Every Which Way But Dead. Ким Харрисон

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ was my voice. “Aw, crap,” I swore, picking up my spell pot and backing away until I almost broke my circle. It was going to show up as me. I hated that. “I’m not afraid of myself!” I shouted, even before it finished coalescing.

      “Oh, yes you are.”

      It had the right sound, but the cadence and accent were wrong. I stared, riveted, as Algaliarept took on my outline, running its hands suggestively down itself, flattening its chest to my lame excuse of womanhood and giving me hips that were probably a little more curvaceous than I deserved. It dressed itself in black leather pants, a red halter top, and high-heeled black sandals that looked ridiculous out in the middle of a snowy graveyard.

      Eyelids lightly closed and lips open, it shook its head to make my frizzy shoulder-length red curls take shape out of the lingering haze of ever-after. It gave me more freckles than I could possibly have, and my eyes weren’t the red orbs it showed when it opened them, but green. Mine weren’t slit-ted like a goat’s either.

      “You got the eyes wrong,” I said, and I set my spell pot down at the edge of the circle. I gritted my teeth, hating that it heard my voice quaver.

      Hip cocked, the demon put out a sandaled foot and snapped its fingers. A pair of black shades materialized in its grip, and it put them on, hiding its unnatural eyes. “Now they’re right,” it said, and I shuddered at how close it matched my voice.

      “You don’t look anything like me,” I said, not realizing I had lost so much weight, and deciding I could go back to eating shakes and fries.

      Algaliarept smiled. “Perhaps if I put my hair up?” it mocked coyly as it gathered the unruly mass and held it atop my, er, its head. Biting its lips to redden them, it moaned and shifted as if its hands were tied above it, looking like it was into bondage games. Falling back onto the sword the angel held, it posed like a whore.

      I hunched deeper into my coat with the fake fur around the collar. From the distant street came the slow sound of a passing car. “Can we get on with this? My feet are getting cold.”

      It pulled its head up and smiled. “You are such the party pooper, Rachel Mariana Morgan,” it said in my voice, but now with its customary highbrow British accent. “But a very good sport. Not making me drag you into the ever-after shows a fine strength of mind. I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”

      I jerked when a smear of ever-after energy cascaded over it. It was shifting forms again, but my shoulders eased when it turned itself into its usual vision of lace and green velvet. Dark hair styled long and round smoked glasses twisted into existence. Pale skin and a strong-featured face appeared, matching its trim, narrow-waisted figure in elegance. High-heeled boots and an exquisitely tailored coat finished the outfit, turning the demon into a charismatic young businessman of the eighteenth century, possessing wealth and poised for greatness.

      My thoughts touched on the horrific crime scene I had contaminated last fall while trying to pin the murders of Cincinnati’s best ley line witches on Trent Kalamack. Al had slaughtered them in Piscary’s name. Each of them had died in pain for its enjoyment. Al was a sadist, no matter how good the demon looked.

      “Yes, let’s get on with it,” it said as it took a tin of a black dust that smelled like Brimstone and inhaled a pinch deeply. It rubbed its nose and moved to poke at my circle with a boot, making me wince. “Nice and tight. But it’s cold. Ceri likes it warm.”

      Ceri? I wondered as all the snow within the circle melted in a flash of condensation. The scent of wet pavement rose strong, then vanished as the cement dried to a pale red.

      “Ceri,” Algaliarept said, its voice shocking me in its soft tone, both coaxing and demanding. “Come.”

      I stared when a woman stepped from behind Algaliarept, seemingly from nowhere. She was thin, her heart-shaped face sallow and her cheekbones showing too strongly. Standing substantially shorter than I, she had a diminutive, almost childlike mien. Her head was down, and her pale translucent hair hung straight to her mid-back. She was dressed in a beautiful gown that dropped to her bare feet. It was exquisite—lush silk dyed in rich purples, greens, and golds—and it fitted her curvaceous form like it had been painted on. Though she was small, she was well-proportioned, if perhaps a shade fragile looking.

      “Ceri,” Algaliarept said, putting a white-gloved hand to tilt her head up. Her eyes were green, wide, and empty. “What did I tell you about going barefoot?”

      A glimmer of annoyance crossed her face, far away and distant behind the numb state she was in. My attention dropped as a matching pair of embroidered slippers materialized about her feet.

      “That’s better.” Algaliarept turned from her, and I was struck by the picture of the perfect couple they made in their finery. She was beautiful in her clothes, but her mind was as empty as she was lovely, insane from the raw magic the demon forced her to hold for it, filtering the ley line power through her mind to keep itself safe. Dread twisted in my gut.

      “Don’t kill her,” I whispered, my mouth dry. “You’re done with her. Let her live.”

      Algaliarept pulled its smoked glasses down to look over them, its red orbs fixing on me. “You like her?” it said. “She is pretty, isn’t she? Over a thousand years old, and aged not a moment since the day I took her soul. If I were honest, she’s the reason I was invited to most of the parties. She puts out without a fuss. Though, of course, for the first hundred years it was all tears and wailing. Fun in itself, but it does get old. You’ll fight me, won’t you?”

      My jaw clenched. “Give her back her soul, now that you’re done with her.”

      Algaliarept laughed. “Oh, you are a love!” it said, clapping its white-gloved hands once. “But I’m giving that back to her anyway. I’ve sullied it beyond redemption, leaving mine reasonably pure. And I will kill her before she has the chance to beg forgiveness from her god.” Its thick lips split in a nasty grin. “It’s all a lie, anyway, you know.”

      I went cold as the woman slumped into a small spot of purple, green, and gold at its feet, broken. I would die before letting it drag me into the ever-after to become … become this. “Bastard,” I whispered.

      Algaliarept gestured as if to say, “So what?” It turned to Ceri, finding her small hand in the mass of fabric and helping her rise. She was barefoot again. “Ceri,” the demon coaxed, then glanced at me. “I should have replaced her forty years ago, but the Turn made everything difficult. She doesn’t even hear anymore unless you say her name first.” It turned back to the woman. “Ceri, be a love and fetch the transfer media you made this sundown.”

      My stomach hurt. “I made some,” I said, and Ceri blinked, the first sign of comprehension crossing her. Big eyes solemn and blank, she looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. Her attention went to the spell pot at my feet and the milky green candles about us. Panic stirred in the back of her eyes as she stood before the angel monument. I think she had just realized what was going on.

      “Marvelous,” Algaliarept said. “You’re trying to be useful already, but I want Ceri’s.” It looked at Ceri, her mouth open to show tiny white teeth. “Yes, love. Time for your retirement. Bring me my cauldron and the transfer media.”

      Tense and shirking, Ceri made a gesture and a child-sized cauldron made of copper thicker than my wrist appeared between us, already filled with amber liquid, the flecks of wild geranium suspended as if it were a gel.

      The scent of ozone rose high as it grew warmer, СКАЧАТЬ