"Mckinley,.Robin.-.Sunshine" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinley Robin)

I walked into the shower with all my clothes on. It was harder getting them off wet, but I didnТt want to wait even long enough to get undressed before I made contact with hot water. Then I knelt on the shower floor and scrubbed themЧand my sneakersЧand left them in a heap I had to keep stepping over while I washed myself. But I wanted all the blood andЕmuckЕdrummed out of them. I wasnТt as long about it as I had been the morning after coming back from the lake, but I scrubbed myself till I hurt all over and came out feeling boiled because IТd had the hot water turned up as high as it would go. I was sweating as I tried to dry off: partly because of the hot water. The cut on my breast had opened again, of course. I put some toilet paper on it, like IТd cut myself shaving, hoping it would scab over enough not to leave bloodstains that might need explaining on the pajamas.
I belatedly rescued the contents of my pockets when I hung my sodden clothes over the midsummer-cold radiator. My knife didnТt mind a wetting so long as I dried it off again right away but my leather key ring would probably never forgive me, and the charm loop on it was definitely a goner. It was one of MomТs charms and it was one of the sort that keep going bzzzt at you so you know theyТre paying attention and I hadnТt meant to drown it but I wouldnТt be sorry to have it stop pestering me.
I paused a moment when I was dry and dressed to gather together what faculties I had left. I was so tired.
Annie was lurking outside to take me to wherever. She offered me some shuffly fuzzy-on-the-inside slippers too, also khaki, but enough is enough with the regression to childhood, and I stayed barefoot. Besides, I hate khaki.
I figured it was JesseТs office, since he was the one sitting behind the desk, while Theo was tipped back in a straight chair to one side, his feet against the edge, the toes of his shoes curling up the messy pile of papers on that corner and leaving black marks on the bottoms of the pages. Tsk tsk. JesseТs jacket had disappeared and he was wearing a clean shirt that didnТt fit. There was a coffee machine in the corner going glub glub.
Nobody said anything right away. If this was supposed to make me start talking to fill up the silence it didnТt work. There wasnТt anything I could say that wouldnТt get me into more trouble than I was in now. Okay, hereТs another thing: magic handlers have to be certified and licensed. I had lied about what had happened by the lake for a lot of reasons, and needing to register myself as a magic handler was the least of them and barely worth mentioning from my point of view, but by not doing it IТd still committed the sort of crime that even the ordinary police donТt like and SOF really hates. Tonight IТd totally, inexorably, undeniably, blown it. Even a magic handler shouldnТt have been able to skeg a sucker with a table knife.
I wasnТt going to be able to fudge that one either. The table knife in question was lying on the one clear space on JesseТs desk. I assumed it was the same knife. It was the coffeehouse pattern and while it had been wiped roughly off, the smear of remaining bloodstains was convincing.
I had no idea when IТd dropped it. But the fact that it was here meant that they knew what had happened. No escape.
And then Pat came in carrying a pot of tea and a paper bag with the Prime Time logo. I wanted to laugh. They were sure trying. The Cinnamon Roll Queen wasnТt going to be bought off by a fast-food hamburgerЧsupposing I ate hamburgers, which I didnТt, and after tonight, even if I had, IТdСve given them upЧbut Prime Time was a twenty-four-hour gourmet deli. Downtown, of course. Far too upscale to open a branch in Old Town. Not that theyТd survive on CharlieТs turf anyway.
I stopped wanting to laugh when I noticed that Pat looked like a man who had been got out of bed for an emergency.
It was even good tea.
Jesse said, УCan you tell us what youТre afraid of? Why you wonТt talk to us.Ф
I said cautiously, УWell, IТm not licensedЕФ
There was a general sigh, and the tension level went down about forty degrees. Pat said, УYeah, we thought that was probably it.Ф
There was a little silence and then the three of them exchanged long meaningful looks. I had tentatively started to relax and this stopped me, like sitting down in an armchair and discovering thereТs a bed of nails instead of a cushion under the flowered chintz. Uh-oh.
