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

It happened to you, too?
David parked and was out of the car before Gillian could gather herself to speak.
Then he was opening her door, reaching for her.
"Gotta get all this ridiculous stuff out of the way," he said, pushing her hair back as if it were a curtain of cobwebs. Something about the way he said it made Gillian think he liked her hair.
She peered up at him through a gap in the curtain. His eyes were dark brown and normally looked almost hawkish, but just now, as their gazes met, they changed. They looked startled and wondering. As if he saw something in her eyes that surprised him and struck a chord.
Gillian felt a flutter of wonder herself. I don't think he's really tough at all, she thought, as something like a spark seemed to flash between them. He's not so different from me; he's-
She was wracked by a sudden bout of shivers.
David blinked and shook his head. "We've got to get you inside," he muttered.
And then, still shivering, she was in the air. Bobbing, being carried up the path to her house.
"You shouldn't be walking to school in the winter," David said. "I'll drive you from now on."
Gillian was struck speechless. On the one hand, she should probably tell him she didn't walk every day. On the other hand, who was she kidding?
Just the thought of him giving her a ride was enough to make her heart beat wildly.
Between that and the novel feeling of being carried, it wasn't until he was opening the front door that Gillian remembered her mother.
Then she panicked.
Oh, God, I can't let David see her-but maybe it'll be all right.
If there was a smell of food cooking, that meant it was okay. If not, it was one of Mom's bad days.
There was no smell of food as David stepped into the dim hallway. And no sign of life-all the downstairs lights were off. The house was cold and echoing and Gillian knew she had to get David out.
But how? He was carrying her farther in, asking, "Your parents aren't home?"
"I guess not. Dad doesn't get home until seven most nights." It wasn't exactly a lie. Gillian just prayed her mom would stay put in the bedroom until David left.
"I'll be okay now," she said hastily, not even caring if she sounded rude or ungrateful. Anything to make him go. "I can take care of myself, and- and I'm okay."
"The he ... eck you are," David said. It was the longest drawn out 'heck' Gillian had ever heard.
He doesn't want to swear around me. That's cute.
"You need to get thawed out, fast. Where's a bathtub?"
Gillian automatically lifted a stiff arm to point down the side hall, then dropped it. "Now, wait a minute-"
He was already there. He put her on her feet, then disappeared into the bathroom to turn on the water.
Gillian cast an anguished glance upstairs. Just stay put, Mom. Stay asleep.
"You've got to get in there and stay for at least twenty minutes," David said, reappearing. "Then we can see if you need to go to the hospital at Houghton."
That made Gillian remember something. "The police-"
"Yeah, right, I'll call them. As soon as you're in the tub." He reached out and plucked at her dripping, ice-crusted sweater. "Can you get this off okay? Do your fingers work?"
"Urn . . ." Her fingers didn't work; they were still blocks of wood. Frost-nipped at least, she thought, peering at them. But there was no way he was going to undress her, and there was also no way she was going to call her mother. "Urn . . ."
"Uh, turn around," David said. He pulled at her sweater again. "Okay, I've got my eyes shut. Now-"
"No," Gillian said, holding her elbows firmly against her sides.
They stood, confused and indecisive, until they were saved by an interruption, a voice from the main hallway.
"What are you doing to her?" the voice said.
Gillian turned and looked around David. It was Tanya Jun, David's girlfriend.
Tanya was wearing a velveteen cap perched on her glossy dark hair and a Christmas sweater with metallic threads woven in. She had almond-shaped gray eyes and a mouth with firm lips molded over white teeth. Gillian always thought of her as a future corporate executive.
"I saw your car out there," the future executive said to David, "and the front door of the house was open." She looked level-headed, suspicious, and a little bit as if she doubted David's sanity. David looked back and forth between her and Gillian and fumbled for an explanation.
"There's nothing going on. I picked her up on Hillcrest Road. She was-well, look at her. She fell in the creek and she's frozen."
"I see," Tanya said, still calmly. She gave Gillian a quick assessing glance, then turned back to David. "She doesn't look too bad. You go to the kitchen and make some hot chocolate. Or hot water with Jell-O in it, something with sugar. I'll take care of her."
"And the police," Gillian called after David's disappearing back. She didn't exactly want to look Tanya in the face.
Tanya was a senior like David, in the class ahead of Gillian at Rachel Carson High School. Gillian feared her, admired her, and hated her, in about that order.
"Into the bathroom," Tanya said. Once Gillian was in, she helped her undress, stripping off the clinging, icy-wet clothes and dropping them in the sink. Everything she did was brisk and efficient, and Gillian could almost see sparks fly from her fingers.
Gillian was too miserable to protest at being stripped naked by somebody with the bedside manner of a female prison guard or an extremely strict nanny. She huddled, feeling small and shivering in her bare skin, and then lunged for the tub as soon as Tanya was done.
The water felt scalding. Gillian could feel her eyes get huge and she clenched her teeth on a yell. It probably felt so hot because she was so cold. Breathing through her nose, she forced herself to submerge to the shoulders.
"All right," Tanya said on the other side of the coral-colored shower curtain. "I'll go up and get you some dry clothes to put on."
"No!" Gillian said, shooting half out of the water. Not upstairs, not where her mom was, not where her room was.
But the bathroom door was already shutting with a decisive dick. Tanya wasn't the kind of person you said no to.
Gillian sat, immobilized by panic and horror, until a fountain of burning pain drove everything else out of her mind.
It started in her fingers and toes and shot upward, a white-hot searing that meant her frozen flesh was coming back to life. All she could do was
sit rigid, breathe raggedly through her nose, and try to endure it.