"Nicola Griffith - The Blue Place" - читать интересную книгу автора (Griffith Nicola)

straw-coloured grass and bare, grey trees.
Thunder rumbled to the southwest and lightning turned the clouds the
pink of Florida grapefruits: a long, long wait until winter.
I lengthened my stride, enjoying the metronomic thump of boot on
pavement, the noisy sky, and when I took a corner wide walked smack into
a woman running in the opposite direction.
We steadied each other for a moment—long enough for me to catch the
expensive scent of her dark, rain-wet hair—then stepped back. Looked at
each other. About five-seven, I’d say. Slim and sleek. Face smooth with
wariness: after all, I’m big; I’m told I look frightening when I want. And
that made me think how fragile she was, despite the hard muscle I had felt
under my hand. It would be so easy—a step, a smile, swift whirl and grab,
and snap: done. I even knew how she would fall, what a tiny sound her last
sigh would be, how she would fold onto the pavement. Eight seconds.
She stepped back another pace. It was meant to look casual, but I noted
the weight on her back foot, the set of her shoulders. Funny the thoughts
we have at nearly midnight. I clasped my hands behind my back in an
effort to appear less threatening, then nodded, stepped to one side, and
walked away. All without a word spoken. As I moved past the big houses
shrouded by dripping trees I fought the urge to look over my shoulder.
Looking back would frighten her. I told myself there was nothing unusual
about a woman walking the streets at midnight—I did it—but my
hindbrain was stirring.
Thunder rumbled again, and water sluiced down in sheets as sudden
and cold as spilled milk, beating itself into a froth on the sidewalk. The air
was full of water and it was getting difficult to breathe. Lightning streaked
down to my left just a bit too close for comfort. I turned for home and
started to jog. No sense drowning.
The road jumped under my feet. Transformer, I thought, but then the
sound hit, batting at me from both sides like huge cat’s paws. My eyes
widened and promptly filled with rain. I shook my head, trying to get rid
of the ringing in my ears, but the world jumped again, pavement
slamming the soles of my feet, only this time the sound was as solid as a
punch in the gut, and this time I recognized it—explosives. Then I was
turning and running back to where I had just come from, back to the
corner, towards a house unfurling in orange flame and black smoke, a
brighter yellow at the center, like a gigantic tiger lily. I skidded to a halt in
confusion. It’s too early for lilies…
I stood helpless, face getting hotter and hotter. I lifted my hand to
shield my eyes but it didn’t help much. I had to step back a few yards. The
flames roared. People began to appear in their doorways. Blinds twitched.
I did nothing. Let the neighbours look their fill; if there had been anyone
in that house, they were beyond aid, and no doubt someone had called the
fire department. Not that there was much point: the fire burned very neat
and clean; the neighbours’ houses were safe; I doubted even that the
garage would catch.
It was far too good a torch to be the work of an amateur firebug who
wouldn’t be able to resist sticking around to watch their work, but I looked
anyway. No sign of the woman with the rain-wet hair.
 My hindbrain was beginning to stretch and snuff now, so I thought