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

Sarah felt the touch on her hip at the same instant as she heard the grunt of pain from nearby. She whirled. A
man was clutching his right hand in his left, his face contorted. His eyes were wide with shock, and his face
greyish white under a rough stubble. Sarah could see the raw and blistered skin on his palm. It might have
only been her imagination, but for a moment there seemed to be a faint wisp of smoke clinging to the blisters.
The man muttered something unintelligible -- it sounded like caplata -- then turned, pushed his way through
the crowd, and broke into a run.

'Are you OK?' Jesse was addressing her, but his eyes followed the man's flight.

'Yes,' she said, puzzled. 'Did you see what just happened?'

'Not exactly.'

'Me neither. I think that man' -- she nodded in the direction the man had taken, though he was no longer to be
seen -- 'I think he wanted to grope me or steal my wallet or something. But he'd hurt his hand. It looked badly
burnt. Anyway, he got scared and ran off.'

'As long as he didn't hurt you ...'

'No, nothing like that.' But she pulled her bag off her shoulder and looked inside. 'Everything's here. Maybe he
just bumped against me with his injured hand. He must have been in agony.'

'Maybe.'

Jesse reached down to stroke Nubi's head, but not before Sarah caught a glimpse of a tiny spark of light deep
within his eyes, blue within blue. Then he blinked, and his lashes swept away any trace of flame.

'He never dared to beat me properly,' Jesse said. 'A slap or two, a kick was as far as he went.'

'Your father?' Sarah asked.

'No. Mal, my last foster father. A vicious sod when he drinks.'
Chapter 5 40

Sarah pressed her lips together.

'I left because I was afraid.'

'That he'd hurt you more?'

'That I might lose control and kill him if I stayed.'

For a long time neither of them spoke. They sat at the base of a horse chestnut, leaning against its thick solid
trunk. Sarah combed the grass with her fingertips, grooming her flyaway thoughts. Nubi lay at their feet, his
ear cocked as a bird scolded her mate in the canopy overhead. The soft light which reached their skin felt as
fresh as the fine spray off a waterfall. A few embryonic conkers lay scattered on the ground. Fallen too early,
they would never ripen, never be collected for a playground game.

Sorry. The word tasted dry in her mouth, stale. She wished she knew what to say. Something like this was
beyond her. Something you saw on TV, something you read about. Unreal. She looked at Jesse, who was