Greeley, Andrew M. (ed) - Emerald Magic / Грили, Андре (ред) - Изумрудная магия [2004, EPUB, ENG]

Herself short story by Diane Duane Speir-Bhan / Небесная Дева short story by Tanith Lee Troubles short story by Adam Stemple and Jane Yolen The Hermit and the Sidhe short story by Judith Tarr The Merrow short story by Elizabeth Haydon The Butter Spirit's Tithe novelette by Charles de Lint Banshee / Банши short story by Ray Bradbury Peace in Heaven? short story by Andrew M. Greeley The Lady in Grey short story by Jane Lindskold A Drop of Something Special in the Blood short story by Fred Saberhagen For the Blood Is the Life short story by Peter Tremayne Long the Clouds Are Over Me Tonight short story by Cecilia Dart-Thornton The Swan Pilot short story by L. E. Modesitt, Jr. The Isle of Women short story by Jacqueline Carey The Cat with No Name short story by Morgan Llywelyn

The dream again, last night. I shall continue to call these visitations dreams, as the London specialist very firmly insisted upon doing, and it is at his urging that I begin this private record of events. As to the “dream”itself, I can only hope and pray that in setting it down on paper I may be able to exorcise at least a portion of the horror. I awoke—or so I thought—in an unmanly state of fear, at the darkest hour of the night. As before, the impression (whether true or not) that I had come wide-awake, was very firm. There was no confusion as to where I was; I immediately recognized, by the faint glow of streetlights coming in round the edges of the window curtain, the room in which I had lain down to sleep, in this case a somewhat overdecorated bedchamber in an overpriced Parisian hotel. For a moment I lay listening, in a strange state of innocent anticipation. It was as if my certain memory of what must inexorably follow was for the moment held in abeyance. But that state lasted for a few breaths only. In the next instant, memory returned with a rush. There was a faint sound at the window; and I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt what I must see when I turned my gaze in that direction. She was standing there, of course, just inside the window. In my last coherent thoughts before falling asleep, I had begun to hope (absurdly, I suppose, whatever the true cause may be) that the visitations could not have followed me from London. . . .