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Swallowing Darkness :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 212 из 242I moved back and stared at the smooth line of his neck, exposed to the moonlight. There was nothing there but the collar of the designer suit that Doyle had borrowed from Sholto.
I shook my head and reached for his neck again. My eyes told me I was touching skin, but my fingers told me there was something in the way. Something hard, but cloth-covered, something... There was only one reason that my eyes and my fingers weren't telling me the same thing.
I fought down the first flutter of hope, squashed it flat, and had to calm myself for a very different reason. Positive emotions can blind you as surely as negative ones. I had to see the truth, had to touch the truth, whatever it might be.
I closed my eyes, for they were what was being fooled. I reached for the side of his neck, and found that hard cloth again. With my eyes closed, I could feel it better, because my sight wasn't arguing with my sense of touch. I pushed past whatever piece of clothing it was, and found the neck. The moment I touched the skin, I knew it wasn't Doyle. The skin texture wasn't his. I searched for the big neck pulse, and found none. Whoever was under my fingertips was dead; still warm, but dead.
I kept my eyes closed and moved my hands upward, to find very short hair, and the roughness of the beginnings of stubble, and a face that was not the face I loved. It was illusion, really good illusion, but in the end, it was magic, not reality.
I had a moment of relief so complete that I half fell onto the body. It wasn't Doyle. He wasn't dead. I let myself collapse onto the body. I hugged it to me, my hands searching for the uniform, the weapons they hadn't even bothered to remove. Such disdain, such arrogance.
Dawson knelt on one side of me, and Jonty came to the other. "I am so sorry, Princess Meredith," Dawson said, touching my back.
"The Darkness was a great warrior," Jonty said in his deep voice.
I shook my head, pushing myself up from the body. "It's not him. It's not Doyle. It's an illusion."
"What?" Dawson said.
"Then why are you crying?" Jonty asked.
I hadn't even realized I was crying, but he was right. "Relief, I think," I said.
"Why are they holding the glamour in place to make it look like Darkness?" Jonty asked.
Until that moment I hadn't thought about it, but he was absolutely right. Why would they not drop an illusion guaranteed to make me angrier at them if they were truly giving up? Answer: they weren't giving up, and they hoped to gain something through the trick.
I shook my head and reached for his neck again. My eyes told me I was touching skin, but my fingers told me there was something in the way. Something hard, but cloth-covered, something... There was only one reason that my eyes and my fingers weren't telling me the same thing.
I fought down the first flutter of hope, squashed it flat, and had to calm myself for a very different reason. Positive emotions can blind you as surely as negative ones. I had to see the truth, had to touch the truth, whatever it might be.
I closed my eyes, for they were what was being fooled. I reached for the side of his neck, and found that hard cloth again. With my eyes closed, I could feel it better, because my sight wasn't arguing with my sense of touch. I pushed past whatever piece of clothing it was, and found the neck. The moment I touched the skin, I knew it wasn't Doyle. The skin texture wasn't his. I searched for the big neck pulse, and found none. Whoever was under my fingertips was dead; still warm, but dead.
I kept my eyes closed and moved my hands upward, to find very short hair, and the roughness of the beginnings of stubble, and a face that was not the face I loved. It was illusion, really good illusion, but in the end, it was magic, not reality.
I had a moment of relief so complete that I half fell onto the body. It wasn't Doyle. He wasn't dead. I let myself collapse onto the body. I hugged it to me, my hands searching for the uniform, the weapons they hadn't even bothered to remove. Such disdain, such arrogance.
Dawson knelt on one side of me, and Jonty came to the other. "I am so sorry, Princess Meredith," Dawson said, touching my back.
"The Darkness was a great warrior," Jonty said in his deep voice.
I shook my head, pushing myself up from the body. "It's not him. It's not Doyle. It's an illusion."
"What?" Dawson said.
"Then why are you crying?" Jonty asked.
I hadn't even realized I was crying, but he was right. "Relief, I think," I said.
"Why are they holding the glamour in place to make it look like Darkness?" Jonty asked.
Until that moment I hadn't thought about it, but he was absolutely right. Why would they not drop an illusion guaranteed to make me angrier at them if they were truly giving up? Answer: they weren't giving up, and they hoped to gain something through the trick.