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A Caress Of Twilight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 126 из 236Nine ofthem dropped where they stood, but the rest had time to fight, to be afraid, to try to run. But they didn't run like they'd run if, say, wild animals had attacked them. They didn't go for the doors, or break a window, not as soon as they saw what was happening. It's as if they couldn't see anything."
"You speak in riddles," Frost said.
"Yeah, plain English, Rhys, please."
"What if they didn't run because they didn't realize that anything was in the room?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Most humans can't see spirits of any kind."
"Yeah, but if you're implying that spirits, noncorporeal beings killed everybody at the club, then I can't agree. Noncorporeal beings, riders, whatever, they don't have the… physical oomph to take out that many people like that. They might be able to do one person who was very susceptible to their influence, but even that's debatable."
"Not noncorporeal beings, Merry, but a different kind of spirit."
I blinked at him. "You mean, what, ghosts?"
He nodded.
"Ghosts don't do things like this, Rhys. They might be able to scare someone into a heart attack, if the person had a weak heart, but that's it. Real ghosts don't harm people. If you get true physical damage, then you're dealing with something other than ghosts."
"It depends on what kind of ghosts you're talking about, Merry."
"What do you mean by that? There is only one kind of ghost."
He glanced at me then, having to turn his head almost completely around because of the eye patch. He often glanced at me when he drove, but it was a movement without meaning because his right eye was gone; he couldn't see me. Now, he made the effort to look at me with his left eye. "You know so much."
I'd always assumed Rhys was one of the younger sidhe, because he never made me feel like I was in the wrong century. He was one of the few who had a house outside the faerie mound, electricity, a license. Now he looked at me as if I were a child and would never understand.
"Stop that," I said.
He turned back to the road. "Stop what?"
"I hate it when any of you give me that look, the look that says I'm so young and I couldn't possibly understand what you've experienced. Well, fine, I'll never be a thousand years old, but I'm over thirty, and by human standards I'm not a child. Please don't treat me like one."
"Then stop acting like one," he said, and his voice was full of reproach, again like a disappointed teacher. I got enough of that from Doyle. I didn't need it from Rhys.
"You speak in riddles," Frost said.
"Yeah, plain English, Rhys, please."
"What if they didn't run because they didn't realize that anything was in the room?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Most humans can't see spirits of any kind."
"Yeah, but if you're implying that spirits, noncorporeal beings killed everybody at the club, then I can't agree. Noncorporeal beings, riders, whatever, they don't have the… physical oomph to take out that many people like that. They might be able to do one person who was very susceptible to their influence, but even that's debatable."
"Not noncorporeal beings, Merry, but a different kind of spirit."
I blinked at him. "You mean, what, ghosts?"
He nodded.
"Ghosts don't do things like this, Rhys. They might be able to scare someone into a heart attack, if the person had a weak heart, but that's it. Real ghosts don't harm people. If you get true physical damage, then you're dealing with something other than ghosts."
"It depends on what kind of ghosts you're talking about, Merry."
"What do you mean by that? There is only one kind of ghost."
He glanced at me then, having to turn his head almost completely around because of the eye patch. He often glanced at me when he drove, but it was a movement without meaning because his right eye was gone; he couldn't see me. Now, he made the effort to look at me with his left eye. "You know so much."
I'd always assumed Rhys was one of the younger sidhe, because he never made me feel like I was in the wrong century. He was one of the few who had a house outside the faerie mound, electricity, a license. Now he looked at me as if I were a child and would never understand.
"Stop that," I said.
He turned back to the road. "Stop what?"
"I hate it when any of you give me that look, the look that says I'm so young and I couldn't possibly understand what you've experienced. Well, fine, I'll never be a thousand years old, but I'm over thirty, and by human standards I'm not a child. Please don't treat me like one."
"Then stop acting like one," he said, and his voice was full of reproach, again like a disappointed teacher. I got enough of that from Doyle. I didn't need it from Rhys.