Read Online Tears of the Furies (A Novel of the Menagerie) by Thomas E. Sniegoski Christopher Golden - Free Book Online
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it, and now
they wheeled it in silence through the busy terminal as travelers moved out of
their way. The electronic doors parted to make way for them, and they emerged
onto the sidewalk in front of the airport, where a line of limousines and
taxicabs waited.
Cold rain swept down from dark skies heavy with
thunderheads. It was midafternoon, but the gloom pretended evening. The cars
that rolled beneath the overhanging roof that kept the emerging travelers dry
dripped with rain, leaving damp tire tracks in their passing.
Nigel Gull paused on the sidewalk, his distended nostrils
widening. It had been raining lightly when they landed, but the storm had
gotten much worse in the subsequent forty minutes. He snorted in displeasure.
"A singularly unlovely day."
Jezebel had slipped on her burgundy leather jacket. Now she
left the luggage cart and stood beside him, gazing out at the storm. Her left
hand gripped his arm, and she lay her head against his shoulder.
"No," Gull began. "Jez, love, you don’t have
to —"
"Hush," the girl said.
Gull’s heart swelled. Such a sweet child. He would never
have a daughter of his own, but in Jezebel he had found a girl who was
everything he could ever have wanted as a legacy. How he loved her. As he
watched, her beautiful, delicate face became dark and cruel. Her eyes were
closed tightly, her features lined with intensity. She shook, and her grip on
his arm tightened. A drop of blood bubbled out of her right nostril, steaming,
and when it fell to the sidewalk it evaporated on contact with the concrete.
Her eyes flickered open. A mist seemed to rise off of those
orbs, the same ocean green as her irises. Then a smile blossomed on her face
and she went impossibly rigid beside him. Gull was at once fearful for her and
enchanted. She was never more beautiful than in the throes of her power. Her
personal magic.
Her grip relaxed, and she slumped against him. Gull put an
arm around her shoulders and at last tore his gaze from her. As far as he could
see, the rain had ceased. The black clouds were thinning, burning off, and in
several places the sun peeked through, revealing a hint of blue sky beyond.
"It will be nice now," Jezebel said, her words
slurring. "Spectacular, even." She glanced around for Hawkins and
spotted him a few feet away, studying the line of limousines that stood at the
curb, their drivers standing in front of them, each holding a sign scrawled
with the name of their client.
"Nick, lovey, get us a car, won’t you? I need somewhere
to fall."
Hawkins glanced at her, then at Gull. He said nothing, for
Jezebel was irritating him on purpose. She knew full well that he was already
in the process of choosing their transportation. Women passing by watched him
appreciatively as they dragged their wheeled baggage toward waiting taxis. But
despite Jezebel’s exhaustion, Gull had no interest in a taxi. He would not ride
in one in London, nor would he do so here in the States.
"Only a moment, Jez," Gull promised her.
But the girl had already closed her eyes again and seemed on
the verge of falling asleep where she stood, leaning on him.
After another moment, Hawkins began to walk along the line
of limousines, idly brushing his fingers against each of them as he passed. At
the third — a long ghost-white model — he paused. Gull thought he
saw a tiny smile flicker across Hawkins’s face, but it might have been his
imagination.
"Mr. Gull," Hawkins said, beckoning to him.
With Jezebel staggering somnambulently at his side, Gull
grasped the handle of the luggage cart and wheeled it toward the limousine. He
reached it just as Hawkins was approaching the driver, who stood in front of
the vehicle holding a small white cardboard sign stenciled with the name E.
POWELL.
"Hello there, are you Bob, then?" Hawkins asked
the driver.
The young man with the black suit and the E. POWELL sign
flinched and then looked Hawkins up and down in frank appraisal.
"Can I help you, sir?" the driver
they wheeled it in silence through the busy terminal as travelers moved out of
their way. The electronic doors parted to make way for them, and they emerged
onto the sidewalk in front of the airport, where a line of limousines and
taxicabs waited.
Cold rain swept down from dark skies heavy with
thunderheads. It was midafternoon, but the gloom pretended evening. The cars
that rolled beneath the overhanging roof that kept the emerging travelers dry
dripped with rain, leaving damp tire tracks in their passing.
Nigel Gull paused on the sidewalk, his distended nostrils
widening. It had been raining lightly when they landed, but the storm had
gotten much worse in the subsequent forty minutes. He snorted in displeasure.
"A singularly unlovely day."
Jezebel had slipped on her burgundy leather jacket. Now she
left the luggage cart and stood beside him, gazing out at the storm. Her left
hand gripped his arm, and she lay her head against his shoulder.
"No," Gull began. "Jez, love, you don’t have
to —"
"Hush," the girl said.
Gull’s heart swelled. Such a sweet child. He would never
have a daughter of his own, but in Jezebel he had found a girl who was
everything he could ever have wanted as a legacy. How he loved her. As he
watched, her beautiful, delicate face became dark and cruel. Her eyes were
closed tightly, her features lined with intensity. She shook, and her grip on
his arm tightened. A drop of blood bubbled out of her right nostril, steaming,
and when it fell to the sidewalk it evaporated on contact with the concrete.
Her eyes flickered open. A mist seemed to rise off of those
orbs, the same ocean green as her irises. Then a smile blossomed on her face
and she went impossibly rigid beside him. Gull was at once fearful for her and
enchanted. She was never more beautiful than in the throes of her power. Her
personal magic.
Her grip relaxed, and she slumped against him. Gull put an
arm around her shoulders and at last tore his gaze from her. As far as he could
see, the rain had ceased. The black clouds were thinning, burning off, and in
several places the sun peeked through, revealing a hint of blue sky beyond.
"It will be nice now," Jezebel said, her words
slurring. "Spectacular, even." She glanced around for Hawkins and
spotted him a few feet away, studying the line of limousines that stood at the
curb, their drivers standing in front of them, each holding a sign scrawled
with the name of their client.
"Nick, lovey, get us a car, won’t you? I need somewhere
to fall."
Hawkins glanced at her, then at Gull. He said nothing, for
Jezebel was irritating him on purpose. She knew full well that he was already
in the process of choosing their transportation. Women passing by watched him
appreciatively as they dragged their wheeled baggage toward waiting taxis. But
despite Jezebel’s exhaustion, Gull had no interest in a taxi. He would not ride
in one in London, nor would he do so here in the States.
"Only a moment, Jez," Gull promised her.
But the girl had already closed her eyes again and seemed on
the verge of falling asleep where she stood, leaning on him.
After another moment, Hawkins began to walk along the line
of limousines, idly brushing his fingers against each of them as he passed. At
the third — a long ghost-white model — he paused. Gull thought he
saw a tiny smile flicker across Hawkins’s face, but it might have been his
imagination.
"Mr. Gull," Hawkins said, beckoning to him.
With Jezebel staggering somnambulently at his side, Gull
grasped the handle of the luggage cart and wheeled it toward the limousine. He
reached it just as Hawkins was approaching the driver, who stood in front of
the vehicle holding a small white cardboard sign stenciled with the name E.
POWELL.
"Hello there, are you Bob, then?" Hawkins asked
the driver.
The young man with the black suit and the E. POWELL sign
flinched and then looked Hawkins up and down in frank appraisal.
"Can I help you, sir?" the driver
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