Pat sighed again, this one a very long sigh, like a man about to step off a cliff. Then he shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and held it. And held it. And held it. After about a minute he began to turn, well, blue, but I donТt mean human-holding-his-breath blue, I mean blue. Still holding his breath, he opened his eyes and looked at me: his eyes were blue too, although several degrees darker than his skin, and I mean all of his eyes: the whites as well. Although speaking of all of his eyes, as I watched, a third eye slowly blinked itself open from between his eyebrows. He was still holding his breath. His ears were becoming pointed. He held up one hand and spread the fingers. There were six of them. The knuckles were all very knobbly, and the hand itself was very large. Pat was normally no more than medium-sized.
Theo gently lowered the front legs of his chair to the floor, drifted over to the office door, and locked it. He returned to his chair, put his feet against the edge of the desk, and rocked back on two legs again.
Pat started breathing. УIf I let it go any farther IТll start popping my buttons. Pardon me.Ф He unfastened his belt buckle and the button on his waistband.
УYouТre a demon,Ф I said.
УOnly a quarter,Ф said Pat, Уbut it runs pretty strong in me.Ф His voice sounded funny, deeper and more hoarse. УMy full brother couldnТt turn if he held his breath till he had a heart attack. Nice for him. Sorry about the locked door, but it takes a good half hour for the effects to wear off again.Ф
ItТs only really illegal to be a vampire, but people who too regularly call in sick the day after the moon is full somehow never get promoted beyond entry-level positions, and a demon that canТt pass is an automatic outcast. And miscegenation is definitely a crime. Since the laws about this are impractical to enforce, what happens is that if you have a baby you know canТt pass, you arrange to look as careworn and despondent as possible (which will be easy in the circumstances) and go wail at the Registry Office that no one had told you that great-granddadЧor great-grandmotherЧhad been or done or had, whatever, great-grand-something being safely dead, of course, and unavailable for prosecution. So the kid gets registered, and grows up to find out it canТt get a job in any industry considered Уsensitive,Ф and if any of its immediate family had been on the fast track, theyТre probably now off it. For life. Even if nobody else shows any signs of being anything but pure human.
ItТs probably worse, the partbloods that are fine till they hit adolescence, and suddenly find out that the Other blood, which they may not have known about, is alive and kicking and going to ruin their lives. Every now and then it happens to a grown-up. There was a famous case a few years ago about a thirty-eight-year-old bank manager who suddenly grew horns. They fired him. HeТd had an exemplary career till that moment. He appealed. The case got a huge amount of publicity.
They still fired him.
As УsensitiveФ industries go, SOF was at the top. No way any demon partblood was going to get hired by the SOFs.
Even someone like Mary might be turned down if she applied for basic SOF training, if anyone was so poor-spirited as to report to her recruitment team that the coffee she poured was always hot. Mary wasnТt registered. If the government insisted on registering everyone who could sew a seam that never unraveled or pour coffee that stayed hot or patch a bicycle tire that didnТt pop somewhere else a hundred feet down the road, theyТd have to register sixty percent or something of the population, and fond as the government was of paper trails and tax levies, apparently this boggled even their tiny minds. But SOF cared down to this level. The deep widowТs peaks you sometimes get with a little peri blood and which are so fashionable that models and actors are forever having cosmetic surgery to implant them, if one of these people had a sudden desire for a midlife career change to SOF theyТd have to go in with their surgeonТs certificate taped to their forehead, or theyТd be turned away at the door. SOF didnТt fool around.
Pat blinked his blue eyes at me and smiled. He had a nice smile as a demon. His teeth were blue too.
