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Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 189 из 205“I love mywork,” he said.
I had to smile. Truth was, I loved my work, too.
45
During the day I learned how to use a shotgun. That night I went caving with wererats.
The cave was dark. I stood in absolute blackness, gripping my flashlight. I touched my hand to my forehead and couldn't see a damn thing but the funny white images your eyes make when there is no light. I was wearing a hard hat with a light on it, turned off at present. The wererats had insisted on it. All around me were sounds. Cries, moans, the popping of bone, a curious sliding sound like a knife drawing out of flesh. The wererats were changing from human to animal. It sounded like it hurt-a lot. They had made me swear not to turn on a light until they told me to.
I had never wanted to see so badly in my life. It couldn't be so horrible. Could it? But a promise is a promise. I sounded like Horton the Elephant. “A person is a person no matter how small.” What the hell was I doing standing in the middle of a cave, in the dark, surrounded by wererats, quoting Dr. Seuss, and trying to kill a one-thousand-year-old vampire?
It had been one of my stranger weeks.
Rafael, the Rat King, said, “You may turn on your lights.”
I did, instantly. My eyes seemed to leech on the light, eager to see. The ratmen stood in small groups in the wide, flat-roofed tunnel. There were ten of them. I had counted them in human form. Now the seven males were fur-covered and wearing jean cutoffs. Two wore loose t-shirts. The three women wore loose dresses, like maternity clothes. Their black button eyes glittered in the light. Everybody was furry.
Edward came to stand near me. He was staring at the weres, face distant, unreadable. I touched his arm. I had told Rafael that I was not a bounty hunter, but Edward was, sometimes. I hoped I had not endangered these people.
“Are you ready?” Rafael asked. He was the same sleek black ratman I remembered.
“Yes,” I said.
Edward nodded.
The wererats scattered to either side of us, scrambling over low, weathered flowstone. I said to no one in particular, “I thought caves were damp.”
A smaller ratman in a t-shirt said, “Cherokee Caverns is dead cave.”
“I don't understand.”
“Live cave has water and growing formations. A dry cave where none of the formations are growing is called dead cave.”
“Oh,” I said.
He drew lips back from huge teeth, a smile, I think.
I had to smile. Truth was, I loved my work, too.
45
During the day I learned how to use a shotgun. That night I went caving with wererats.
The cave was dark. I stood in absolute blackness, gripping my flashlight. I touched my hand to my forehead and couldn't see a damn thing but the funny white images your eyes make when there is no light. I was wearing a hard hat with a light on it, turned off at present. The wererats had insisted on it. All around me were sounds. Cries, moans, the popping of bone, a curious sliding sound like a knife drawing out of flesh. The wererats were changing from human to animal. It sounded like it hurt-a lot. They had made me swear not to turn on a light until they told me to.
I had never wanted to see so badly in my life. It couldn't be so horrible. Could it? But a promise is a promise. I sounded like Horton the Elephant. “A person is a person no matter how small.” What the hell was I doing standing in the middle of a cave, in the dark, surrounded by wererats, quoting Dr. Seuss, and trying to kill a one-thousand-year-old vampire?
It had been one of my stranger weeks.
Rafael, the Rat King, said, “You may turn on your lights.”
I did, instantly. My eyes seemed to leech on the light, eager to see. The ratmen stood in small groups in the wide, flat-roofed tunnel. There were ten of them. I had counted them in human form. Now the seven males were fur-covered and wearing jean cutoffs. Two wore loose t-shirts. The three women wore loose dresses, like maternity clothes. Their black button eyes glittered in the light. Everybody was furry.
Edward came to stand near me. He was staring at the weres, face distant, unreadable. I touched his arm. I had told Rafael that I was not a bounty hunter, but Edward was, sometimes. I hoped I had not endangered these people.
“Are you ready?” Rafael asked. He was the same sleek black ratman I remembered.
“Yes,” I said.
Edward nodded.
The wererats scattered to either side of us, scrambling over low, weathered flowstone. I said to no one in particular, “I thought caves were damp.”
A smaller ratman in a t-shirt said, “Cherokee Caverns is dead cave.”
“I don't understand.”
“Live cave has water and growing formations. A dry cave where none of the formations are growing is called dead cave.”
“Oh,” I said.
He drew lips back from huge teeth, a smile, I think.