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

bogus IRS agent's lack of an aura branded him supernatural. His glowing eyes and
inch-long fangs proclaimed his grisly heritage.
"A mere matter of semantics," said Walsh. He spoke quite well, considering the
size of his incisors. "This is the twentieth century, not the eighteenth. The entry hall to an
apartment building serves as a common threshold for all the individual units. And you did
invite me in."
Straining, Jack shoved the kitchen table in the vampire's path. With an amused
shake of the head, the monster grasped the formica top with one hand and squeezed. The
hardened plastic exploded into dust. Vampires, Jack remembered immediately, were much
stronger than ordinary mortals.
"What do you want, Walsh?" Jack asked, retreating behind the kitchen chairs.
"Information," replied the vampire. He appeared in no hurry to catch Jack. From
time to time, his gaze flickered over to Simon, standing motionless by the sofa. He seemed
puzzled by the changeling's presence. "My master wants to know all about you, Mr.
Collins. And how you came to possess the talisman you carry."
"It was a gift," said Jack, sliding around the last of the chairs and darting into the
living room. Grasping at half-remembered solutions, he began reciting the only prayer he
could remember.
"Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name...."
"Please don't strain your memory," said Walsh cheerfully. "That superstition died
out a long time ago. Ditto, the cross thing. I departed this world an agnostic. None of
those religious remedies affects me in the slightest. Why not be a good boy and just
answer my questions? After all, we already know all about Merlin and his daughter."
"Oh yeah," said Jack, pushing the sofa into the vampire's path. Simon remained
frozen in place. He had not said a word since Walsh had entered the apartment. "If you're
that well informed, what do you want from me?"
"Mine is not to reason why," replied the vampire. Reaching down, he latched onto
the sofa with both hands. Effortlessly, Walsh wrenched it out of Jack's grasp. Chuckling,
he tossed it against the living-room wall. The whole apartment shook when it hit the floor.
"Why did the old wizard give you the talisman?" Walsh demanded. "And what did
he tell you about my master?"
"Your master?" said Jack, backing up to the windows. He was out of running
space. "Since when do vampires work for the Old Ones?"
"A matter of professional courtesy," answered Walsh. "Besides, doing a favor or
two for a God never hurts. He promised me New York for finding you."
The vampire smiled, making him look even more ghastly. "So, you do know about
the Old Ones. How very interesting. Please tell more."
He stepped closer, edging around a still motionless Simon. Walsh frowned, swirling
his cape dramatically.
"Don't interfere in matters that are none of your concern, faerie," he ordered,
glancing at the changeling. "This affair isn't any of your business."
"That's your mistake," said Simon unexpectedly and wrapped his arms around
Walsh. Jerking his body around, he wrenched the vampire to the floor.
"Run, Jack!" he shouted. "I can't hold him long."
Caught by surprise, Jack froze. He wanted desperately to help Simon, but he had
no idea how. Already, the vampire was pulling free from the changeling's grip. He would
be loose in seconds.
Crosses and prayers no longer worked, but there were other ways to hurt a
vampire. Struck by inspiration, Jack darted past the struggling supernaturals into the
kitchenette. Wildly, he pawed through the bottles on his spice rack.