"Shanna Swendson - Enchanted, Inc" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swendson Shanna)

Either the company was celebrating Halloween a month early and I'd interrupted an
elaborate costume party, or there was something very, very weird going on. I voted
for the latter. While I knew it was possible to strap on a pair of wings or add points
to your ears with plastic tips, there was no way a normal person could shrink into a
gnome, and these were very clearly living beings, not lawn ornaments.

Mixed in with the freak show were a number of people in ordinary business attire. I
recognized Owen, looking particularly handsome in a pin-striped navy suit. He
flashed me a smile, then ducked his head and blushed furiously.
Rod cleared his throat and gestured toward me with a flourish. "Ladies and
gentlebeings, may I present to you Miss Kathleen Chandler. Katie, to her friends."

I felt about twenty pairs of eyes on me as every person in the room turned to look.
Feeling self-conscious, I gave them as big a smile as I could muster and fluttered my
fingers at them in an awkward wave. Rod stepped forward to pull a chair out for me.
I sat down, then he helped me scoot up to the table before taking the seat next to
me.

He clasped his hands together on top of the table, and suddenly he was a polished
business executive rather than a sleazy pickup artist. "As you're all aware," he began,
"we've increased our recruitment efforts substantially in recent weeks. Unfortunately,
immunes are few and far between, and they don't last long in this city. The new
varieties of antipsychotic drugs aren't helping matters, because those apparently
undo the immunity and make people susceptible again. That reduces the pool even
further."

"We're working to find ways to counter that," Owen put in, clearly in business
mode, for he spoke strongly and clearly, and his skin tone remained even.

"In the meantime," Rod continued, "it leaves us at something of a loss. We need
immunes now more than ever, and there aren't as many to be found. That's what
makes Miss Chandler here such a rare find. Not only is she entirely
immune—according to every test we've put her through—but she seems
to have held on well to her sanity and common sense."

He might have spoken too soon about the sanity. I felt like I'd left it behind
somewhere out on the street. I must have looked as confused as I felt, for an elderly
man seated across the table from me remarked, "Obviously, she hasn't yet been
briefed."

Rod snapped to attention, and I assumed this must be the head honcho. He was a
distinguished-looking gentleman with silver hair and a neatly trimmed silver beard and
mustache. It was hard to tell just how old he was, other than that he was quite old.
"No, sir," Rod stammered, having now lost all pretense of swagger. "I thought it was
best to wait until—"

The boss cut him off. "Until she'd lost that precious sanity you were so proud of?"
he asked, his voice stem but not unkind. He turned to me. "My dear, I believe we
owe you an explanation of two." His voice was deep and rich, with a hint of