Page 76 of I Ran Away to Evil 2
She waved at him. “I came for our dinner date.”
Rufus looked like he had no idea what she was talking about. Which was fair, since she’d made it up. The beastman was no fool, though, and he caught on quickly. “Ah, yes. Our date.”
The elf looked like she was going to say something, but then her eyes lingered on Rufus, who was blushing. She turned to Brownie and sighed. “We were just finishing. Also, it’s nice to officially meet you, Minstrel Bronwynn. I am Guild Master Eva Lina. Please give my regards to your uncle.”
“I will.” Brownie stiffened but nodded. She purposefully didn’t look at Rufus. To redirect the conversation, she told Slake, “Also, you have a fan at the Wistful Cup who would love it if you stopped by later.”
“I’ll think about it.” Slake stretched, flexing his claws on the desk and getting a paper stuck on the end of one paw. He batted it off then glanced at us, nonchalantly pretending like it never happened. “Now off you go, you two. I need to speak with Eva about the bottle of molten ash vane I caught.”
“YOU WHAT?” Eva was out of her chair and hovering over the grimalcat in an instant. “Slake, you can’t just play with—You could die!”
The grimalcat lay on the desk. “It’s not the first dangerous thing I’ve caught at a celebration.”
Brownie reached out and pulled Rufus toward the door. His soft arms were fluffy and sturdy and very huggable.
“Did you really get everything you needed done?” Brownie asked while they headed back the way she’d come.
Rufus nodded. “Just in time for ourdate, too.”
Brownie had the grace to blush. “You were in here for over an hour! And the grimalcat,with a vial of molten ash vane, suddenly waltzed into the place! What if they were in cahoots to murder the commander general of the Dark Lord’s army?”
“Wearelucky it turned out as well as it did, thanks to Slake,” Rufus replied. “He has rightful claim to the poison, and will hoard it fiercer than a dragon. And his involvement with the Assassin’s Guild master means that I’m more inclined to look for clues elsewhere. Speaking of clues. Did you know that Duke Wyldon approved the assassination attempt today?”
“What?” Brownie would never have guessed.
“Which is why I think I should go talk to him.”
There was a moment of final tension before the two exited the Assassin’s Guild and found themselves back out on the streets. Brownie didn’t realize how nervous she was on behalf of the commander general until she’d safely escorted him out of the building. She blamed Jack, for making it seem like the entire place was full of cutthroat murderous assassins who would unalive first and ask questions later.
Actually, from Brownie’s own experience, that’s probably exactly who worked in Lucia’s Linens.
Speaking of Jack …
“I hate to say this,” Brownie broached, “but you have two people next door you could ask instead.”
Rufus glanced at the Wistful Cup and sighed. “You’re right, and that would leave us more time for dinner.”
Brownie decided to just go for it. “You know, I might not know my way around this part of the city, but I did find this amazing barbeque house the last time I was visiting.”
“Sounds perfect.”
They walked back into the Wistful Cup arm in arm. Jack was hanging around at the counter. He didn’t look like he was doing anything, though, simply leaning on his elbow, waiting.
“You managed to get out alive!” the human called, actually looking impressed.
Rufus frowned. “Yes, and with valuable information. But first, did Duke Wyldon approve his own assassination order?”
“Yes?” Jack shrugged.
“Explain.”
“He’s trying to witness the assassination attempts and catch a molten ash vane case as it happens; what better to inspire an international criminal assassin than the hit on the leader of the investigation?”
“I did notice,” Brownie pointed out, “that Duke Wyldon had shields prepared and powerful protectors on standby. He presumably had a [Revive] handy as well. And hedidcatch Lady Tate in the act.”
Jack nodded. “Exactly. Though I don’t think he was ready for whatever magic let that bottle pass through the shields. Or that one of his own family friends would throw the bottle in his face …”
Assassins were usually stealthier than that. Sometimes. Maybe.
