JК
The Lunatic Cafe :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 138 из 234Would she let him kill her? Would he do it? Could I stand here and just watch?
He stood there in his wonderful black shirt, looking elegant and scrumptious, and holding Gretchen with one arm, straight up. He walked towards his desk still holding her. He kept his balance effortlessly. Even a lycanthrope couldn't have done it, not like that. I watched his slender body walk across the carpet and knew he could pretend all he wanted to, but it wasn't human. He wasn't human.
He set her feet on the carpet on the far side of the desk. He relaxed his grip on her throat but didn't let her go.
"Jean-Claude, please. Who is she that the Master of the City should beg for her attention?"
He kept his hand resting on her throat, not squeezing now. He pushed the screen back with his free hand. It folded back to reveal a coffin. It sat up off the ground on a cloth-draped pedestal. The wood was nearly black and polished to a mirrorlike shine.
Gretchen's eyes widened. "Jean-Claude, Jean-Claude, I'm sorry. I didn't kill her. I could have. Ask her. I could have killed her, but I didn't. Ask her. Ask her!" Her voice was pure panic.
"Anita." That one word slithered across my skin, thick and full of forboding. I was very glad that that voice was not angry with me.
"She could have killed me with the first rush," I said.
"Why do you think she did not do it?"
"I think she got distracted trying to draw it out. To enjoy it more."
"No, no, I was just threatening her. Trying to frighten her away. I knew you wouldn't want me to kill her. I knew that, or she'd be dead."
"You were always a bad liar, Gretel."
Gretel?
He raised the lid on the coffin with one hand, drawing her nearer to it.
She jerked away from him. His fingernails drew bloody furrows on her throat. She stood behind the office chair, putting it between her and him, as if it would help. Blood trickled down her throat.
"Do not make me force you, Gretel."
"My name is Gretchen and has been for over a hundred years." It was the first real spirit I'd seen in her against Jean-Claude anyway. I fought the urge to applaud. It wasn't hard.
"You were Gretel when I found you, and you are Gretel still. Do not force me to remind you of what you are, Gretel."
"I will not go into that cursed box willingly. I won't do it."
"Do you really want Anita to see you at your worst?"
I thought I already had.
"I will not go." Her voice was firm, not confident, but stubborn. She meant it.
Jean-Claude stood very still. He raised one hand in a languid gesture. There was no other word for it. The movement was almost dancelike.
He stood there in his wonderful black shirt, looking elegant and scrumptious, and holding Gretchen with one arm, straight up. He walked towards his desk still holding her. He kept his balance effortlessly. Even a lycanthrope couldn't have done it, not like that. I watched his slender body walk across the carpet and knew he could pretend all he wanted to, but it wasn't human. He wasn't human.
He set her feet on the carpet on the far side of the desk. He relaxed his grip on her throat but didn't let her go.
"Jean-Claude, please. Who is she that the Master of the City should beg for her attention?"
He kept his hand resting on her throat, not squeezing now. He pushed the screen back with his free hand. It folded back to reveal a coffin. It sat up off the ground on a cloth-draped pedestal. The wood was nearly black and polished to a mirrorlike shine.
Gretchen's eyes widened. "Jean-Claude, Jean-Claude, I'm sorry. I didn't kill her. I could have. Ask her. I could have killed her, but I didn't. Ask her. Ask her!" Her voice was pure panic.
"Anita." That one word slithered across my skin, thick and full of forboding. I was very glad that that voice was not angry with me.
"She could have killed me with the first rush," I said.
"Why do you think she did not do it?"
"I think she got distracted trying to draw it out. To enjoy it more."
"No, no, I was just threatening her. Trying to frighten her away. I knew you wouldn't want me to kill her. I knew that, or she'd be dead."
"You were always a bad liar, Gretel."
Gretel?
He raised the lid on the coffin with one hand, drawing her nearer to it.
She jerked away from him. His fingernails drew bloody furrows on her throat. She stood behind the office chair, putting it between her and him, as if it would help. Blood trickled down her throat.
"Do not make me force you, Gretel."
"My name is Gretchen and has been for over a hundred years." It was the first real spirit I'd seen in her against Jean-Claude anyway. I fought the urge to applaud. It wasn't hard.
"You were Gretel when I found you, and you are Gretel still. Do not force me to remind you of what you are, Gretel."
"I will not go into that cursed box willingly. I won't do it."
"Do you really want Anita to see you at your worst?"
I thought I already had.
"I will not go." Her voice was firm, not confident, but stubborn. She meant it.
Jean-Claude stood very still. He raised one hand in a languid gesture. There was no other word for it. The movement was almost dancelike.