"Sizemore, Susan - Laws of the Blood 2 - Partners" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sizemore Susan)

Lucien jumped off Helene's lap and stalked away. Char moved around the coffee table and pulled the older vampire to her feet. "What do you mean, August? You do know that it is now late November, don't you? How could you have misplaced a nestling for three months?"

"Maybe I didn't want to find him!" the woman shouted back.

"He's your nestling!"

"I never invited him in."

"But still - "

"Maybe I'm tired of taking in other people's mistakes!" Helene cut her off. "I'm sick of being the Mother Teresa of bloodsucking monsters."

Well, yes, Char could see how someone could get tired of being imposed upon. The woman obviously had a conscience that had eventually acted up about the missing boy, or they wouldn't be holding this conversation. But somehow Helene Bourbon's diatribe did not sound completely convincing.

"Then why come to me now?" Char asked. "Why not pretend you've never heard of this lost kid?"

Because the nest leader suspected Istvan was the one who left Daniel on her doorstep, and she didn't want to face retribution from him? Or was it more complicated than that? Char doubted she'd learn the complete truth from Helene Bourbon. Vampires were secretive by nature and justifiably paranoid about dealing with Enforcers.

Char realized she was holding Helene by the woman's jacket lapels. She was also fighting down the urge to shake the woman like a terrier with a rat. This was really a quite unacceptable urge. She'd already let her emotions get out of hand far too much this evening. She dropped her hands and stepped back. She wanted to be alone. She wanted the world to be the same as it had been a few hours ago. Then, she'd fantasized about excitement and about people coming to her for help. Reality, as usual, sucked.

"You better go home," she told Helene Bourbon. "Your nest needs you."

Helene made a small, imploring gesture. "You'll - "

"Look into it?" Char felt the weight of the mortal death she didn't want any part of. Haven was a lucky man tonight, even if she was stuck with going back to her hometown to give him some extra time. Home for the holidays, she thought; just what she needed, when everyone she loved was dead or gone. "Yes," she said to the nest leader. "I'll look into it."


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 4
SEATTLE



"Puxz," the witch said, and spat on the sidewalk in front of his feet.

He stepped over it and kept on walking. The Disciple didn't look at her; she had the fire of eternity strong in her eyes, but her voice rang in his ears. Even worse, he felt her fire burning into his back as he walked quickly away. He knew when she went back inside the building and slammed the door, though he was halfway down the next block when she did it.

The Disciple had tried to kill the Witch once, not long after he'd found his own key to eternity. Her cold laughter still rang in his head when he thought about it. He didn't want to save her, he didn't want them to know about her, he wanted her gone. He wanted to be the only Disciple. He was strong, but she'd beaten him and laughed while she did it. She knew about living forever, but she didn't want anything to do with them. They'd want her, though, he was certain, if they knew about her. So he kept one secret from those he worshiped, afraid they would look into his heart and read it someday.

He stopped for a red light at the next street corner and waited there after the light had changed and changed again. Traffic and people swirled around him, unnoticing in the night and the fog. A cold wind whistled up off the bay, and gulls circled and cried overhead, their racket loud even over the traffic noise. He concentrated on the sound of the birds, on the icy daggers of the wind, trying to make himself believe that his shivering was from cold, the ringing in his head from too much raucous noise. It was a way to control the bout of fear triggered by the glaring Witch.

He never used to be afraid of the ones he served. At least no more fear than was right and proper at being allowed to look upon the face of gods. He used to take what was given with reverence and joy and humility, and go out into the street to use his gift and bring back other converts. He'd been happy in the knowledge that he served and would serve forever. Then he had sought out the serpent they'd told him to find, and the serpent became the Vessel. The Vessel was more important than the Disciple.

The Disciple still served, but he was no longer special to the Demon and the Prophet. He wanted to live forever, but what if they decided to take the Angel's gift from him? The thought formed sometimes, like now, and blew through him like the November wind. It left him shaking, like now. He couldn't enter the sanctuary while the fear gripped him. The Demon was attracted to fear.

It was all the Witch's fault that he was having a panic attack. He needed to turn his fear into hate but not by thinking about the Witch directly. It would not be wise to call up any specific images. So he stood at the stop light a while longer, making himself hate all women until he was good and angry. Then he smiled and crossed the street and went into the building that looked like a warehouse on the outside. But inside, it was heaven and hell on earth.

It was dark inside, of course, but warm. The Disciple didn't notice the warmth at first because there were three of the Angel's slaves squatting near the door eating fastfood hamburgers and fries. The scent of the cooked meat and greasy potatoes gagged him and sent a wave of dizziness through him that nearly brought him to his knees. He shouldn't have worried about fighting down his fear on his own when all he needed to do was step inside and have everything but nausea driven out of him. The trio were laughing and talking among themselves. They were covered in bite marks, scratches, and bruises, and happy as clams about it, the little sluts. They didn't take the ceremonies with the seriousness and gravity the sacrament deserved. But, then, they were slaves; they weren't going to live forever. The Angel took their blood and their bodies, and that was enough for them. They gave the Prophet everything else, bringing him everything they earned or stole. They were only slaves, but his was a greater calling, and he paid them no mind as he passed though he heard their sneering comments behind his back.