Read Online The Glass God by Kate Griffin - Free Book Online

stare that Sharon and Rhys each gave him, lesser men would have squirmed. Miles was not a lesser man. “If someone is attempting to cover up their activities by attacking us with a binary hex,” he said, “then it does rather imply that we are in danger of stumbling on their activities, doesn’t it? Which is a marvellous indicator of positive progress!”
    Sharon hesitated. To her irritation, the Alderman had a point. She rolled the handle of the umbrella between her palms, then turned it over to examine the end. There was a small hollow where the point of the umbrella had been removed. The inside of the hollow was rusted; clearly this operation had happened some time ago. She ran her finger carefully along the curve and for a moment there was,
    Snap snap snap umbrella snap along street surface
                   pouring rain drum
    water running off the edges
         pain in sharp and hot and
    forgotten
              taste of dirt
    in the mouth
         in the throat
              suffocating
                   choking
                        hot!
                             can’t
                                  breathe!
                                       Can’t breathe!
                                       CAN’T BREATHE!
                                       CAN’T BREATHE HOW DARE THEY
    She choked and dropped the umbrella, clawing at her throat and gasping for air. The world was spinning, her eyes watering; and as she choked she simultaneously tried to cough, to spit, to splutter, to get air in and dust out, her chest contracting and bursting all at once within her.
    “Ms Li!” Rhys was by her side, pushing Miles out of the way, grabbing her by the shoulders as she leant forward. She hauled down air and almost at once gasped it out, as if her need for oxygen was too great for one petty lungful of air to satisfy it. The umbrella had fallen between her feet; instinctively she kicked it away as she shuddered and pulled down more air.
    Slowly, the rushing of her heart retreated from her ears and throat. She looked up, and managed to wheeze, “Mega-fucking-mystic-fucking-umbrella!”
    Gingerly, Miles picked it up, examining every inch. “Interesting,” he mused. “I really can’t detect anything mystic about it.”
    “It’s bloody magical!” she retorted. “Who the hell has a magical umbrella?”
    “Mary Poppins?” suggested Rhys. She trod on his foot. “Sorry,” he said.
    “I’m sure you’re correct, Ms Li,” said the Alderman, “but we did have a good look at it and I’m sorry to say that no one detected a glimmer of any spell. Which isn’t to say that it hasn’t been used for mystic purposes in the past; merely that, at the moment, the umbrella’s purpose seems entirely related to the weather.”
    Sharon’s scowl deepened. Briefly and, she felt, perhaps naïvely, she wondered if the time hadn’t come to consult her spirit guide. All shamans, so she’d been told, had one – a psychological manifestation of their deepest thoughts, feelings and strengths made visible to them alone – but it was a continual irritation to her that her own spirit guide, far from the majestic being of light she’d hoped for, was a cheap talk-show host by the name of Dez. Particularly irksome was the feeling that Dez’s manifestation, from the inner recesses of her consciousness, could be no one’s fault but hers. She looked up and saw Rhys’s face set in an expression of expectant optimism. He was, she reminded herself, a believer. It was just bizarre that the thing he believed in was her.
    “Right,” she said, and felt surprised to hear herself. Then, firmer, to make sure it wasn’t a mistake, “Right!” She got to her feet. “Well, there’s no point arsing about here, hoping it’ll get