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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 103 из 293Hispower shivered over my aura, and it felt as if he scooped something off of me, almost like flicking an insect off my skin.
He raised his hands upward, cupped as if he truly held something. He called that sickly green fire to his hands. It was the painful flame that I’d seen eat along a body. It could cause death if you were mortal, or excruciating pain and madness in the immortal. Now he used it to burn away the spell that had clung to me.
Rhys’s voice came from behind us. “What’s wrong?” He had a gun naked in his hand, but held along his body so the police probably wouldn’t see it from a distance. He saw the green light, and said, “What is it?” with a new urgency in his voice. “What am I not sensing?”
Galen answered him. “Someone put a spell on Merry.”
“On both the human bloods,” Frost said.
“It would have been contagious to the human police,” Doyle said. The green flame vanished, leaving the night a little darker. He turned to Biddy, where she half sagged in Nicca’s arms. “Let her go, Nicca.”
“She will fall.”
“Only to her knees in the snow. It won’t hurt her.” Doyle’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
Nicca still held her against him. His wings flared out once, then clamped tight again.
“It’s all right, Nicca,” Biddy said in a soft voice, a little breathy. “Doyle will help me.”
It was Hawthorne who came to him, and began to gently draw him away from her. “Let the captain help your lady.”
Nicca allowed himself to be drawn away, but when Biddy collapsed into the snow, he moved to catch her, and only Hawthorne and Adair on each side kept him from grabbing her before her knees hit the snow.
Rhys gave a soft whistle. “That would have done bad things to our nice policemen.”
“Yes,” Doyle said, as he knelt in the snow, his greatcoat spreading out like a pool of darkness against the white. He passed his hands above Biddy, much as he’d done me, but he hesitated close to her belly. “That someone could lay such a thing on her while she wore this much metal…” He shook his head. “It speaks of great power.”
“Or mixed blood,” I said. “Those of us with a little human or brownie or a few other things can handle metal and magic better than a pure-blooded sidhe.”
His mouth twitched. “Thank you for reminding me, because you are exactly right.”
“Can you trail it back to its owner?” I asked.
Doyle cocked his head to the side, the way a dog does when it is puzzled by something. “Yes.
He raised his hands upward, cupped as if he truly held something. He called that sickly green fire to his hands. It was the painful flame that I’d seen eat along a body. It could cause death if you were mortal, or excruciating pain and madness in the immortal. Now he used it to burn away the spell that had clung to me.
Rhys’s voice came from behind us. “What’s wrong?” He had a gun naked in his hand, but held along his body so the police probably wouldn’t see it from a distance. He saw the green light, and said, “What is it?” with a new urgency in his voice. “What am I not sensing?”
Galen answered him. “Someone put a spell on Merry.”
“On both the human bloods,” Frost said.
“It would have been contagious to the human police,” Doyle said. The green flame vanished, leaving the night a little darker. He turned to Biddy, where she half sagged in Nicca’s arms. “Let her go, Nicca.”
“She will fall.”
“Only to her knees in the snow. It won’t hurt her.” Doyle’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
Nicca still held her against him. His wings flared out once, then clamped tight again.
“It’s all right, Nicca,” Biddy said in a soft voice, a little breathy. “Doyle will help me.”
It was Hawthorne who came to him, and began to gently draw him away from her. “Let the captain help your lady.”
Nicca allowed himself to be drawn away, but when Biddy collapsed into the snow, he moved to catch her, and only Hawthorne and Adair on each side kept him from grabbing her before her knees hit the snow.
Rhys gave a soft whistle. “That would have done bad things to our nice policemen.”
“Yes,” Doyle said, as he knelt in the snow, his greatcoat spreading out like a pool of darkness against the white. He passed his hands above Biddy, much as he’d done me, but he hesitated close to her belly. “That someone could lay such a thing on her while she wore this much metal…” He shook his head. “It speaks of great power.”
“Or mixed blood,” I said. “Those of us with a little human or brownie or a few other things can handle metal and magic better than a pure-blooded sidhe.”
His mouth twitched. “Thank you for reminding me, because you are exactly right.”
“Can you trail it back to its owner?” I asked.
Doyle cocked his head to the side, the way a dog does when it is puzzled by something. “Yes.