"Mercedes Lackey & Ellen Guon - Bedlam Boyz" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

 The gunman grinned at her, licking his lips. Whatever had been human in his eyes, for that
brief moment when he'd pleaded with her to save his life, was gone again.
She tried to sit up, and everything went blurry again. When her head cleared, she saw two
paramedics carefully moving Billy out of the store on a stretcher. The blonde woman's body was
still lying by the counter, but someone had placed a blanket over her face. The policewoman was
reading Miranda rights to the gunman, two other police officers holding the man by his
handcuffed arms. The brown-haired policeman was next to her, watching her intently. “Do you
feel up to a trip to the station, kid?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Good.” He helped her stand up. Her knees were so wobbly, she had to hold onto his arm for
support. “You're a tough kid,” the cop continued. “You survive this, you'll survive anything.”
Will I? she thought.
“She's magic!” the gunman shrieked suddenly, trying to wrest free from the policemen. He
struggled briefly, staring at Kayla with insane eyes. Beneath the leather coat, his shirt was still
wet with blood. “She healed me, she has the Devil's power! I saw it, she has the Devil in her!”
“Jesus, get him out of here,” the policewoman said in an exasperated tone. The other officers
complied, wrestling the man through the door.
“I'll take you to the station now,” the brown-haired officer said. “Easy now, I know your legs
aren't working too great just yet. We'll walk slowly, it's okay. . . .”
Easy for you to say, she thought resentfully. You didn't just see these people get blown away
in front of you, including your best friend almost dying, and then have that— whatever it was—
blue light thing happen to you.
They moved out through the doorway, and Kayla stopped short, momentarily blinded by
bright lights.
There were several camera crews aiming cameras at her, and a huge crowd of people
gathered on the sidewalk, held back by several police officers.
Kayla wondered if she ought to faint or throw up. Either seemed likely right now. . . .
“Just a little more,” the policeman said in a gentle voice. His grip tightened on her arm, as
though he realized that she was about to fall. Half-supporting her, they walked to a police car
parked on the edge of the lot. The policeman helped her into the back seat; Kayla fumbled with
the seat belt strap for a few seconds before the officer reached over to fasten it for her.
There was someone already seated in the car next to her, a beautiful Chicano girl with
feathers knotted into her hair. The girl gave Kayla a curious look. “Why are they not taking you
to the hospital?” she asked. “I saw you lying there, I thought you were dead.”
“Please, witnesses can't talk,” the policeman said from the driver's seat. “Neither of you can
talk about what happened yet, okay?”
Okay by me, Kayla thought. I don't want to talk about it, anyhow. I don't even want to think
about it.
The officer drove in silence through the brightly lit streets. Kayla leaned her face against the
cold glass and tried not to think.
Billy was alive. She knew that much, from the moment that her entire world had faded back
from bright blue lights and hot electricity into normal reality again. She'd saved his life,
somehow, and the life of the guy in the leather coat.
I should have let that slimeball die, she thought, then shook her head. Even now, she knew
she couldn't have done that. It didn't matter that the man was a murderer . . . even if he was
slime, she couldn't just sit back and watch him die, not when she knew she could do something
to help him.
Because she could. It didn't make any sense—none of this made any sense, really—but she
could do it, whatever it was that she'd done. She could help people. A people-helper, that's what
she was. The thought made her feel a little better, despite the awful headache and dizziness and