"Mercedes Lackey & Ellen Guon - Bedlam Boyz" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

intensified, so incandescent that she had to close her eyes.
The light still shone through her closed eyelids, impossibly bright. Now she could feel the
cut artery sealing itself, the muscles knitting together beneath her fingertips. She could feel the
energy pouring out of her and into Billy, into the damaged tissue. And she knew this without
seeing it, her eyes still tightly closed against the brilliance of the light. Somehow she knew how
to help him, how to do whatever it was that she was doing, and it felt terrific. It felt better than
anything she'd ever done before, exhilarating and electric, as though she was finally alive at last
after being half-awake for years. Then it was over; the light faded away, leaving her dizzy and
light-headed and as exhausted as though she'd been running for miles.
 She opened her eyes to see what she'd done.
The bullet hole was gone. Billy's shirt was still soaked with blood, but the wound had
disappeared, only a dull pink line marking where it had been. Her friend was still unconscious,
but she could feel the life returning to his body, that the danger of immediate death was over. He
was still in pain from another bullet in his leg, but even without looking at it, Kayla knew that
she could close that wound as well. As soon as she took another couple seconds to catch her
breath, she would . . . she would . . .
Dizziness and nausea hit her like a fist, and she fell back against the magazine rack, closing
her eyes and concentrating on breathing.
This isn't real, she thought. People don't just wake up one morning able to seal up bullet
holes in their friends just by wanting it to happen. Something is going on here, something
weirder than anything I've ever heard of in my entire life. . . .
She heard a choked noise behind her and turned. Liane was still standing there, visibly
trembling, making odd gasping sounds like she couldn't get enough air to breathe. Without
saying a word, she ran for the door, flinging it open. The noise of the street outside was
deafening in the deathly silence of the store.
тАЬLiane, wait!тАЭ Kayla shouted. Not even glancing back at her, Liane ran through the doorway
and out into the street.
Kayla tried to get up and follow her, but another tide of dizziness washed over her. She
slumped back against the magazine rack.
тАЬ . . . help me . . .тАЭ a weak voice whispered, very close to her. тАЬ . . . please . . .тАЭ
She looked around for the source of the voice, then realized, with a tiny start of fear, who it
was. She stared at the gunman, lying on the blood-stained floor not quite three feet away from
her. тАЬW-what?тАЭ
тАЬHeal me,тАЭ he whispered, his face contorted with pain. тАЬI know you can do it, I saw you help
the boy. Please.тАЭ
She edged away from him, shaking her head. He grabbed for her hand, pulling her close.
тАЬPlease . . .тАЭ His face was very pale, his lip bleeding where he'd bitten it in pain. He placed her
hand on his chest, rising and falling with each painful breath, against the torn flesh and warm
wet blood.
He killed those two people, she thought. And he nearly killed Billy. And he would've killed
me and Liane, too, but now . . .
Now his eyes were human again, not smiling inhumanly at something she couldn't see or
understand. She could feel her hands tingling again, that strange feeling like something was
going to happen.
I should help Billy, he's still hurting, his leg is still bleeding. I shouldn't help this guy, even if
he is dying. . . . She could feel, somehow, the sensation that his life was fading away in front of
her eyes.
This time she called it to her, that strange cold blue fire, and felt it wreathe around her hands
and flow down through her fingertips. The man made a faint noise, something between a
whimper and a moan, as the light coursed over his chest. She worked slowly and methodically,