"House On Parchment Street" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

"I don't know."
"I don't understand," Carol said bewilderedly. "What's he doing down there? Why is he walking through walls? People don't walk through walls when they're livingЧwhy should they do it when they're dead? Why does he haunt a cellar waiting for somebody who won't come?" "I don't know. UnlessЧ" "Unless what?" "Unless Е unless the other person does come.
Perhaps there is more than one ghost." She shifted. "One is all I want to worry about." "I know, butЧWhat's the first thing you did when
you saw him?"
УI ran.Ф
"So did I. But suppose someone else came while we were running. Or something else happened, that might explain what he's doing there."
"I suppose you want to go down there and wait for him. Maybe he's not doing anything but walking through walls. Maybe he likes walking through walls."
"Why should he walk through a wall? People walk through doors in walls because there's a place to go to on the other side of the door. There's nothing on the other side of the wall but dirt and earthworms."
"I knew it. I knew he was a vampire. He probably has a coffin in the graveyard."
"Rot. In a church graveyard? Vampires don't like churches. They don't like crosses. I think we should go down and wait for him and see if he does anything we didn't see before that might explain him."
Carol eyed him reflectively. "All right. But if he starts growing fangs, I am going to run, and I'm not going to stop until I get to California. I think you should warn people about things like that before you invite them."
He smiled. He said after a moment, "I didn't invite you. But I'm glad you're here. Now I can stop being frightened and start being curious."
There was a knock on the door. He closed the drawing tablet and put it back into the window-seat, letting the top down soundlessly. Carol got up off the floor. Bruce opened the door. Aunt Catherine, a damp towel full of ice in one hand, looked at them, startled. Bruce flushed slightly.
"We were discussing vampires."
A corner of her set mouth twitched. "I knew you must have something in common. Bruce, lie down and put this on your face for a few minutes. Your dinner is in the warming oven." Her voice firmed as he opened his mouth. "I know you don't want anyone to do anything for you, but this is for my sake: I don't like having to look at your face in that condition, and I don't want to have to worry about your eating habits."
Bruce sighed. "I was only going to say thank you. I haven't eaten anything all day."
They waited, the next afternoon, an hour among Mrs. Brewster's dusty china and damp books, in the stillness of the old cellar. Sunlight strained through the streaked broken glass into a pool that widened across the table, spilled over onto the floor. The bells measured the passing moments, drew them into quarter hours, and at the third quarter their soft talking slowed. Bruce glanced at his watch, reset it. Carol shifted on the table, overturned a teacup, and righted it. "Four o'clock. That's when I saw the ghost." He nodded. "I've seen it three times, and each time
I heard the bells. I wonder Е do you suppose that's what he was listening for? The bells? I wonder what happened at four o'clock that day he waited in the cellar when he was alive."
"Whatever it was, he didn't go through the wall when he was alive."
"No."
"Oh. I forgot to tell you. Alexander was looking for you yesterday. HeЧ"
"I don't care what he was doing," Bruce said abruptly. His face turned away from her toward the window. "I don't want to think about them."
She was silent, running one finger around the teacup rim. "He wasn't there, was he?"
"Yes."
Her hand stilled. It dropped, limp, back into her lap. Her head bowed until the fall of her hair hid the light falling across their faces. "OhЕ ."
They were silent. Someone walked in front of the house; a shadow dropped across the window, vanished. Floorboards creaked from Uncle Harold's study above their heads. Carol swung her heel against the table leg, her mouth pulling downward.
"I thought he was niceЕ ." The sudden touch on her arm stopped her. The bells rang four o'clock across the peaceful summer day. In front of the grey wall a man stood listening, waiting.
Bruce's breath gathered and stopped. The face was pale and thin-lipped, the dark hair cut blunt just below
the ears. The watchful eyes touched their faces a brief moment, and Carol froze. Then the eyes passed indifferently away, and the man turned and walked into the wall.
Bruce's voice shook a little near Carol's ear. "Did you see the sunlight on his sword? How could it flash like that off something that wasn't real?"
"I don't know. Why are we whispering?"
"I don't know." His hand closed suddenly in a painful grip on her arm. "CarolЧ"
A girl walked out of the fall of sunlight toward the wall. Her long dress brushed the boxes of Mrs. Brewster's books; they heard the soft rustle of it. Her hair fell in butter-colored curls to her shoulders. The white
cloth of her square collar and cuffs was spotless in the light, and the lace that edged it was delicate and rich.
She turned and looked at them; one hand touched the old stones. Her eyes were deep blue. She said softly, "Edward. Come." And then she turned and faded through the wall.
A sound like a whimper came from Carol's throat. She swallowed, and it came again. Bruce turned and looked at her. His face had gone white; his eyes were wide, dark, speculative.
"The girl in the paintingЕ . Don't cry."
A tear trickled down the side of her nose. She brushed it away. "I'm not. I wasЧI can'tЧI don't understand any of it. Who is going to come next?"
"I don't know." He stared at the stones as though they were not there and he could see what lay beyond them. Carol watched the serene fall of sunlight uneasily. A shadow melted through it, and she jumped. Bruce's head turned sharply. The amber-eyed cat leaped up beside him and picked a path through the figurines. He leaped up to the window and squeezed through the broken pane.
The bells rang the quarter-hour. Sun slipped behind a cloud, and the light faded from the stones, leaving them old and worn. Bruce slipped off the table. "Come on."
Carol nodded. She followed him up the stairs slowly, out the front door, across the side lawn where the warm grass, newly mowed, smelled sweet, crashed beneath their feet. Bruce stopped beneath a grey cherry tree beside the wall. He swung himself up and came to rest in the crook of a strong branch, overlooking the broad field and the flat world beyond. Carol found a comfortable spot below him. She leaned her head back against the broad smooth trunk.
"I'm so tired."
"Mm. That's from being nervous all afternoon." The tree trembled faintly as he shifted. "I feel like I'm trying to work a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing. Who is Edward? Why was she telling him to come through a stone wall?"
"She wasn't telling Edward to come. She was talking to us. She looked straight at us."
"How do you know she saw us? How could we follow her through a wall?" "In the painting it wasn't a wall." Bruce was still. He swung off his branch and landed on hers with an abruptness that made her cling to the shaking tree. "It was an arch," he breathed. "You're right. An arch of stones. Е" "In the cellar?"
"I don't know. I don't know." He pounded softly, rhythmically on the branch, his eyes narrowed on the far fields. He said slowly, "I've got an idea."
"What kind?" Carol said suspiciously. He picked a leaf and tore it delicately along the veins.
"Just a hunch." He tossed the leaf-bits away and looked at her. "A hunch about ghosts, and graveyards at midnightЕ ." "No."
"Think a little. If there's two ghosts walking round in our cellar as though they still live there, what do you think happens at midnight when ghosts are properly, traditionally supposed to come out? If we can see ghosts when nobody else can, we can see them wherever they are, at any time. Aren't you curious to see if there's any truth in that?"
"If we can see ghosts, we can also see vampires, werewolves, witches, and Frankenstein's monster."