"Wen Spencer - Rituals for a New God" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spencer Wen)

"You're one of the new gods?"
She shrugged. "That's what they're calling it."
He took it as a yes. "Really? It worked? Amazing!" He laughed with nervous exhilaration.
"Awesome!" He started to hold out his hand, and then checked the motion. "Is it all right to shake hands?
It's not sacrilege or anything?"
"No, it's fine." Madeline shook his hand, suddenly conscious of her filthy, patched jeans, unwashed
hair, and dirt-smeared face.
"Mac Pierson." He held out the brandy and motioned to the steak. "Do we start with this or do I
give it to you later?"
"Let's eat and you can tell me what I'm doing here."
The food gave meaning to the phrase "nectar of the gods." Madeline could barely keep from
moaning as Mac Pierson told of his wife falling to a mysterious illness.
"Do you think you can help? I mean, really help? We've tried everything else: X-rays, CAT scans,
acupuncture, herbal therapy . . . She's only gotten worse. I figured—I figured it couldn't hurt to try one of
you new gods. I sent the kids to school, fired up the grill, and winged the rituals."
And luck of the draw, he had gotten her. "I can try."
He led the way into the house: gleaming wood floors, oriental carpets, Ethan Allen furniture, and the
hospital smell of antiseptics. On the living room coffee table, she spotted Pierson's inspiration. "New
Gods Walk Among Us" exclaimed the tabloid cover. Always more reserved, the Time magazine stated
"Mass Miracles or Mass Hysteria?" She had all the same magazines at home, researching her condition,
and finding no answers. Hysteria. Actually, it would be comforting to believe that was all it was, and
nothing more.
"She's in here!" Pierson called from the master bedroom at the end of the hall.
Madeline stopped short at the door.
A creature waited in the master bedroom, something half snake, part cat, part a weird collection of
others. Eyes black and cold as onyx marbles regarded Madeline. It sat curled on the chest of an
unconscious woman lying in the bed, claws kneading her nightgown-clad breasts.
"My god!" Madeline yelped in surprise. "What's that?"
"This is my wife. Grace."
An oxygen mask shrouded Grace Pierson's face, but did not totally hide her fragile beauty. Even
inert, she exuded brilliant warmth. Perhaps Madeline's imagination supplied the impression, wove a
complete fabrication from the comfortable elegance of the home and Mac Pierson's devotion to his wife.
Perhaps sensing the inherent good in a person was part and parcel of being a god. Regardless of the
source, Madeline felt a sudden rage at the injustice.
"Hey! Shoo! Go on!" She tried shooing the creature away like one would scare a cat, with a wave
of the arms, and a quick hiss. "Get! Leave her alone!"
The creature flinched, as if her voice pained it, but otherwise sat unmoving. The digital rhythm
showing on the heart monitors flickered, and Grace gasped slightly into the oxygen mask. Alarmed,
Madeline stepped toward Grace and the creature crouched lower, its spine fur lifting into hackles. It
opened its snoutlike mouth, exposing a horde of needle teeth, breath rank as week-old road kill.
Okay, it was braver than she was.
Madeline backed out of the room. A lifetime of farm animals had given her plenty of respect for
what a mouthful of teeth like that could do. The next door down was a boy's room, a clutter of sports
equipment. The Piersons' son apparently played goalie position on a hockey team: she found a facemask,
leg guards and body armor and tugged them on. She picked up a hockey stick, tested its heft, and
abandoned it for a baseball bat.
 "Um, pardon me, but what are you doing?" Pierson asked.
"I'm not going in there without a weapon and some protection!" Madeline snapped. Maybe she
should go out to her truck and get her shotgun.
"A weapon?" He started to edge between her and the door to the master bedroom. "What do you