JК
A Kiss Of Shadows :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 93 из 338I kept rolling, over and over, getting dizzying glimpses of the nightflyers spilling over me, less than a yard off the sidewalk like a run of airborne fish, moving too fast after their leader to change direction.
I rolled into the nearest doorway, surrounded by a roof and glass on three sides. The flyers only took from above. They wouldn't come down on the ground for me. I lay there for a few heartbeats listening to the thud of my own blood in my ears, when I realized I wasn't alone.
I sat up, my back against the window display of books, trying to think of any excuse good enough to explain to a human what I'd just done. The man had his back to me. He was short, about my height, wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and one of those soft-rimmed caps that come down over the eyes. Not something you see at night much.
I pushed to my feet, using the glass of the window. Why was he wearing a hat to keep the sun out of his eyes at night?
"Some wind," he said.
I eased around the window, keeping the shop awning over me. I still had the gun in my hand. The jacket was loose, flapping like a matador's cape, but it still shielded the gun.
The man turned, and the light from the shop fell upon his face. The skin was black, eyes like dark, shiny jewels. He grinned, flashing a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. "Our master wants to speak with you, Princess."
I felt movement behind me and turned my head to see, but I was afraid to turn completely around and give my back to the grinning figure. Three figures emerged from the next shop. It was dark, no lights to hide from. The figures were taller than me, cloaked and hooded.
"We've been waiting for you, corr," one of the cloaked figures said. It was a female voice.
"Corr?" I made it a question.
"Slut." A second female voice.
"Jealous?" I said.
They rushed me, and I spilled the jacket to the ground, pointing the gun two-handed at them. Either they didn't know what a gun was, or they didn't care. I shot one of them. The figure collapsed in a pile of cloth. The two others huddled back, clawed hands extended as if to ward off a blow.
I pressed my back to the window, spared a glance for the grinning man behind me, but he was standing in the doorway with his small hands clasped on top of his hat, as if he'd done it before. I kept the gun and most of my attention on the women, though that was a loose term for them. They were hags. I wasn't being mean. It was what they were… night hags.
The one I'd shot struggled to sit, cradled in the second one's arms. "You shot her!"
"So happy you noticed," I said.
The wounded one's hood had fallen back to reveal a huge beaked nose, small glittering eyes, skin the color of yellowed snow.
I rolled into the nearest doorway, surrounded by a roof and glass on three sides. The flyers only took from above. They wouldn't come down on the ground for me. I lay there for a few heartbeats listening to the thud of my own blood in my ears, when I realized I wasn't alone.
I sat up, my back against the window display of books, trying to think of any excuse good enough to explain to a human what I'd just done. The man had his back to me. He was short, about my height, wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and one of those soft-rimmed caps that come down over the eyes. Not something you see at night much.
I pushed to my feet, using the glass of the window. Why was he wearing a hat to keep the sun out of his eyes at night?
"Some wind," he said.
I eased around the window, keeping the shop awning over me. I still had the gun in my hand. The jacket was loose, flapping like a matador's cape, but it still shielded the gun.
The man turned, and the light from the shop fell upon his face. The skin was black, eyes like dark, shiny jewels. He grinned, flashing a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. "Our master wants to speak with you, Princess."
I felt movement behind me and turned my head to see, but I was afraid to turn completely around and give my back to the grinning figure. Three figures emerged from the next shop. It was dark, no lights to hide from. The figures were taller than me, cloaked and hooded.
"We've been waiting for you, corr," one of the cloaked figures said. It was a female voice.
"Corr?" I made it a question.
"Slut." A second female voice.
"Jealous?" I said.
They rushed me, and I spilled the jacket to the ground, pointing the gun two-handed at them. Either they didn't know what a gun was, or they didn't care. I shot one of them. The figure collapsed in a pile of cloth. The two others huddled back, clawed hands extended as if to ward off a blow.
I pressed my back to the window, spared a glance for the grinning man behind me, but he was standing in the doorway with his small hands clasped on top of his hat, as if he'd done it before. I kept the gun and most of my attention on the women, though that was a loose term for them. They were hags. I wasn't being mean. It was what they were… night hags.
The one I'd shot struggled to sit, cradled in the second one's arms. "You shot her!"
"So happy you noticed," I said.
The wounded one's hood had fallen back to reveal a huge beaked nose, small glittering eyes, skin the color of yellowed snow.