"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Chimera" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

The house at 2654 Rhododendron was a 1920s farmhouse like all the others, with
a large front porch—now glassed in—and massive square columns on each side.
The second story was smaller, and had vinyl windows from the last part of the
previous century. The curtains were open. The net effect was to make the house
look like a square face, with eyes that watched her.

She pushed a hand against her short, damp hair and stuck her hands in her
pockets. Then she started up the old-fashioned concrete sidewalk, avoiding the
cracks caused by age and weather.
The stairs groaned beneath her weight. When she reached the top, a voice asked
her to state her name and her business.

"Gen O'Connell," she said, resisting the urge to turn and run back to her car.
"I was sent by Dr. Prichard."

The house's computer system had to be an old one, because it took almost a
minute to compare her waifish frame and delicate features to the identi-holo
that Dr. Prichard had sent over. Then locks clicked back and the door swung
open. Gen stepped into a porch that smelled faintly of cedar and dogs.

As the door closed behind her, the voice said, "You are wet. Hang your coat on
the peg near the entry, and place your shoes on the grate. They will be dry
when you return for them."

She did as she was told, even though her socks were damp too, and the polished
hardwood floor was cold. Then the entry door opened, and she stepped into the
heart of the house.

To her right, a staircase with real oak banisters wound its way to the second
story. To her left, a large room filled with comfortable couches and easy
chairs formed groupings that suggested intimacy. A gas fire burned in a far
corner. The animal smell was stronger here, but not unpleasant. It mixed with
the scent of fresh-baked bread and the strong, sweet scent of vanilla.

She saw no animals at all, and that surprised her. She expected them to be
littering the place. When she had seen the house instead of the commercial
building, her mind revised its image to a place overrun by creatures, living
in their own filth, shedding everywhere. But this place was clean and
well-tended.

A woman emerged from the archway beside the fireplace. She was stout but
muscular, of an indeterminate age. Her hair was silver but her face unlined.
Her eyes were a clear dark blue, her skin a soft coffee color. When she
smiled, it warmed her already friendly features.

"So you're Gen O'Connell."

Gen threaded her fingers together. "Yes."