"Hamilton,.Laurell.K.-.Anita.Blake.-.8.5.-.Girl.Who.Was.Infatuated.With.Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

"Male," she said, very firm, too firm.

"Amy's friend told you it was a guy vampire?"

Ms. Mackenzie shook her head, but too rapid, too jerky. "Amy
would never let another girl do that to her, notЕ down there."

I was beginning not to like Ms. Mackenzie. There's something
about someone who is so against all that is different that sets my
teeth on edge. "If I knew for sure it was a guy, then that would
narrow down the search."

"It was a male vampire, I'm sure of that." She was working too hard
at this, which meant she wasn't sure at all.

I let it go; she wasn't going to budge. "I need to talk to Barbara,
Amy's friend, without you or her parents present, and we need to
start searching the clubs for Amy. Do you have a picture of her?"

She did, hallelujah, she'd come prepared. It was one of those
standard yearbook shots. Amy had long straight hair in a rather
nondescript brown color, neither dark enough to be rich, or pale
enough to be anything else. She was smiling, face open, eyes
sparkling; the picture of health and bright promise.

"The picture was taken last year," her mother said, as if she
needed to explain why the picture looked the way it did.

"Nothing more recent?"

She drew another picture out of her purse. It was of two women in
black with kohl eyeliner and full, pouting lips, one with purple
lipstick and the other with black. It took me a second to recognize
the girl on the right as Amy. The nondescript hair was piled on top
of her head in a casual mass of loose curls that left the clean, high
bone structure of her face like an unadorned painting, something to
be admired. The dramatic makeup suited her coloring. Her friend
was blond and it didn't match her skin tone as well. The picture
seemed more poised than the other one had, as if they were
playing dress-up and knew it, but they both looked older, dramatic,
seductive, lovely but almost indistinguishable from a thousand
other teenage Goths.

I put the two pictures beside each other and looked from one to
the other. "Which picture did she go out looking like?"

"I don't know. She's got so much Goth clothing, I can't tell what's
missing." She looked uncomfortable with that last remark, as if she
should have known.