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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] am the city, so I came to investigate." Page 232 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html "How long have you been here?" "I saw you kill the men. I saw you raise the graveyard." "Did it ever occur to you to help me?" "You did not need any help." He smiled, barely visible in the moonlight. "Besides, would it not have been tempting to rend me to pieces, as well?" "You can't possibly be afraid of me," I said. He spread his hands wide. "You're afraid of your human servant? Little ol'moi ?" "Not afraid,ma petite , but cautious." He was afraid of me. It almost made some of this shit worthwhile. I carried Wanda down the hill. She wouldn't let Jean-Claude touch her. A choice of monsters. 40 Dominga Salvador missed her court date. Fancy that. Dolph had searched for me that night, after he discovered that Dominga had made bail. He had found my apartment empty. My answers about where I had gone didn't satisfy him, but he let it go. What else could he do? They found Gaynor's wheelchair, but no trace of him. It's one of those mysteries to tell around campfires. The empty, blood-coated wheelchair in the middle of the cemetery. They did find body parts in the caretaker's house: animal and human. Only Dominga's power had held the thing together. When she died, it died. Thank goodness. Theory was that the monster got Gaynor. Where the monster came from no one seemed to know. I was called in to explain the body parts, that's how the police knew they'd once been attached. Irving wanted to know what I really knew about Gaynor's vanishing act. I just smiled and played inscrutable. Irving didn't believe me, but all he had were suspicions. Suspicions aren't a news story. Wanda is waiting tables downtown. Jean-Claude offered her a job at The Laughing Corpse. She declined, not politely. She'd saved quite a bit of money from her "business." I don't know if she'll make it or not, but with Gaynor gone, she seems free to try. She was a junkie whose drug of choice was dead. It was better than rehab. By Catherine's wedding the bullet wound was just a bandage on my arm. The bruises on my face and neck had turned that sickly shade of greenish-yellow. It clashed with the pink dress. I gave Catherine the option of me not being in the wedding. The wedding coordinator was all for that, but Catherine wouldn't Page 233 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html hear of it. The wedding coordinator applied makeup to the bruises and saved the day. I have a picture of me standing in that awful dress with Catherine's arm around me. We're both smiling. Friendship is strange stuff. Jean-Claude sent me a dozen white roses in the hospital. The card read, "Come to the ballet with me. Not as my servant, but as my guest." I didn't go to the ballet. I had enough problems without dating the Master of the City. I had performed human sacrifice, and it had felt good. The rush of power was like the memory of painful sex. Part of you wanted to do it again. Maybe Dominga Salvador was right. Maybe power talks to everyone, even me. I am an animator. I am the Executioner. But now I know I'm something else. The one thing my Grandmother Flores feared most. I am a necromancer. The dead are my specialty. Page 234 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |