"Mercedes Lackey - Urban Fantasies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

“To Juvie?” Kayla's voice quavered, and she hated it for that. She clenched her fists, trying to keep her
voice steady. “Is that where you're taking me?”

Elizabet Winters smiled. “No, I have another idea. I'll need to find Lieutenant Simmons first, but I doubt
he'd have any objections.”

Curious, Kayla followed Elizabet out of the -office. Elizabet led her through the corridors and open
office rooms of the police station.

“The lieutenant's downstairs with our new psychopath,” one officer told Elizabet, and she led Kayla
down a flight of stairs to a brightly lit row of holding cells. A sandy-haired policeman stood a few feet
back from the rows of concrete-walled rooms, from which Kayla could hear someone screaming curses
and obscenities. There was one small iron-barred cell next to the larger holding cells that had several
prisoners in each, men that were mostly sitting around quietly. In the smaller cell was the man from the
QuickStart, wearing a stained white shirt and jeans instead of the long black leather coat.

In spite of herself, she stared at the killer. -Another man, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and seated
quietly on a bench in the next cell, was watching her through the open bars. She avoided his curious eyes,
looking instead at the man who'd tried to kill her.

There was something wrong with him, she could tell, even at this distance. Something broken inside that
made him crazy this way. Her hands tingled, and she glanced down quickly, making sure that her fingers
weren't glowing again. They weren't, fortunately. Kayla looked back at the crazy man, wondering just
how one would fix something wrong inside somebody's head; it wouldn't be like fixing a gunshot wound,
that was more like patching things back together. No, this would be like reaching -inside and changing
something. . . .

Elizabet began speaking in a quiet voice to the policeman; with the lunatic screaming at the top of his
voice, Kayla couldn't hear what she was saying.

“Hey, chickie.” The gunman's voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. “I know who you are, I know what
you did.”

Kayla moved closer so she could hear him. “What?”

“It's magic, did you know that? I've seen magic, and that's what you did.”

Elizabet spoke sharply from behind her. “Kayla! Get away from—”

The man reached out and grabbed Kayla's arm, yanking her toward him with inhuman strength. “Devil!”
he screamed. Kayla was pulled hard against the metal bars, struggling to get free. The man's other hand
clamped onto her throat, tightening painfully.

Elizabet's hand was on the man's arm, trying to pull him away from Kayla. A split-second later, Kayla
felt a shock of hot fire go through her hands, a sudden pain like a knife. The man yelped and leaped
back, falling onto the floor of his cell.

Elizabet pulled her back from the cell, blocking the lieutenant's view of Kayla with her own body. Kayla
glanced down, and saw why: a handful of blue sparks, flickering like fireflies on a Southern night, were