"Charles de Lint - Forests Of The Heart" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Lint Charles)

“Who’s to say I strayed?” she said, putting on a much braver face than she felt.
With a being such as this, it was always better to at least pretend you knew what you were doing. Still, she
wished now that she’d taken the time to invoke the protection of Saint Herve before going out into the night.
He would know how to deal with wolves—those who walked on two legs, as well as those who ran on four.
El lobo stepped from out of the shadows, a tall, lean form, smelling of cigarette smoke and musk. There was
enough light for her to catch the look of mild amusement in his features and to see that he was indeed, oh so
handsome. After all those nights of watching him from the window, his proximity, the smell and too-alive
presence of him, was like an enchantment. She had to stop herself from stepping close, into his embrace.
But she had enough brujería of her own to know that there was no enchantment involved. It was simply the
man he was. Dangerous, perhaps, and far too handsome.
“Ah,” he said. “I see. And so it was simple delight at your success and not surprise that made you dizzy.”
Bettina shrugged.
“And now?” he asked.
“Now, nothing. I’m going home to bed.”
“Indeed.”
He leaned back against a tree, arms crossed, smiling.
Bettina sighed, knowing that el lobo was now waiting for her to step back into her own world, confident she
wouldn’t be able to. And then what? When he decided she was helpless, what would he do? Perhaps
nothing. Perhaps he would bargain with her, his help in exchange for something that would seem like poquito,
nada, yet it would prove to cost her dearly once he collected. Or perhaps his kind had other, less pleasant
uses for las curanderas tontas who were so foolish as to stumble into such a situation in the first place. She
remembered what Nuala had said about the wolves who’d come to watch her, how they were waiting for her to
lift her skirts, to spread her legs. Handsome or not, she would not let it happen, no matter how attracted to
him she might be.
She stifled another sigh as the quiet lengthened between them.
He could wait forever, she knew, amused and patient. ¿Pero, qué tiene? She could be patient, too. And she
could find her own way home. All she needed was a moment to compose herself, enough quiet for her to be
able to concentrate on the threads of her spirit that still connected her to the world she’d inadvertently left
behind. She needed only the time to find them, to gather them up and follow them back home again.
Behind el lobo there was movement in the forest, a small shape that darted in between the trees too quickly
for her to see clearly. There was only a flash of small, pale limbs. Of large, luminous eyes. Here, then gone.
A child, she thought at first, then shook her head. No, not in this place. More likely it had been some espíritu.
Un deunde—an imp, an elf. Some creature of the otherwhere.
Eh, bueno. She would not let it bother her.
She unzipped the front of her parka and let it hang open.
“It’s warmer here,” she said.
El lobo nodded. His nostrils flared, testing the air. “The air tastes of autumn.”
But what autumn? Bettina wanted to ask. Though perhaps the true question should be, whose autumn? And
how far away did it lie from her own time? But then a more immediate riddle rose up to puzzle her.
“You’re not speaking English,” she said.
“Neither are you.”
It was true. She was speaking Spanish while he spoke whatever language it was that he spoke. It held no
familiarity, yet she could understand him perfectly.
“¿Pero,como ... ?”
He smiled. “Enchantment,” he said.
“Ah ...”
She smiled back, feeling more confident. Of course. This was myth time. But while he might appear
mysterious and strong, in this place her own brujería was potent as well. She wasn’t some hapless tourist
who had wandered too far into uncertain territory. The landscape might be unfamiliar, but she was no stranger
to la epoca del mito. She might find it confusing at times, but she refused to let it frighten her.