УSOF is rotten with partbloods,Ф said Jesse. УIТm one. TheoТs another. So is John. So are Kate and Millicent and Mike. We somehow seem to find each other to partner with. Safer, of course. СHey, doesnТt that blue guy look a lot like Pat? Where is Pat, anyway?Т СLook like Pat? You must be joking. HeТs at home with a head cold anyway.Т But PatТs the most spectacular of us, which is why we called him in tonight.Ф
I had maybe about managed to keep my jaw from dropping round my ankles while Pat turned blueЧit had taken several minutes, I could go with the flowЧbut this was absolutely one too many. This was on a par with, say, finding out the president of the global council was a sucker, the moon was made of green cheese, and the sun only rose in the morning because of this complicated system of levers and dials overseen by an encampment of the master race from Antares settled on MarsЕУWhat the hell dТyou mean SOF is rotten with partbloods? What about the goddam blood test when they take you?Ф
All three of them smiled. Slowly. For a moment I was the only human in the room, and they were all bigger and tougher than I was. I went very still. Not, IТm sorry to say, the stillness of serenity and compassion. Much more like a rabbit in headlights.
The moment passed.
УIt must have been a bastard in the beginning,Ф said Jesse.
УWhen the only drug that worked made you piss green for a week,Ф said Pat.
УOr indigo or violet,Ф said Theo.
УYeah,Ф said Pat. УDepending on what kind of partblood you were.Ф
УBut the lab is pretty well infiltrated by now,Ф said Jesse. УOnce you get that far youТre usually home already.Ф
There was another pause. Maybe I was supposed to ask what УyouТre home alreadyФ meant, but I didnТt want to know any more. I hadnТt been so mind-blasted since I woke up next to a bonfire surrounded by vampires. As the silence lengthened I realized that the tension level was rising again, and there were more meaningful looks flashing back and forth. I tried to rouse myself. But I was so tired.
At last Pat spoke. УOkay,Ф he said. УWhere we were. Um. WeТve been thinking for a while that something likeЕturning blue must have happened to you out at the lake. OrЧwherever. But we havenТt had a good excuse to, well, ask you about it closely. Somewhere we could lock the door when I held my breath.Ф
УTill tonight we havenТt been totally sure thatТs what we were looking at anyway,Ф said Jesse. УArguably we still arenТt.Ф
They looked at me hopefully.
I thought about what I could say. TheyТd just handed me all their careers on a platter. All I had to do was walk out of here and tell someoneЧsay, Mr. Responsible MediaЧthat Pat turned blue, three-eyed, and twelve-fingered if he held his breath, and that several of his closest colleagues including his partner knew about it, and theyТd tie Pat to a chair, put a plastic bag over his head, and await developments. TheyТd have to. Even if the twenty-four-star bigwig supreme commander honcho of SOF was a fullblood demon him- or herself and knew the name of every partblood in the service, the public furor would make them do it. Being an unlicensed magic handler was a mouse turd in comparison.
My brain slowly ground out the next necessary connection to be made. OhЕ
УYou know about my dad?Ф I said.
They all snorted. Pat sounded like the horn on something like a semi or a furniture van. Ooooongk. УDoes the sun rise in the morning?Ф said Jesse.
With or without the help of the guys from Antares? УThen probably you know that my mom raised me to be, er, not my fatherТs daughter.Ф
УYeah,Ф said Pat. УMade us real interested, if you want to know.Ф
I stared at him. УYou had better not be telling me you have been hanging around the coffeehouse for fifteen years on the off chance that you could catch meЧturning blue.Ф
It wouldnТt be turning blue, of course. Unlike demon blood, magic handling was welcomed by both government and corporate bureaucracy in its employeesЧsort of. What they wanted was nice cooperative biddable magic handling. Somewhere between a third cousin who could do card tricks and a sorcerer. The problem is that as the magic handling rises on the prepotency scale, the magic handler sinks off the other end of the biddableness scale. But there probably had been biddable Blaises. And no one had ever proved my dad was a sorcerer. I didnТt think.
УWe hang out at the coffeehouse because weТre all addicted to your cinnamon rolls, Sunshine, and your lethal dessert specials, especially the ones with no redeeming social value,Ф said Pat. УYou didnТt see us half so often before Charlie built the bakery. But your dad didnТt hurt as an excuse on our expense accounts.Ф
Another pause. I didnТt say anything.
УAnd your mom seemed kind ofЕwell, extreme about it, you know?Ф