back with a cau-tioning hand. Listening. Shaking his head slowly, blinking the
snow from his lashes. This was a waste of time. If the Holgates were there and didn't want to be found, he could chase
them all night and not see them once. There wasn't enough snow yet to allow decent tracks, too many leaves and
fallen needles back there across the creek. A flake settled on his neck, melted instantly and made him shiver. On the
grass, on the weeds, on the stones by the water, the flakes were frostlike gems, like the gem at Ceil's throat. Sparkling.
Hissing softly as they fell through the branches, the needles. Almost, but not quite sleet.
He looked at Brandt, who looked back and shrugged.
Waste of time.
Besides, he decided as he started back, it didn't have to be them anyway, it could have been the snow, even though
they were supposed to be outdoor bulbs, sudden wet cold against their heat; it could have been a coon or a possum
exploring; he hadn't heard any shots, it didn't have to be the Holgates.
"I thinkтАФ"
Brandt stopped him at the corner, and pointed.
The raven was back; on the fence, and watching.
He could hear muffled voices and knew the others had seen it, too, stepped away and looked up, Mandy and Trish
in one window, Ken and Hugh in the center.
The raven opened its beak and closed it.
Not a sound.
Snow caught on its back.
Glinted.
For no reason at all, Neil thought fairy dust and almost laughed.
Larger flakes mixed in with the others, and a slight wind began to push them around.
The front door opened and Ken stepped out, suit jacket only, pulling on a pair of gloves.
"Hey, guys," he said cheerfully, "you see that thing?"
At the noise, the raven spread its wings, flapped them once, squatted, leapt and lifted off the rail.
Not a sound.