"Ann Maxwell - Fire Dancer 1 - Fire Dancer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maxwell Ann)

scintillating in the aural mud of Nontondondo. People stopped for an instant, staring around, but
could find no obvious source for the beautiful sound.

All they saw was a tall humanoid with very short, fine coppery plush covering his muscular body,
giving it the appearance and texture of velvet. On his head, the fur became wavy copper hair. A
mask of metallic gold hair surrounded his eyes, emphasizing their yellow clarity. His mask, like
the coppery plush on his body, was the mark of a healthy Bre’n.

Although Rheba looked small held against the Bre’n, she was above humanoid average in height.
Her hair was gold and her eyes were an unusual cinnamon color that seemed to gather and
concentrate light. Other than on her head and the median line of her torso, she had neither hair
nor fur to interrupt the smooth brown flow of her body. Almost invisible beneath the skin of her
hands were the whorls and intricate patterns of a young Senyas fire dancer.

Rheba slid down Kirtn’s body until she was standing on her own feet again. As she regained her
balance, a man stumbled out of the crowd and grabbed her. He rubbed up against her back,
bathing her in unpleasant odors and intentions. The patterns on her hands flared as she reached
toward a dazzling electric advertisement, wove its energy, and gave it to the rude stranger. He
leaped back as though he had been burned. And he had.

“I don’t think he’ll play with a fire dancer again,” said Kirtn in a satisfied voice.

Kirtn picked up the shaken man and lofted him onto a passing drunk cart. Then the Bre’n
gathered up Rheba again and shouldered his way into the anteroom of the Black Whole. After the
streets, the quiet was like a blessing. Kirtn smiled, showing slightly serrated teeth, bright and very
hard.

Rheba scratched the back of her hands where the patterns had flared. Her hair shifted and moved,
alive with the energy she had just called. Muttering the eighth discipline of Deva, she let both
energy and anger drain out of her. She had come into this city willingly and so must abide by its
customs, no matter how bizarre or insulting they might be to her.

“We should have taken out a license to murder,” she said in a mild voice.

Kirtn laughed. “We didn’t have enough money to buy a half-circle of silver, much less the whole
circle of a licensed killer.”

“Don’t remind me. We could hardly afford to be licensed innocents.” Rheba grimaced at the mere
30 degrees of silver arc stuck to her shoulder. “Come on, let’s find the man we came for and get
off this festering planet.”
They had not taken three steps before a black-dressed casino employee approached them. His
only decoration was a simple silver circle fastened on his shoulder. Kirtn and Rheba saw the
man’s license at the same instant. When the man spoke, he had their attention.

“No furries allowed.”

Rheba blinked. “Furries?”

“That,” said the man, hooking a thumb at Kirtn, “is a furry. You’re a smoothie. Smoothies only at
the Black Whole. If you don’t want to separate, try the Mink Trap down the street. They like