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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 114 из 293A prayer can’t hurt, but the coat turning will probably be more effective.” I finished the last curve of the design and stepped back from her.
“Why does turning your jacket inside out help?”
“Most in faerie see only the surface; change your surface and the magic has trouble finding you.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Well, it doesn’t work if the person knows you really well and has never tried to deceive you.”
“Never tried to deceive you—what do you mean?”
“Never tried to appear to be other than they are.”
“Oh,” she said again.
I watched delight vanish from the other humans’ faces, as the oiling was completed. One policeman said, “I think I liked it better before. Now it’s just grey stone.”
“Where does the light come from?” Polaski asked.
“No one really knows,” I told her.
“I thought this oil was supposed to make everything look ordinary,” Carmichael said.
“It is,” I said.
“Then why is he still so damned beautiful?” She pointed at Frost.
I smiled at his face going cold and arrogant. It didn’t make him one bit less attractive. Goddess had made it impossible for him to be anything else.
“Maybe ordinary is the wrong word,” I said. “The oil helps you see reality.”
Carmichael shook her head. “He can’t be real. His hair is metallic silver, not grey, not white, silver. Hair can’t be silver.”
“It’s the natural color of his hair,” I said.
“Should the rest of us be offended?” Rhys asked.
“Maybe you should be,” Ivi said, “but she hasn’t seen most of us out of armor and cloaks.” He pushed the hood of his cloak back, and drew off the muffler that had hidden most of his face. Ivi’s face was a little thin for my tastes, and I knew his shoulders weren’t wide enough for me, but the pale green of his hair was decorated with vines and ivy leaves, as if someone had painted his namesake on his hair. When the hair was free, it looked like leaves blowing in the wind as he walked. His eyes were the startling green of emeralds. I guess if you haven’t been raised around people with multicolored eyes, the vibrant green of his eyes was worth a stare or two. Carmichael seemed to think so because her gaze went to him as if she couldn’t help but stare.
Crystall swept his own cloak back to reveal hair that caught the dim light of the hall and turned it into rainbows, as if his hair were a clear prism that shattered light into colors. His skin was whiter than mine, a white so pure it looked artificial.
“Why does turning your jacket inside out help?”
“Most in faerie see only the surface; change your surface and the magic has trouble finding you.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Well, it doesn’t work if the person knows you really well and has never tried to deceive you.”
“Never tried to deceive you—what do you mean?”
“Never tried to appear to be other than they are.”
“Oh,” she said again.
I watched delight vanish from the other humans’ faces, as the oiling was completed. One policeman said, “I think I liked it better before. Now it’s just grey stone.”
“Where does the light come from?” Polaski asked.
“No one really knows,” I told her.
“I thought this oil was supposed to make everything look ordinary,” Carmichael said.
“It is,” I said.
“Then why is he still so damned beautiful?” She pointed at Frost.
I smiled at his face going cold and arrogant. It didn’t make him one bit less attractive. Goddess had made it impossible for him to be anything else.
“Maybe ordinary is the wrong word,” I said. “The oil helps you see reality.”
Carmichael shook her head. “He can’t be real. His hair is metallic silver, not grey, not white, silver. Hair can’t be silver.”
“It’s the natural color of his hair,” I said.
“Should the rest of us be offended?” Rhys asked.
“Maybe you should be,” Ivi said, “but she hasn’t seen most of us out of armor and cloaks.” He pushed the hood of his cloak back, and drew off the muffler that had hidden most of his face. Ivi’s face was a little thin for my tastes, and I knew his shoulders weren’t wide enough for me, but the pale green of his hair was decorated with vines and ivy leaves, as if someone had painted his namesake on his hair. When the hair was free, it looked like leaves blowing in the wind as he walked. His eyes were the startling green of emeralds. I guess if you haven’t been raised around people with multicolored eyes, the vibrant green of his eyes was worth a stare or two. Carmichael seemed to think so because her gaze went to him as if she couldn’t help but stare.
Crystall swept his own cloak back to reveal hair that caught the dim light of the hall and turned it into rainbows, as if his hair were a clear prism that shattered light into colors. His skin was whiter than mine, a white so pure it looked artificial.