"Sizemore,.Susan.-.Forever.Knight.1.-.A.Stirring.of.Dust.e-txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sizemore Susan)

He didn't know why it should be so, as he had first seen her in a setting more ancient than this one, in a time and place where he belonged. It had been in a great stone hall similar to Radu's, but devoid even of such amenities as a fireplace, or hangings to cover the cold stone walls, when he had first felt her gaze on him. He had been Nicholas de Brabant, a Crusader who had stopped at an Outremer fortress to recover from a wound. She had been
an unknown beauty who came to his pallet just before he settled down for the night. He had wanted her instantly. She was a temptress he'd followed to his doom. To LaCroix. Sometimes he regretted the results of that meeting, but Janette remained forever beautiful to him.
Since that day he had seen Janette in velvet and silk, sometimes in rags, but always in a setting suitable for the times. The effect of seeing her in her very fashionable clothing in a place that the changing world had passed by disturbed Nicholas. It bothered him almost as much as the hideous creature he'd encountered outside the village the night before. He didn't know why, or how, the two could possibly be connected, but all his senses were alert to the strangeness of the place.
"This Radu sounds like quite the barbarian," Janette said to LaCroix as Nicholas continued to inspect the hall. His attention was drawn to the collection of silver on the side table. Besides the usual round and oval platters and plates, Radu had amassed a wide variety of ornate jewelry boxes, reliquaries, and delicate containers from many eras and places. While Nicholas examined a fine piece of Florentine silverwork, the conversation continued behind him.
"Oh, he was quite the barbarian," LaCroix answered Janette. "Completely ruthless. And still is, I should imagine."
"I trust he has moved on from mare's blood to more suitable prey."
"Centuries ago, my lovely one." The voice was a deep, rough rumble. Radu, come to greet his guests, Nicholas supposed, making the dramatic entrance so typical of their kind. Still holding the Florentine jewelry box, Nicholas turned to face the newcomer.
"And tell me why, LaCroix," Radu said as he stepped
into the light, "is that young man fingering my silver? Have you brought a thief into my domain?"
"You tell me what's bothering you, and then I'll tell you what's bothering me," Natalie said, drawing Nick's attention from the objects on the desk, and away from the memory.
They had as much privacy as they were likely to get in the crowded room. So Nick said quietly, "Not enough blood. And, I thinkЧ." He closed his eyes, and let his other senses roam. After a moment he nodded in confirmation. "Two people died here."
He was glad Natalie didn't ask him how he knew. She accepted that he had some psychic knowledge of events. At one time he would have agreed, but in this age of science he knew the truth was that he could taste molecules of blood that still lingered in the air. In this room the blood of two mortals mixed and mingled, with a residue of something else, something other.
Natalie asked, "Where's the second body?"
He shrugged.
She looked around carefully before she said, "You think one of your kind is involved?"
"Why would you ask that? This is a decapitation," he reminded her.
"I ask because you're lookingЧfurtive is a good way of describing that look on your face."
He shrugged, and tried to look innocent. "Maybe it's just indigestion?"
"Nick!"
"I'm not sure if it's one of my kind." The sensation he felt might be the lingering energy given off from the fear the two victims had experienced. It could be the influence of the full moon impairing his judgment. Something
didn't feel right; it did feel familiar. He wasn't sure there was a vampire involved, either. "It doesn't take a lot of strength to cut off someone's head with a sharp sword," he said. "A mortal could easily have done that. But there is a lot of blood missing."
It was Nat's turn to shrug. "I haven't done the autopsy yet. Decapitation might not be the cause of death."
"You've looked at the corpse, haven't you, Dr. Lambert?"
"Don't get sarcastic with me, Detective. Or tell me how to do my job."
Nick refrained from pointing out that he had far more experience with death than she did. Why state the obvious? Besides, he wasn't trained in forensics. "Maybe his head just spontaneously flew off."
"Maybe I'm being a little touchy," she admitted. "I saw something near here on my way home."
"Something to do with the case?"
"Maybe. Or I imagined it. I probably imagined it." She looked at the body. 'Then again, I thought I saw a sword."
He put his hand on her arm. With the touch, he sensed her confused frustration. "You did say you'd tell me what's bothering you."
She nodded. "I heard Tracy say that you have a human suspect."
"That's right. Tracy's going to check him out."
Natalie bit her lip and looked carefully around.
"No one can hear us. What did you see?" he urged.
She took a deep breath. "Okay. I think I nearly ran down a big, naked, sword-wielding vampire not two blocks from here about a half hour ago."
He moved very close to her, and whispered, "You're sure?"
"No, I'm not sure. I told you it might be my imagina-
tion." She stepped back. "I did see somebody running, but I was sleepy and my mind was on spooky stuff. It might not be connected at all."
He gave a faint laugh. "Not connected? How can you ... ?"
"Because humans are far more likely to commit grisly murders than your kind," she cut him off. "That's why I'm going to conduct an autopsy and you're going to check out normal leads before either of us gets carried away with supernatural theories."
She was reminding him that thinking like a human might help him in his quest to become human. Natalie had all sorts of notions that his affliction was caused as much by behavior as it was by a blood disorder.
"Police procedure first," he agreed.
But as she moved away to go about her work, he turned and slipped the silver box into one of the deep pockets of his black coat. Fingering the silver, indeed, he thought, and went to make a statement to a television reporter who had somehow gotten into the room.
3
Screed was rat hunting when the two-legged thing came stumbling toward him. It was as tall as he was, man-shaped like he was, but dead. Far more dead than he was.
Screed understood fear, but mostly from the superior side of the equation, having caused a bit more than he'd experienced. There wasn't much the carouche found disgusting. He'd seen it all, done it all, been it all.
Or so he'd thought.
He hadn't seen anything like this before. He didn't want to see it now, but he couldn't do anything but stare for a few moments. The skin on its neck was torn away, its clothes brown with dried blood. The eyes that were fixed on him held no life, but they did convey a piteous, confused need. It had a fresh meat smell about it. He was thankful for that, at least. He didn't think it was going to stay fresh for long. He had no trouble imagining this creature a few days from now, stumbling about with rotting bits falling off it.
He didn't like the thought of rotting corpses walking. Corpses were supposed to stay where they were put.
Things should be alive, dead, or undead, not moving somethings that looked to be even lower on the food chain than a carouche like himself.
This thing wasn't natural. He'd never seen anything like it, never heard about anything like it. It sent a shudder through Screed's skinny frame.