"Mercedes Lackey - Tregarde 2 - Burning Water" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

"NahтАФyou'll be okay." Quasi dismissed his objection with an airy wave of his hand, and took a
healthy slug of whiskey directly from the bottle. "Now, don't move, or you'll ruin the pentacle."
Quasi moved unsteadily around the diagram, closing up lines they'd erased by walking on them,
lighting the candles, and giving each of the participants a carefully printed slip of paper.
"Okay, when I point at you, say what's on that. I wrote it down pho-net-ic-al-lyтАФ" he had a little
trouble getting the word out "тАФso just say what's there. If this worksтАФ"
"If? Why shouldn't it?" Phil wanted to know. "My sister gets answers on her Ouija board all the
time!"
"Well, I didn't have everything, so I had to make some substitutions in the formulas," Quasi
admitted. "But I did it logically, okay? So it should work. Anyway, if it does, the ghost will show up in the
middle, in the center of that five-pointed star. I'm trying for Julius CaesarтАФ" He lit the hibachi; there was
a sharp chemical smell and a sparking line traveled across the surface of the charcoal.
"You wanted me 'cause I know Latin, right?" Phil blinked owlishly.
"I wanted you 'cause you're a Scorpio, okay? Now shut up, I'm gonna start." Quasi palmed the
light switch, and suddenly the only illumination in the room was coming from the four candles and the
hibachi.
Mark went very cold; with the lights out this was beginning to seem like something other than
funny. The Scotch he'd downed had worn off all too quickly, and with it his bravado. He wanted very
badly to walk out that door, but didn't dare. He knew what the other three would say if he did. He'd never
live it down. He was supposed to be studying criminology; it wouldn't look real cool if he couldn't handle
a spooky situation.
Quasi, looking warped and sinister in the flickering candlelight, began chanting and throwing
various substances on the coals in the brazier. Some of them smelled vaguely pleasant; some stank to high
heaven. All of them produced a good deal of smoke, further obscuring vision. Mark could scarcely see
when he pointed dramatically in his direction.
He stammered out what was written on the notebook paper, not feeling at all ashamed that his
voice shook. This wasn't funny anymore. He waited, feeling a cold chill ooze down his backbone, as Phil
and Tim said their pieces. Then Quasi intoned a final sentenceтАФ
EverythingтАФjust stopped. No sound, no nothing. Then Mark's stomach lurched, and every hair on
his arms stood straight up. The temperature in the room dropped at least twenty degrees. But that was only
for openers.
Without warning a soundless explosion in the center of the diagram knocked Mark right off his
feet.
By some miracle, he didn't turn over the candle behind him; as he staggered upright again he saw
that Phil and Tim hadn't been so lucky. His candle and Quasi's were the only sources of lightтАФ
Then something at the heart of the diagram flared greenly; the remaining two candles were
snuffed out by the hurricane wind that followed that flare of sickly light. For with the light came a
tempest.
Mark dropped back down to his knees and sheltered his head in his arms. There was a whirlwind
raking the room; it was centered by a vortex in the heart of the diagram. The wind was sucking anything
loose into that vortexтАФpapers, bits of herb, posters torn loose from the walls. Quasi was staring at his
handiwork with a face that was panic-stricken and utterly dumbfounded.
There at the heart of the vortex was the source of the evil lightтАФit wasтАФ
Mark didn't know what it was, only that it was a dark, amorphous blot that smelled utterly foul
and made him sick to his stomach. It had eyes that glowed a vile, poisonous green; eyes that he could not
look away from.
He found himself rising again to his feet, and realized with cold and helpless horror that he was
being pulled toward it.
Phil screamed; an incongruously girlish sound. Mark heard him clearly above the howl of the
wind.