"Nina Kiriki Hoffman - The Pulse of the Machine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hoffman Nina Kiriki)

my concentration inward, trying to understand my new transformation. It is like no other I have known. I
glare at my hand. It is human. The form has not changed while I was facing away from a mirror. But
insideтАж

тАЬTerry, I better take you home,тАЭ Anitra says. тАЬYou should have told me you got this way.тАЭ

тАЬWhat way?тАЭ Can she see the change? I should feel alarm, but I donтАЩt.

тАЬLoopy,тАЭ she says.

I frown. I have heard this term before. People donтАЩt apply it to creatures they consider dangerous, so I
believe I am all right.

тАЬI didnтАЩt know I got that way. I have never tried to drink this before. It smells like poison, but I watched
and no one drinking it died. Is this a change that other people donтАЩt make?тАЭ

тАЬNo, a lot of people get loopy when they drink. But youтАЩve got your landlady to consider.тАЭ My landlady
is Mormon. I forgot: I promised her I would not drink, though I didnтАЩt realize she meant not drink Tom
Collinses. I just thought she was saying she didnтАЩt want to see me drinking liquid. And I donтАЩt, not in front
of her.

тАЬCoffee could help,тАЭ says Anitra. тАЬCome on home with me. IтАЩll make you some.тАЭ She rises and grasps
my wrists, pulling me out of my chair. She is smaller than I am, but determined. I laugh as she pulls my
arm across her shoulder. тАЬTry walking,тАЭ she says.

Balance has fled; up and down are not definite any longer. The bones in my legs have turned liquid.

тАЬOne foot in front of the other,тАЭ she says. We stagger between people and out the door.

The cool night air, with its rich freight of scents, wakes me a little. But I do not wake to my normal
knowing. Instead I am aware of a delirious freedom from accustomed restraints. I am not sure why I
donтАЩt have to think twice about everything I say and do. It is as if the secret part of me walks about
without clothes, enjoying the touch of air on its skin. I laugh. Anitra is a blaze of warmth against my side,
within my arm, and she smells like wild plants and peppermint and musk. She smells like one of my
relatives after a spring run through the forest. Even though these scents are mixed with the nose-stopping,
tongue-coating smell of soap, I feel happy to be with her.

She supports me around a corner, into the alley where her tiny yellow car is parked. A sudden wash
across my heat sensors, from a nearby shadow: in human form, I am less aware than in lynx form, but I
am never heat blind. And I always recognize this scent, a sweat that comes from humans in stalk mode.
Everything brightens and amplifies. I hear the breath brushing against damp membranes as it slides in and
out of me, Anitra, and the person in the shadow. My arm tightens around AnitraтАЩs shoulders before she
can shrug me off. Her keys drop from her hand to the pavement. тАЬTerry,тАЭ she begins, a scolding edge in
her voice. A growl spins in my throat as I glance toward the shadow, trying to sharpen focus with eyes
that donтАЩt respond. I hold out my free hand and watch the buried claws unsheathe.

тАЬTerry,тАЭ says Anitra, a rich thread of terror in her voice. The pulse in her rises, as the heat seeps away;
her muscles lock, and her scent strengthens with fear. Suddenly she becomes prey.

The other person steps out of the shadow, and I force myself to shift attention. I release Anitra, turn