"Robert Weinberg - Logical Magician 01 - A Logical Magician" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weinberg Robert)

the dark Germanic God, Wotan. Then along came Hitler. And the Second World War.
Talk about cause and effect, Jack. It took all the witches and warlocks in England
working together to banish the Norse deity back to the outer darkness. We don't have the
manpower or the time to match that feat. Not if the forces of night are already on the
move."
"I'm still not clear..." began Jack when the lobby intercom buzzed.
"You expecting company?" asked Simon.
"Not really," said Jack, glancing down at his watch. It was nearly midnight. By
now, he had dismissed his fears about the campus police as groundless. But none of his
friends ever visited this late.
The intercom buzzed again, loud and insistent. It kept on ringing.
Slightly nervous, Jack pressed the transmit button. "Who is it?" he asked. "What do
you want?"
"Bernard Walsh, from the IRS, Mr. Collins. I'm investigating a series of suspicious
withdrawals made today at several cash stations throughout the Loop. You seem to be
involved with the transactions. Mind if we talk?"
All of the muscles in Jack's arms and legs tied themselves into knots. "It's awfully
late, Mr. Walsh," he managed to say after several false starts. "Couldn't we discuss things
in the morning?"
"Sorry, Collins, but it can't wait till then. The IRS believes counterfeit credit cards
are quite serious matters. If you prefer, I can return shortly with a search warrant."
"Uh, no," said Jack. "That won't be necessary. You can come up."
"Thanks," said Walsh. "That's all I needed for you to say."
"Odd choice of words," said Simon, as Jack sank down onto the sofa.
"I didn't notice," said Jack. "At least the money isn't hidden here. That was a good
idea, stashing it in your room."
"Great," agreed Simon sarcastically. "Brand me as your accessory. At least, you'll
have company in jail."
A heavy fist pounded on the door to Jack's apartment. Man and changeling looked
at each other in astonishment.
"That was awfully quick," said Simon, "considering that you're on the fifth floor."
"He must have caught the elevator the second I hung up," said Jack, hurrying to the
entrance. "Hopefully, I can talk my way out of this mess."
"All he needed for you to say?" repeated Simon. "As if he wanted you to recite a
certain formula. Oh, hell," he gasped. "Jack, he tricked you. Walsh is a..."
The changeling's warning came an instant too late. Jack pulled open the door to his
apartment. Standing there, white-faced, red-eyed, stood a creature dressed entirely in
black. Tall and stately, with a satanic smile and big, big teeth, Walsh was no IRS agent.
But he was a bloodsucker all the same.
"...vampire," concluded Simon, unnecessarily.

9

Jack scrambled back into the kitchenette. Walsh leisurely folded, slamming the door
behind him.
"You can't cross the threshold to my home unless invited," declared Jack, his mind
racing furiously. For the first time in his life, he regretted not reading Dracula. His
knowledge of the undead was limited to their infrequent appearances in humorous fantasy
novels, and several Christopher Lee film festivals he had attended as a teenager.
Jack had no doubt about Walsh's identity, even without Simon's warning. The