JК
Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 36 из 205“Does this mean I am in your power somehow?”
“Just the opposite,” Theresa said, “you are now immune to his glance, his voice, his mind. You will serve him out of willingness, nothing more. You see what he has done.”
I stared into her black eyes. They were just eyes.
She nodded. “Now you begin to understand. As an animator you had partial immunity to our gaze. Now you have almost complete immunity.” She gave an abrupt barking laugh. “Nikolaos is going to destroy you both.” With that she stalked up the stairs, the heels of her boots smacking against the stone. She left the door open behind her.
Jean-Claude had come to stand over me. His face was unreadable.
“Why?” I asked.
He just stared down at me. His hair had dried in unruly curls around his face. He was still beautiful, but the hair made him seem more real.
“Why?”
He smiled then, and there were tired lines near his eyes. “If you died, our master would have punished us. Aubrey is already suffering for his … indiscretion.”
He turned and walked up the stairs. He moved up the steps like a cat, all boneless, liquid grace.
He paused at the door and glanced back at me. “Someone will come for you when Nikolaos decides it is time.” He closed the door, and I heard it latch and lock. His voice floated through the bars, rich, almost bubbling with laughter, “And perhaps, because I liked you.” His laughter was bitter, like broken glass.
10
I had to check the locked door. Rattle it, poke at the lock, as if I knew how to pick locks. See if any bars were loose, though I could never have squeezed through the small window anyway.
I checked the door because I could not resist it. It was the same urge that made you rattle your trunk after you locked your keys inside.
I have been on the wrong side of a lot of locked doors. Not a one of them had just opened for me, but there was always a first time. Yeah, I should live so long. Scratch that; bad phrase.
A sound brought me back to the cell and its seeping, damp walls. A rat scurried against the far wall. Another peered around the edge of the steps, whiskers twitching. I guess you can't have a dungeon without rats, but I would have been willing to give it a try.
Something else pattered around the edge of the steps; in the torchlight I thought it was a dog. It wasn't. A rat the size of a German shepherd sat up on its sleek black haunches. It stared at me, huge paws tucked close to its furry chest. It cocked one large, black button eye at me. Lips drew back from yellowed teeth. The incisors were five inches long, blunt-edged daggers.
“Just the opposite,” Theresa said, “you are now immune to his glance, his voice, his mind. You will serve him out of willingness, nothing more. You see what he has done.”
I stared into her black eyes. They were just eyes.
She nodded. “Now you begin to understand. As an animator you had partial immunity to our gaze. Now you have almost complete immunity.” She gave an abrupt barking laugh. “Nikolaos is going to destroy you both.” With that she stalked up the stairs, the heels of her boots smacking against the stone. She left the door open behind her.
Jean-Claude had come to stand over me. His face was unreadable.
“Why?” I asked.
He just stared down at me. His hair had dried in unruly curls around his face. He was still beautiful, but the hair made him seem more real.
“Why?”
He smiled then, and there were tired lines near his eyes. “If you died, our master would have punished us. Aubrey is already suffering for his … indiscretion.”
He turned and walked up the stairs. He moved up the steps like a cat, all boneless, liquid grace.
He paused at the door and glanced back at me. “Someone will come for you when Nikolaos decides it is time.” He closed the door, and I heard it latch and lock. His voice floated through the bars, rich, almost bubbling with laughter, “And perhaps, because I liked you.” His laughter was bitter, like broken glass.
10
I had to check the locked door. Rattle it, poke at the lock, as if I knew how to pick locks. See if any bars were loose, though I could never have squeezed through the small window anyway.
I checked the door because I could not resist it. It was the same urge that made you rattle your trunk after you locked your keys inside.
I have been on the wrong side of a lot of locked doors. Not a one of them had just opened for me, but there was always a first time. Yeah, I should live so long. Scratch that; bad phrase.
A sound brought me back to the cell and its seeping, damp walls. A rat scurried against the far wall. Another peered around the edge of the steps, whiskers twitching. I guess you can't have a dungeon without rats, but I would have been willing to give it a try.
Something else pattered around the edge of the steps; in the torchlight I thought it was a dog. It wasn't. A rat the size of a German shepherd sat up on its sleek black haunches. It stared at me, huge paws tucked close to its furry chest. It cocked one large, black button eye at me. Lips drew back from yellowed teeth. The incisors were five inches long, blunt-edged daggers.