"Lisa Tuttle - Sangre" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tuttle Lisa)

take off. As the air pressure stabilized she turned to Glenda and said approvingly,
"Your stepfather is good-looking."
"Steve's not my stepfather."
"Well, whatever. They're getting married soon, aren't they?"
"July. Right after I come back from Spain." Glenda laid her cheek against the
window and shut her eyes.
"He looks awfully young."
Glenda shrugged. "A couple of years younger than my mother."
Debbie bent her dark head over her copy of The Sun Also Rises when it became
obvious that Glenda was in no mood for conversation. The two had played together
as children and remained friends into the same college in an undemanding, almost
superficial fashion.
Glenda chewed her lip. "Look what he gave me," she said suddenly, holding out
her hand. "Steve, I mean." It was a silver ring, very simple, the ends bent into a
curving "S" design. It had been made for her while she watched in the narrow dark
handcrafts shop, clutching Steve's hand with emotion she didn't show on her calm
face.
Debbie nodded. "Pretty. He's paying for this trip, isn't he?"
"He insisted. And Mother — well, she's so hung up on him that whatever he says
is fine with her."
"I think it's great," Debbie said. "Your mother getting married again. And you like
him so much, too."
"Oh, we're great friends."


Their room in Sevilla had two beds, a red-brick floor and a balcony from which
could be seen La Giralda, the Moorish tower. Glenda stood on the balcony in the
evening, the heat of the day already fading from the air, and watched the swallows
dip and soar around the tower, pink-auraed from the setting sun.
Glenda had not known why, but coming to Sevilla after the noise and cars of grey
Madrid had felt like coming home. She had led Debbie (plump Debbie panting a little
under her backpack) through the winding streets as if guided by something, coming
upon the little hotel and finding it perfect without feeling surprise. But at the same
time she felt giddy, her stomach clenched with excitement, the way she always felt
on those rare occasions when she was to be alone with Steve. With evening the
feeling of something impending had become stronger and Glenda felt reality slipping
away from her as if it were a dream.
She put a hand to her cheek and found it unnaturally hot. She turned back into the
room where Debbie was putting on a skirt.
"It's nearly eight," Debbie said. "I think it's legal to go out to dinner now."
Glenda felt herself drifting as they sat at dinner, and blamed it on the wine when
Debbie commented on her inattentiveness. Things were slipping away from her.
Everything seemed unnaturally bright and unreal as if she watched it on a screen in a
dark, muffled room.
Once back, Glenda went straight to bed while Debbie wrote a letter to her parents.
"Sure the light won't bother you?"
"I'm sure." It was an effort to say the words. The room went spinning away from
her, telescoping into another world, and Glenda slept.
She woke, her mouth dry. Debbie was a dark lump in the next bed. The shutters
were open and moonlight sliced into the room. Glenda felt ragingly hot. With part of