JК
A Kiss Of Shadows :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 18 из 338They had to be more careful of their hands than that for fear they'd rip the surgical gloves they always wore. The gloves kept the poison that their hands naturally produced from rubbing off on anyone else. They'd been born cursed.
"Would you recognize this Donald if you saw him again?"
"Yes."
"Was there anything the same about all the men?" Jeremy asked.
"They all had long hair like he has, shoulder-length or longer."
Long hair, possible cartilage implants in the ears, Celtic names—sounded like faerie wanna-bes to me. I'd never heard of a sex cult of faerie wanna-bes, but you should never underestimate people's ability to corrupt an ideal.
"Good, Ms. Phelps," Jeremy said. "How about tattoos, symbols written on their bodies, a piece of jewelry that they all wore?"
"No to all of it."
"Did you meet only at night?"
"No, sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes at night."
"No special time of the month, not close to a holiday?" Jeremy asked.
She frowned at him. "I've been seeing him only a little over two months. There haven't been any holidays, but no special time."
"Did you have sex with him or others a certain number of times a week?"
She had to think about that one, but finally shook her head. "It varied."
"Did they chant or sing?" Jeremy asked.
"No," she said.
It didn't sound like much of a ritual to me. "Why did you use the term ritual, Ms. Phelps? Why didn't you say spell?"
"I don't know."
"You do know," I said. "You're not a practitioner. I don't think you'd use the term ritual without a reason. Just think for a minute. Why that word?"
She thought about it, eyes staring into space, seeing nothing, tiny frown lines between her eyebrows. She blinked and looked at me. "I heard him talking on the phone one night." She looked down, then up, defiant again, and I knew she didn't like what she was about to say. "He'd tied me to the bed, but he'd left the door open a little. I could hear him talking. He said, 'The ritual will be good tonight, then his voice dropped too low for me to hear, then he said, 'The untrained ones give it up so easily'." She looked at me. "I wasn't a virgin when we met. I was… experienced. Before him, I thought I was good in bed."
"What makes you think you're not?" I asked.
"He told me that I wasn't good enough at straight sex to satisfy him, that he needed the abuse to spice it up, so he wouldn't be bored." She tried to stay defiant and failed. The hurt showed in her eyes.
"Were you in love with him?" I tried to make the question gentle.
"Would you recognize this Donald if you saw him again?"
"Yes."
"Was there anything the same about all the men?" Jeremy asked.
"They all had long hair like he has, shoulder-length or longer."
Long hair, possible cartilage implants in the ears, Celtic names—sounded like faerie wanna-bes to me. I'd never heard of a sex cult of faerie wanna-bes, but you should never underestimate people's ability to corrupt an ideal.
"Good, Ms. Phelps," Jeremy said. "How about tattoos, symbols written on their bodies, a piece of jewelry that they all wore?"
"No to all of it."
"Did you meet only at night?"
"No, sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes at night."
"No special time of the month, not close to a holiday?" Jeremy asked.
She frowned at him. "I've been seeing him only a little over two months. There haven't been any holidays, but no special time."
"Did you have sex with him or others a certain number of times a week?"
She had to think about that one, but finally shook her head. "It varied."
"Did they chant or sing?" Jeremy asked.
"No," she said.
It didn't sound like much of a ritual to me. "Why did you use the term ritual, Ms. Phelps? Why didn't you say spell?"
"I don't know."
"You do know," I said. "You're not a practitioner. I don't think you'd use the term ritual without a reason. Just think for a minute. Why that word?"
She thought about it, eyes staring into space, seeing nothing, tiny frown lines between her eyebrows. She blinked and looked at me. "I heard him talking on the phone one night." She looked down, then up, defiant again, and I knew she didn't like what she was about to say. "He'd tied me to the bed, but he'd left the door open a little. I could hear him talking. He said, 'The ritual will be good tonight, then his voice dropped too low for me to hear, then he said, 'The untrained ones give it up so easily'." She looked at me. "I wasn't a virgin when we met. I was… experienced. Before him, I thought I was good in bed."
"What makes you think you're not?" I asked.
"He told me that I wasn't good enough at straight sex to satisfy him, that he needed the abuse to spice it up, so he wouldn't be bored." She tried to stay defiant and failed. The hurt showed in her eyes.
"Were you in love with him?" I tried to make the question gentle.