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

He went up the two flights of metal stairs and through the small rooms that had once been connected offices but now led inexorably, door by door, to the innermost sanctuary, to the Holy of Holies where the Angel slept. The Angel never looked upon the sun. The Prophet said the sun could not bear it. The Disciple knew only that he needed to be near the Angel who gave him life. It had been too many days. He was growing weak. If he didn't feel the touch of the Angel soon, he'd be driven to the abomination of having to taste and swallow the same earthly swill as the slaves gobbled downstairs.

Pain twisted through his guts at the thought of being forced to eat like that. The spasm was so sharp that it drove him to his knees only a few feet away from the sanctuary door.

It was the Vessel who found him there and nudged him with his foot. "Pitiful."

The Disciple looked up, then was caught by a fresh wave of dizziness as the Vessel reached down and hauled him to his feet.

"Come on. You're wanted." The Vessel pushed the Disciple before him into the sanctuary and shut the door after them. There were no windows in the sanctuary. Scarves had been draped over the long strips of fluorescent overhead lights, softening and diffusing their harsh white glow. The Prophet and the Demon were there, sitting on the altar, arguing, as usual. The Angel slept in the wide bed in the corner, a girl on either side of him. Whatever was said or shouted would not disturb him now.

"We need more deaths," the Demon said as he banged a huge fist down on the altar. "At least one a night until the Night of Knives. Then a hundred must die all at once."

"We can't," the Prophet answered. "You know we can't. My way is simpler. Using the Vessel - "

The Demon sneered. "We must. Your magic isn't strong enough to perform the Ceremony using only a Vessel with what we've been doing."

The Prophet drew himself up angrily. "My magic is strong enough for anything!" He pointed at the Angel. "We have all we need right here. I brought him to us."

"We need a huge store of energy. Only death brings us the energy we need."

"We'll have enough with the Vessel."

"No we won't."

"You're a glutton. You only want to feed."

"Weak mortal."

The Prophet laughed. "You're as mortal as I am - but uglier."

"And hungry. But it's your weakness that we have to counter."

"Neither of us will be mortal much longer. We have the secret and the key. You need patience."

"You need power."

The Vessel moved forward as the argument continued, to stand before the Prophet and the Demon. The Disciple inched closer to the bed, alert and listening, but his rapt gaze was on the sleeping Angel's beautiful, bloodstained face.

"What about tonight?" the Vessel asked. "Do we do one tonight?"

"Yes," the Prophet and Demon said together.

The Vessel laughed. "That's all I care about." He rubbed his hands together. "Doing it."

"You! Get over here!" the Demon called.

The Disciple reluctantly left off worshiping the Angel and came to kneel before the Prophet and the Demon. His knees sank deeply into the thick Oriental rug before the altar. He bowed his head as much to avoid looking at the Demon as to show respect.

"You look like shit," the Prophet said.