"Nightworld 4 - Dark Angel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Lisa J)

"To help people."
"To help you."
A barely acknowledged hope was forming in Gillian's mind. He never really left her; it was his job to help her. That sounded like . . . Could he be ...
Oh, God, no, it was too corny. Not to mention presumptuous.
He was looking sheepish again. "Yeah. I don't know how to put it, either. But it is true, actually. Did you know that most people think they have one even when they don't? Somebody did a poll, and 'most people have an inner certainty that there is some particular, individual spirit watching over them.' The New Agers call us spirit guides. The Hawaiians call us aumakua. . . ."
"You're a guardian angel," Gillian whispered.
"Yeah. Your guardian angel. And I'm here to help you find your heart's desire."
"I-" Gillian's throat dosed.
It was too much to believe. She wasn't worthy. She should have been a better person so that she would deserve some of the happiness that suddenly spread out in front of her.
But then a cold feeling of reality set in. She wasn't a better person, and although she was sure enlightenment and whatever else an angel
thought your heart's desire was, was terrific, well ... in her case . . .
She swallowed. "Look," she said grimly. "The things I need help with-well, they're not exactly the kinds of things angels are likely to know about."
"Heh." He grinned. He leaned over in a position that would have unbalanced an ordinary person and waved an imaginary something over her head. "You shall go to the ball, Cinderella."
A wand. Gillian looked at him. "Now you're my fairy godmother?"
"Yeah. But watch the sarcasm, kid." He changed to a floating position, his arms clasping his knees, and looked her dead in the eye. "How about if I say I know your heart's desire is for David Blackburn to fall madly in love with you and for everyone at school to think you're totally hot?"
Heat swept up Gillian's face. Her heart was beating out the slow, hard thumps of embarrassment- and excitement. When he said it out loud like that, it sounded extremely shallow . . . and extremely, extremely desirable.
"And you could help with that?" she choked out.
"Believe it or not, Ripley."
"But you're an angel."
He templed his fingers. "The paths to enlightenment are many. Grasshopper. Grasshopper? Maybe I should call you Dragonfly. You are sort of
iridescent. There're lots of other insects, but Dung-Beetle sounds sort of insulting. ..."
I've got a guardian angel who sounds like Robin Williams, Gillian thought. It was wonderful. She started to giggle uncontrollably, on the edge of tears.
"Of course, there's a condition," the angel said, dropping his fingers. He looked at her seriously. His eyes were like the violet-blue at the bottom of a flame.
Gillian gulped, took a scared breath. "What?"
"You have to trust me."
"That's it?"
"Sometimes it won't be so easy."
"Look." Gillian laughed, gulped again, steadied herself. She looked away from his eyes, focusing on the graceful body that was floating in midair. "Look, after all I've seen . . . after you saved my life-and my bits . . . how could I not trust you?" She said it again quietly. "How could I ever not trust you?"
He nodded. Winked. "Okay," he said. "Let's prove it."
"Huh?" Slowly the feeling of awed incredulity was fading. It was beginning to seem almost normal to talk to this magical being.
"Let's prove it. Get some scissors."
"Scissors?"
Gillian stared at the angel. He stared back.
"I don't even know where any scissors are."
"Drawer to the left of the silverware drawer in
the kitchen. A big sharp pair." He grinned like Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother.
Gillian wasn't afraid. She didn't decide not to be, she simply wasn't.
"Okay," she said and went down to get the scissors. The angel went with her, floating just behind her shoulder. At the bottom of the stairs were two Abyssinian cats, curled up head to toe like the Yin-Yang symbol. They were fast asleep. Gillian nudged one gently with one toe, and it opened sleepy crescents of eyes.
And then it was off like a flash-both cats were. Streaking down the side hall, falling over each other, skidding on the hardwood floor. Gillian watched with her mouth open.
"Balaam's ass," the angel said wisely.
"I beg your pardon?" For a moment Gillian thought she was being insulted.
"I mean, animals can see us."
"But they were scared. All their fur-I've never seen them like that before."
"Well, they may not understand what I am. It happens sometimes. Come on, let's get the scissors."
Gillian stared down the side hall for a moment, then obeyed.
"Now what?" she said as she brought the scissors back to her room.
"Go in the bathroom."
Gillian went into the little bathroom that ad-
joined her bedroom and flicked on the light. She licked dry lips.
"And now?" she said, trying to sound flippant. "Do I cut off a finger?"