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Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 52 из 205I felt Zachary looming over me.
Nickolaos said, “Leave her alone, for now.”
He stood there like an angry shadow pressing over my back. I touched the zombie's arm. It flinched. “It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you.” Not going to hurt you. He had killed himself to escape. But not even the grave was sanctuary enough. Before tonight I would have said no animator would have raised the dead for such a purpose. Sometimes the world is a worse place than I want to know about.
I had to peel the zombie's hands from his face, then turn the face up to stare at me. One look was enough. Dark eyes were incredibly wide, fear, such fear. A thin line of spittle oozed from his mouth.
I shook my head and stood. “You've broken him.”
“Damn right. No damn zombie is going to make a fool of me. He'll answer the questions.”
I whirled to stare at the man's angry eyes. “Don't you understand? You've broken his mind.”
“Zombies don't have minds.”
“That's right, they don't. All they have, and for a very short time, is the memory of what they were. If you treat them well, they can retain their personalities for maybe a week, a little more, but this … “ I pointed at the zombie, then spoke to Nikolaos. “The treatment will speed the process. Shock will destroy it.”
“What are you saying, animator?”
“This sadist”-I jabbed a thumb at Zachary-“has destroyed the zombie's mind. It won't be answering any more questions. Not for anyone, not ever.”
Nikolaos turned like a pale storm. Her eyes were blue glass. Her words filled the room with a soft burning. “You arrogant … “ A tremor ran through her body, from small, slippered feet to long white-blonde hair. I waited for the wooden chair to catch fire and blaze from the fine heat of her anger.
The anger stripped away the child puppet. Bones stood out against white paper skin. Hands grabbed at the air, clawed and straining. One hand dug into the arm of her chair. The wood whined, then cracked. The sound echoed against the stone walls. Her voice burned along our skin. “Get out of here before I kill you. Take the woman and see her safely back to her car. If you fail me again, large or small, I will tear your throat out, and my children will bathe in a shower of your blood.”
Nicely graphic; a little melodramatic, but nicely graphic. I didn't say it out loud. Hell, I wasn't even breathing. Any movement might attract her. All she needed was an excuse.
Zachary seemed to sense it as well. He bowed, eyes never leaving her face.
Nickolaos said, “Leave her alone, for now.”
He stood there like an angry shadow pressing over my back. I touched the zombie's arm. It flinched. “It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you.” Not going to hurt you. He had killed himself to escape. But not even the grave was sanctuary enough. Before tonight I would have said no animator would have raised the dead for such a purpose. Sometimes the world is a worse place than I want to know about.
I had to peel the zombie's hands from his face, then turn the face up to stare at me. One look was enough. Dark eyes were incredibly wide, fear, such fear. A thin line of spittle oozed from his mouth.
I shook my head and stood. “You've broken him.”
“Damn right. No damn zombie is going to make a fool of me. He'll answer the questions.”
I whirled to stare at the man's angry eyes. “Don't you understand? You've broken his mind.”
“Zombies don't have minds.”
“That's right, they don't. All they have, and for a very short time, is the memory of what they were. If you treat them well, they can retain their personalities for maybe a week, a little more, but this … “ I pointed at the zombie, then spoke to Nikolaos. “The treatment will speed the process. Shock will destroy it.”
“What are you saying, animator?”
“This sadist”-I jabbed a thumb at Zachary-“has destroyed the zombie's mind. It won't be answering any more questions. Not for anyone, not ever.”
Nikolaos turned like a pale storm. Her eyes were blue glass. Her words filled the room with a soft burning. “You arrogant … “ A tremor ran through her body, from small, slippered feet to long white-blonde hair. I waited for the wooden chair to catch fire and blaze from the fine heat of her anger.
The anger stripped away the child puppet. Bones stood out against white paper skin. Hands grabbed at the air, clawed and straining. One hand dug into the arm of her chair. The wood whined, then cracked. The sound echoed against the stone walls. Her voice burned along our skin. “Get out of here before I kill you. Take the woman and see her safely back to her car. If you fail me again, large or small, I will tear your throat out, and my children will bathe in a shower of your blood.”
Nicely graphic; a little melodramatic, but nicely graphic. I didn't say it out loud. Hell, I wasn't even breathing. Any movement might attract her. All she needed was an excuse.
Zachary seemed to sense it as well. He bowed, eyes never leaving her face.