Читать книгу Queene Of Light - Jennifer Armintrout, Jennifer Armintrout - Страница 14

The Strip. An assault on the senses. A feast of sin and vice. A haven for the lowest souls—and the lower soulless—in the Underground. Malachi surveyed it all with pronounced distaste. His companion shouted over the group of mortals clamoring before a covered stand. Keller’s voice was heard, his request fulfilled and he handed Malachi a fragile paper cup that looked as though it had been used—and perhaps washed, though Malachi would not have expected so much from the establishment—before.

“Drink up, buddy, drink up,” Keller urged, raising his cup before quickly gulping down the foul-smelling liquid inside.

The vapors off the potion stung Malachi’s nose. He would not drink it under any circumstance. “I thought you brought me to see the healer, not to become intoxicated.”

“She’s a healer,” Keller said with a shrug. “Might as well let her heal us of liver damage, too. Get our money’s worth.”

Trade! That other bizarre force that consumed the mortals. How could he have forgotten. “I have no money,” Malachi said bluntly, offering the cup back to Keller. “Not to pay for this drink, not to pay for healing.”

“Drink’s on me,” Keller said, eyeing the cup. “Unless you don’t want it?”

Malachi gave up the malodorous liquid and watched with disdain as the Human consumed it in one swallow. Keller made a guttural noise, eyes going wide before squeezing shut tight. Then his body shook, like a man dying of exposure, before he let out a satisfied “Ah.”

“The healer doesn’t work like that,” he assured Malachi with a voice that sounded damaged by the strong drink. “Well, she might for me, but she won’t ask you for money. She likes the strange ones, and I bet she’s never seen one of you.”

“Angels fall often,” Malachi said simply. What could possibly tempt his brethren to willingly give up their immortality? The flesh of the dirty women, Human and unHuman, who displayed themselves provocatively on their walks up and down the Strip? Could a creature have inspired such lust in him before his fall?

Yes, his conscience whispered to him. One could have. And his rage swelled anew at the thought of sodden red hair flashing above the water, strange eyes flaring to take in the sight of him.

“Mortal blood,” he cursed under his breath. Yes, he did lust for her. Desire, so fierce it froze the breath in his newly Human lungs, overcame him at the thought of gripping her pale neck with his big hands and squeezing, squeezing until the fragile bones and fibers within snapped and the life gurgled from her body. Immortal or not, she had mortal blood. He could kill her. Would kill her. He would find a way.

Keller led on through the crowded tunnel, though the way parted easily for them with Malachi in tow. Curious whispers followed them, as well as stares and brazen hands reaching out to touch the curiosity that was Malachi.

“Have they never seen a creature with wings before?” Malachi grumbled, slapping aside a scaly, blue hand that had curled around his biceps.

Unperturbed by the attention, Keller plowed on through a group of pale Humans. “None like yours. I set you up with a sweet patch job. Hey, watch out for these guys, they’re Vampires.”

The creatures in question opened their mouths, baring gleaming, pointed teeth. One of them, a female with severely short-cut hair and a tight, leather bodice that pushed her breasts up nearly to her neck, stepped forward and placed a palm on Malachi’s chest, her touch icy and dry.

“Want to play with me, pretty birdie?” She laughed, showing dangerous, yellowed teeth. She leaned closer, her open mouth inches from his throat. “Come on now, you know you want to.”

“I recognize the death on you, unholy one,” he snarled, and the Vampire pulled back with a hiss, as though burned.

“He’s a Death Angel, don’t touch him!” she shrieked to her companions, and they laughed at her.

One, a male with a bald head marked with a tattooist’s blue ink, shoved her away from the group. “He’s a mortal, you stupid bitch.” This brought another round of laughter from them. “What’s he going to do to you? Besides serve as a good meal?”

“I’ll be no meal for you,” Malachi warned, ignoring Keller’s tug at his elbow.

“Let’s not get into a fight now, not with opponents who have mouths full of weapons,” the Bio-mech urged, trying to pull him away. “There needs to be something of you left by the time we get to the healer, or else it’s a wasted trip.”

The bald Vampire chuckled. “Listen to your coward friend. He knows what he’s talking about.”

A tall, thin male with lanky black hair hissed at Keller, and he jumped, pulling Malachi nearly off his feet in an attempt to get away.

“Were I not mortal,” Malachi began, then realized his mistake. Were he not mortal, he would not have had the free will to do these soulless creatures harm.

The Vampire knew it, too. He laughed and grabbed the female by the wrist. Sneering at Malachi he spat, “But you are. And I’ll make sure you know it next time we run into each other.”

“Yes, thank you,” Keller said, practically bowing in his gratitude to the creature. “Thanks for the warning. Mac, let’s get out of here.”

Keller did not speak again until they were a good distance from the creatures. “Do you intentionally try to get yourself killed or is it just a natural talent?”

“I do not like the undead.” And why should he? Their souls were destroyed the moment they chose the Earth over the promise of Heaven. Less a promise now than a far-off dream, but it was no excuse. Things without souls were unclean.

Keller turned and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. The Human’s face, usually a wry mask, took on a look of frightened seriousness. “Like them or not, you’re not indestructible anymore, man, and I never was. Do me a favor, the way I’m doing you a favor, and don’t get our asses nailed to the wall.”

They plunged on through the teeming masses, the jostles and jabs getting sharper, a small cluster of curious onlookers wending their way after them. Malachi did not like having so many eyes on him. “I grow tired of this place. Where is the healer?”

“Just up ahead,” Keller called over his shoulder. “That’s the healer’s sign.”

Above the heads of the creatures on the ground, Malachi saw a mass of half-painted metal bars supporting raw, wooden planks stained by drips of water. A second row of stalls and shops were accessible from the scaffold, though foot traffic was less heavy on the upper level than below.

“The shop with the blue hand. That’s her,” Keller said, grabbing the rail of the ladder leading to the second level. He shouldered his way onto the steep steps and didn’t wait for Malachi. There would have been no way to, without being crushed by the other creatures climbing to the top. Though the crowd was thinner above, it was squeezed into a smaller space and moved far too fast for anyone to pause.

Grasping the rail, Malachi rose a step at a time on shaking legs. Climbing was not like flying. It unnerved him, being so high up without the reassuring resistance of the wind beneath him. But that had all been an illusion, hadn’t it? He’d never sailed on the wind. His physical body had never been for him but an illusion for the souls he collected. He had moved through the air because he was meant to. He wondered if this mortal body could even fly.

The healer’s sign was a configuration of glowing blue, bent into the shape of hand. In the center, more radiant tubes, pink and yellow, formed an open eye that flickered as they approached. The door was a flimsy, black woven screen stretched across a metal frame with a wooden slat across the center. The smell of pungent smoke drifted out. Keller pulled the door open and ushered Malachi inside.

The room was dark, lit only by more glowing tubes, these black, giving off an eerie blue light. The walls were painted in blue, yellow, pink, the colors glowing as if illuminated like the sign outside. A row of chairs lined one wall, stopping at the mouth of a short hallway. There were doors, all closed, painted with the same strange symbols that decorated the entryway. In the center of the main room sat a wooden platform. An elderly woman with short white hair, dressed in a loose white garment, sat in the center of a glowing circle, her eyes closed. She did not acknowledge them as they entered.

“What do we do now?” Malachi asked, his voice seemingly too large for the room. It rang off the painted stone walls and echoed in the high-ceilinged space.

“Would you just—” Keller shushed him and flapped a hand. In a much quieter tone, he said, “Take a seat. When she’s ready for us, then she’ll say something.”