"C. S. Friedman - Coldfire 1 - Black Sun Rising" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friedman C. S)

A bizzarre sort of gift shop, or general grocery? He read some of the labels,
and shook his head in amazement. Was it possible - really possible - that the
objects surrounding him were Worked? All of them? What a fantastic notion!
In the center of the room, dividing the public area from that space which
clearly served as a reference library, a glass counter served to support several
dozen books and the man who was perusing them. He was pale in a way that
westerners rarely were, but Damien sensed nothing amiss about the coloring;
despite its stark contrast with his dark hair, eyes, and clothing, it probably meant
nothing more sinister than that he worked the late shift. In a city that remained
active all night, anything was possible.
The man lifted up his wire-rimmed spectacles as he noticed his visitor, then
removed them; Damien caught a flash of delicately etched sigils centered in the
circles of clear glass. “Welcome,” he said pleasantly. “Can I help you with
anything?”
The counter was filled with more whimsical objects, taffeta-quilt hearts and
small calico bags with rosette bows, wards made up to look like massive locks
and chalices engraved with sexually suggestive motifs. All of them labeled. And if
the labels were accurate . . .
“Do they really Work?” he asked.
The pale man nodded pleasantly, as though he heard the question every
day. “Lady Cee’s a certified adept. Each object in the shop has been fae-bound
to a purpose. Results are guaranteed, in most cases. Can I show you something
in particular?”
He was about to answer when a door in the back of the shop swung open -
well camouflaged by the mountains of books that flanked it, or perhaps by a
Working? - and a woman entered, her bright eyes jubilant. “Found it!” she
announced.
Her associate sighed melodramatically and shut the thick volume before him.
“Thank gods. At last.”
“If I hadn’t worked that damned Obscuring on it in the first place-” She
stopped as she saw Damien, and a smile lit her face. “Hello, I’m sorry. I didn’t
realize we had company.”
It was impossible not to return that infectious smile. “Lady Cee, I presume?”
“If you like. Ciani of Faraday.” She came forward and offered her hand,
which he grasped with pleasure. Dark hair and soft brown skin served as a
backdrop for wide, expressive eyes, and lips that seemed to find their natural
placement in a broad grin of pleasure. Fine lines fanned out from the corners of
her eyes, hinting at age, but the quality of her skin and the firmness of her figure
told another story. It was impossible to read either her true age or her origin,
which might have been intentional; whatever the case, he found himself more
than marginally attracted to her.
Be honest, Damien. You’ve always been attracted to things faewise, and
here’s a true adept; would her looks have made much of a difference?
 “My pleasure,” he said with gusto. “Damien Kilcannon Vryce, lately of Ganji-
on-the-Cliffs, at your service.” Her eyes crinkled with amusement, which hinted
that she knew how many titles he was omitting. She must have worked a
Knowing on him as soon as she saw him; that he had never noticed her doing it
said much for her skill.
But that stands to reason. As an adept she isn’t simply more powerful than
most, she’s immersed in the fae in a way no others can be. Then he