"Shanna Swendson - Once Upon Stillettos" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swendson Shanna)

was really strange. It was like a living skeleton was walking alongside us down the Fourteenth Street
sidewalk. Nobody else who passed us seemed to notice anything odd, but with New York commuters,
that didn't necessarily mean anything.

I moved closer to Owen. "You don't see anything weird, do you?" I asked him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Define weird."

"Walking skeleton on your left."

I admired his cool as he barely moved his eyes in that direction. If the wizard thing didn't work out for
him, I thought he'd make a decent spy. He even looked like a young James Bond. "Hmm," he said after a
moment. "There's definitely something veiled near us. I can feel the power in use. What do you think we
should do?"

"You're the wizard."

"Well, it might make a scene if I unveiled it in public."

"If anyone noticed," I reminded him.

"Oh, right. Well, let's get him out of our hair." He mumbled something under his breath and twitched his
wrist.

The skeleton creature suddenly flew up against a NO PARKING sign, where it remained stuck and
struggling. I almost hit a light pole, I was so busy looking to see what happened while still trying to walk
forward and look casual. Owen pulled me out of the way just before I broke my nose.

"Nice teamwork," he said with a satisfied grin. "You spot 'em. I spell 'em. I wonder how long it will take
for someone to realize it's there and free it." I didn't need the reminder that his commuting with me in the
morning had more to do with business than it did with affection or even chivalry. It was a form of mutual
protection against our enemies. I could spot any magical threats that might have been veiled from him. As
powerful as he was, his magic meant that magic could be used on him. Meanwhile, he could defend us
against any magical attacks that I spotted. And if the motion of a crowded subway car happened to
throw me up against him, well, that was a bonus.

"I wonder what that was about," I said, but before he had a chance to respond, I already knew the
answer. There was a street musician near the entrance to the subway at Union Square, playing the
bongos with no sense of rhythm. I grabbed Owen's arm, for the would-be drummer wearing a brightly
colored Rasta cap that didn't go with his otherwise nerdy attire was none other than MSI's current
nemesis, Phelan Idris. I was fairly certain he was using a spell to hide himself from Owen.
"What is it this time?" Owen asked under his breath.

"Let's just say there's a good reason that guy playing the drums has no rhythm."

He gave a weary sigh and walked right up to the bongo player. "Sorry I don't have any spare change on
me," he said. "I know we messed up your livelihood, but couldn't you have found something a little less
degrading to do? Your lack of talent is embarrassing."

Idris's beat got even more off as he looked up at Owen, then turned to glare at me. I gave him a cheery