"Melanie Rawn - Spellbinder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rawn Melanie)

and arm, finally meeting its beginning near her heart. And then there was the faint
metallic scent of blood, an instant's hiss, and a white heat where the cord met and
sealed itself.
"That should do it," said a voiceтАФnot the man's, a woman's. "Thanks for holding
her steady. You're a good Come-HitherтАФand I know one of the best."
"Don't mention it. We battled pretty hard over who got to help you tonight."
"Why, sugah-plum, Ah didn't know y'all cared," the woman drawled in an
exaggerated southern accentтАФno, not just southern, Virginian. Denise thought her
heart would burst her chest. You! her mind screamed. You bitch! How dare you!
"Oh, Blue-eyes," the man replied, a grin in his voice, "the pair of us sigh and tremble
whene'er you speak. We worship at your feet, we kiss your ring, weтАФ"
"тАФare gay right down to your darling, dimpled toes. Do shut up, won't you?"
And the cord was taken away by cool, steady fingers. Denise wanted to shriek, to
rip out eyes, to wash her hands in blood.
The man seemed to sense it; his was a truly gifted mind. "Behave yourself, Denise.
We have your Measure now, and we aren't reluctant to use it if you make it
necessary."
"Such as staging a repeat of your little exhibition tonight," the woman added.
"You're not responsible for other people's fetishes, but how you use them for your
own purposes is very much an issue. The girl nearly bled to death tonight in the
emergency room, you know. And I doubt even plastic surgery will minimize the scar
on her throat."
"It's no use," the man said quietly. "Even if she knew, she wouldn't care."
"She gets a chance. Everybody gets a chance."
"She'll blow it."
"Probably." There was an audible sniff of a suddenly stuffy nose. "But we have to
make the effort."
With the removal of the cord a portion of control returned; Denise opened her eyes
and pushed herself sluggishly up on her elbows. The pair wore hooded black
cloaksтАФridiculously theatrical, not even worth sneering atтАФto hide their faces.
"I тАФknowтАФwho youтАФare," Denise ground out, her tongue like a fat, treacherous
slug in her mouth.
"Imagine my chagrin," the man said. "Your point being тАФ ?"
"Won'tтАФforget тАФ "
"See that you don't." He brushed at the heavy wool of his robe. "Nor am I likely to
forget the stink in here. Really, DeniseтАФmusk and patchouli? And on a red
Baphomet candle, no less. Overdoing the lust spells a bit, aren't you?"
"It's no worse than the rest of her de'cor," the woman observed. "I thought that
French Gothic sideboard was going to grow tentacles and attack us." All at once she
sneezed, and a hand came up to rub her nose. On one finger was a milky moonstone
set in silver. "Damn! Come on, we're finished here." She turned briskly for the door,
and the man followed, and with a snick of the lock they were gone.
****
THE CIRCLE MET IN A top-floor room of an elegant little Manhattan town-house.
One of the men was elderly to look at but youthful in his movements as he swirled
onto his shoulders a robe of deep green silk. The youngest of the women, not yet
thirty, was less flamboyant in donning yellow that made her long black hair into a
river of shadow. Another woman, blonde and elegant in blue, sat by the hearth
sorting a lapful of herbs. The garnets in her many rings shone by firelight like sun
through fine cabernet sauvignon.