"Ann Maxwell - Change" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maxwell Ann)

In bittersweet torment the last months flooded her thoughts. The terrifying night of her arrest, being
dragged and kicked and kicking back, lashing out against her captors and the stuporous drug invading
her mind and body until even terror slept.
The first cell was small, painted Good Earth green, stinking with old sweat. The drug wore off slowly, but
fear didn't wake. Fear is born of hope and her mind had completed the equation burned into her
childhood: capture equals death. One pole of life was gone; the hope of survival lay toppled; the
high-wire act ended.

Only loneliness remained.

Barely had she grasped this when the cell door opened, framing the green jumpsuit of a Good Earth
acolyte—or assistant. The Good Earth was both sect and administrative corps of the Humanistos party.

But this was no administrator. He was too young and drops of fear rode his forehead. His speech was an
incoherent mixture of incantation and questions. The only thing she understood was his fear of her and his
hatred.

When his questions went unanswered, he swung his talisman at her. She saw the golden arc of pyrite and
felt a flash of pain across her cheek.

And she did not move. She, who had fought over scraps in the gutter, who knew the ways of
hand-killing, she let a frightened acolyte flay her with a pyrite talisman.

She didn't turn away, but stared at him with unreadable yellow eyes. She heard him scream "Devil!", saw
his hand raised for a second blow, green sleeve falling away from a thin and trembling arm. Then faint
surprise when the glittering chain stayed suspended, its arc diminishing into stillness.

A different voice spoke, a voice of richness and power, warmth and anger. "Meditate upon the devils
within you, acolyte. They will kill you sooner than she."

Long brown fingers uncurled from the acolyte's wrist, freeing him. He left with a hurried bow, closing the
door quietly.

Although the new man was dressed in Good Earth green, he wore the loose shirt and cowl which
distinguished high officials of the Humanistos party. The cowl partially concealed unruly chestnut hair,
made a mystery of olive green eyes, deepened lines which curved his lips into a reassuring smile. Not until
his hand gently touched her cheek did her old reflexes return.

When she flinched away he said softly, "I won't hurt you, Selena Christian. I just want to see how badly
that idiot cut you."

When his hand again touched her, she didn't move. She watched his eyes wordlessly while he examined
the cut.

"Not deep. Clean. Should heal quickly. Unless you want to see a doctor… ?"

She made no response.

"Does it hurt?"