kyzenbIw: переводы

→"Yes, you do," I said, and I leaned closer, so that the light around her dress reflected in my tricolor eyes and moonlight skin. "I don't remember you being this powerful last time we met, Gilda. What have you been doing to gain such power?"

→She blinked at me, frowning. Bittersweet cuddled against Gilda's curls with a face gone half sleepy, as if touching Gilda made the godmother's spell even stronger. "I don't know what you're talking about."

→"As are compulsion spells that steal the free will of any legal citizen of these United States."

→"Duels are illegal," she said primly.

→"All the royal of faerie know that if another royal gives you your title, you must give them back their own, or it's an insult that can only be settled by a duel." That was half true – there were other options – but a duel was at the end of all the other options. But Gilda wouldn't know that.

→She made a little humph sound, then looked at me, lowering her hand as she did so. "Merry Gentry. Back in town, I see."

→She made a little humph sound, then looked at me, lowering her hand as she did so. "Merry Gentry. Back in town, I see."

→A little shiver ran down her, making the top of her crown shake, the blue lace quiver, and the diamonds send little rainbows around the room. "Come over here and bring that big, deep voice with you."

→"Your magic will not work on us," Doyle said in his deep voice.

→She turned and said, "Darkness, the Queen's Darkness, now exiled to our fair land. I'd hoped that you would both pay court to me. It has been so long since I've seen anyone from faerie. I would dearly love it if you would visit me."

→Her face softened suddenly. "The Killing Frost. I had heard you were in L.A. I've been waiting for you to visit me." Her voice was suddenly sweet and teasing. There was some power to her voice, but it washed over me like the sea on a stone. I didn't think it was my improved shields. I think this compulsion spell was simply not meant for me.

→She frowned at him. "He is my king, my consort." Her eyes narrowed again, but more like she was squinting. I wondered if the diamond lights were bright enough to affect her vision. She was acting as if they were.

→Lucy tried again, "Can you describe the wannabes who ran down the hill?"

→I'd tried to vouch for Lucy being one of the good guys, but Bittersweet had lost someone she loved to just such an accident decades ago when she and he first came out to Los Angeles. I guess if I'd lost one of my loves to police carelessness, I might have trouble trusting too.

→Robert got the demi-fey to eat a little more cake. We'd already explained to the detectives why the sweets were important. Oh, and why were we still here? When we'd gotten up to leave, Bittersweet had gotten hysterical again. She seemed convinced that without the princess and royal guards to make the human police behave, they would drag her off to the police station and all that metal and technology, and they would kill her by accident.

→All we'd learned so far was that they'd been male elf wannabes complete with long hair and ear implants. There were anywhere between four and six of them, though there could have been more. Bittersweet was only certain of four, or more. She was very fuzzy on time, because most fey, especially ones who still do their original nature-oriented jobs, use light, not clocks, to judge time.

→"Four, five. I'm not sure." She hid her face against Robert's neck. Her thin shoulders began to shake, and we realized she was crying again.

→"How many ran down the hill?" Lucy asked in a patient voice. Her partner had his notebook out writing things down. Lucy had once explained to me that some people got nervous watching their words being written down. It could help you intimidate suspects, but it could also intimidate witnesses when that was the last thing you wanted. The compromise was that Lucy let her partner write down when she interrogated. She did the same for him on occasion.

→The two uniforms, Wright and O'Brian, had taken up posts by the far door, where the detectives had told them to stand. The Fear Dearg had gone back into the outer room to help in the shop, though I had given a thought to how much help he would be with customers. He seemed more likely to frighten than to take orders.

→"They ran down the hill," Bittersweet said in a high, almost musical voice, but it was music that was off-key today. It was her stress showing through even as she tried to answer questions.