"L. Lee Lowe - Mortal Ghost" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lowe L Lee)

path, he felt a prickling sensation along his skin, akin to a mild charge of static electricity. He stopped for a
moment to rub his arms, and the feeling passed. Calmly replaiting her hair, Sarah was waiting by a fountain --
a massive stone sphinx, her wings spread and her eyes sharp and predatory -- while Nubi drank noisily from
the basin. Together they followed the path, which wound in a long sinuous curve and was fretted by mounds
of feathery grasses and lavender, interspersed with sharp, angry spikes of red and orange. A distinctive mind
had been at work here; the park was astonishing and almost unnerving in its contrasts.

It was much cooler in the shade. The variety of specimens aroused Jesse's curiosity, for most of the trees were
mature and couldn't have been planted in recent memory. He supposed a park had stood on this site for many
years. Trees had always spoken to Jesse, and he appreciated their disparate characters, their faults: the
cockiness of the hazel, needing to compensate for its stature; the stolid slow wit of the oak; and always the
beauty and harmony of the willow, whose rooted dance could soothe some of his most turbulent feelings.

Through the branches of an ash, the sun glittered like a finely-cut lead crystal. As the leaves stirred and
trembled Jesse glimpsed an ashen face staring back at him from their midst. The notes of a cello floated
through the trees, faint but achingly clear. His throat tightened. He had a sudden urge to turn and run, but then
the tree swayed and the face was gone. Only an optical illusion, a pattern of sun and shadow fed by his
overactive imagination. He'd be seeing ghosts and demons next. But he could still hear the music. He even
recognised the piece.

'Where's the music coming from?' he asked Sarah.

'The cello? Somebody's probably busking near the sundial. Lots of street musicians come here, very good
ones too.'

'Another sundial?'

'Not just another sundial. It's one of the things I want to show you. One of Ursula's best. We're heading in that
direction.'

'You were going to tell me about your mother.'

'It can wait.'

'No, it can't.'

Sarah studied his face. How strange, she thought. His eyes had become the deep purple of plums, yet as
translucent as shadows on water. She might have been gazing into a pool in an ancient forest, her own face
reflected there. And a wilderness of thorns.

Sarah gestured with her hand. 'We can sit down over there,' she said softly.

They came to an open meadow-like area. Scattered haphazardly among the high grass and wildflowers was a
Chapter 4 29

series of willow sculptures, each unique in size and shape. And grotesque: a man swallowing a child, its legs
still dangling from gnarled lips; a headless figure riding a motorbike. After setting Nubi free, Sarah led Jesse
to a bench.

'How old is the park?' Jesse asked.