Bloodcircle P. N. Elrod

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.The boy's eyes opened slightly.He didn't know me at first, mumbled a sleepy question, and rolled onto his back.I put a hand on his shoulder and said his name.He shot fully awake—but never got the chance to scream.Escott was driving; his big Nash was one of the central pleasures of his life.For the first time in several harrowing nights he seemed relaxed enough to look content.His eyes were filmed over and far away, as though he were listening to music, but as always, his brain was clicking."You look like you've consumed a sour apple," he observed."Was it really so bad?""What solves a problem for me could make one for him.""In what way?""You know what I mean.I'm off the hook now, but what if he comes out with psychological measles later because of my monkeying around?""You've read Freud, then?""Never had the time so I don't know about that.I do know I shouldn't be doing what I'm doing… It could be bad for the kid."Just like Blair, Matheus's face had gone blank.It was easy, so damned easy.I could put anything into his mind I wanted; twist it up like an old rag for the garbage and leave it for other people to clean away.It happened before: by accident with my murderer and on purpose with Braxton's murderer.Both men were insane and not likely to recover.Matheus didn't deserve that."I don't think you've done him harm," he continued."You suppressed no memories."Which would have been too noticeable by everyone.If the kid woke up with no recollection about his trip to Chicago with Braxton, someone might get too curious.People tended to prefer the answers they already had to dealing with new questions, so I played on that.Instead, he'd wake up and realize that Braxton had been a crazy old man using and misleading an impressionable kid.There'd be some unavoidable embarrassment for Matheus, but he was in the real world now, safe from the paranoid nightmares of a crackpot.Go to sleep, kid.You'll feel a lot better about things in the morning."He'll soon put it all behind him once he's home," Escott added.After all, there are no such things as vampires.He hauled the wheel around and swung us close to the curb."Our train leaves in two hours; I'd like to be there early to make sure your trunk is properly seen to.""Hour and a half from now?"He glanced at his watch to get the exact time."I'll be back by then."I almost asked him where he was going, but it was unnecessary.He was planning to simply drive.His eyes were already darting around the dark and nearly empty streets with anticipation."Please say hello to Miss Smythe for me.""Sure."The door shut, he shifted gears, and glided off.I crossed the walk to the hotel entrance and went in.Phil Patterson was at his usual spot, leaning against the pillar near the front desk.His crony, the night clerk, was making typewriter noises in the office and for the moment the lobby was dead.Phil nodded a neutral greeting in my direction."Lo, Fleming.Straighten things with the cops?""Yeah, we got everything all worked out.""Blair tough on you?""Couldn't say, I don't know how tough he can get.We didn't have any problems."He nodded, but there were a lot of thoughts and questions behind it."Too bad about that little guy, Braxton.They ever figure why he got bumped off?""The killer's going to the nuthouse soon, maybe the head quacks can figure it out.Till then…" I shrugged."Guess we'll never know," he agreed, watching me hard."Yeah, too bad." My voice was a little tight and forced.He noticed, but let it pass.I owed him a favor, a big one forgetting the muzzle of a gun pointed elsewhere besides my chest when it went off.I'd have survived the experience, but explaining why to a room full of people would not have been easy.Phil decided not to call in the favor just yet.The kid in the elevator knew to take me to four without being told and hardly looked up from his magazine.He was deep into Walter's 110th Shadow novel, Jibaro Death.I'd have to remember to pick up a copy of my own to read on the train.… the power to cloud men's minds…I smiled and shook the thought out fast.That gimmick was strictly for the radio show and certain supernatural creatures of the night—not the book character.The main difference between me and the Lament Cranston on the air was that he had fewer scruples about using his talent.Bobbi's door was locked and no one answered my tap.The hall was clear so I vanished and slipped right through, which was a bad move.Marza Chevreaux stepped into sight from the kitchen just as I solidified.She was fiddling with the clasp of her necklace and walked like a movie holdup victim, elbows pointed up and head tilted down.She was a fraction too late to actually see my indiscretion, but nearly jumped out of her garters when she looked up and saw me standing in the entry way."Hello, Marza, I knocked—""I heard, but I was busy." She gave me a long, unpleasant stare, the kind usually reserved for roaches when they go spinning down the toilet."That door was locked," she stated.I glanced back and tried my best smile of baby innocence on her."I had no trouble getting in."She swiveled her head toward the closed door of Bobbi's bedroom and back to me again."No, I suppose you didn't," she said in a nasty tone, and went to a table to dig through her handbag.She stuck a thin brown cigar in her mouth and fired a match.For five seconds I thought unkind thoughts, but didn't voice them.That sort of indulgence is always wasted on people like Marza."What put the bug up your butt tonight?"Just like a dragon, she pushed blue smoke from her nose and snapped the match out as though it were a whip."It's what you are.""Which is… ?""A two-timing bastard who beds one girl while chasing after another," she said casually.That was a relief [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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