Page 11 of The Claiming of the Shrew
“You’re going to ask me about Fawkes, aren’t you?”
“The guy last night? Yes, I’m going to ask about him. Leah, you know it’s fine to invite guests, we’re open to all. But you had someone new back here last night, and now the set is wrecked—so yeah, I’d like to know how well you know him and where he came from.”
“He’s—well—I just met him yesterday.” Leah crossed her arms defensively, leaning against a tree to keep herself upright. “But I don’t think it was him.”
“Why not?”
Because he’s my mate, possibly, kind of, even though he says he’s not, and he just wouldn’t—was probably not a good enough reason. “He had no reason to,” Leah said instead. “All of that damage, it wasn’t done by someone who doesn’t know anybody here. It’s personal. Don’t you think so?”
“It looks like it,” Maggie said, and she looked nervous for some reason, for just a minute—an odd expression that passed across her face and was gone before Leah had a chance to fully register it. “You can’t know for sure that he knows no one here. Whyishe up here this weekend, anyway?”
“He’s doing some kind of gig work from his hotel room,” Leah said, but the words reminded her that she wasn’t sure if she believed that, either.
“I’d like to know more about that Fawkes guy, Leah.”
“Good,” Leah said. “Me too.”
FAWKES
Leah was strangelydifficult to find. Fawkes would have liked to have breakfast with her and perhaps ask her some questions about the other members of her theater group. But when he went down early, dragging himself out of bed, she wasn’t there; and when he came back a bit later, he found out she’d just left—according to Hester, the manager, who was clearing away the buffet.
“I’m not in the habit of facilitating meetings between guests,” Hester said. “Can I ask why you’re looking for her?”
Because she’s my mate and the love of my life and I seem to have gotten off on entirely the wrong foot with her. Also she’s possibly got information I need.
“Nothing important,” Fawkes said. “It’ll keep.”
“Good,” Hester said, straightening up from the buffet. “Because I wanted to talk to you about?—”
“You!” said a voice behind him.
Fawkes whirled around just as a woman he had never seen before with bouncing brown curls descended on him like a whirlwind of fury. She seized his arm.
“We’re going to have a conversation,” she declared and strong-armed him out of the hotel restaurant.
“May I ask where we’re going to have this conversation?” Fawkes inquired politely as he was marched down the hall leading to one of the exits.
“Somewhere that it doesn’t matter if I shift, just in case.”
Fawkes tried to keep the look of frozen panic off his face. What the heck did she shift into, a polar bear? “Er—dare I ask what your shift form is?”
“None of your business, is what it is.”
She let him go as soon as they were outside. Fawkes gave some thought to shifting himself, but decided it probably wouldn’t be a great idea to open this conversation by scuttling up a tree. (He could always reserve that for later in case she turned out to be someone from his past that he needed to avoid.) He tried to lounge in a casual, cool-looking sort of way on the wall.
“So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“You’re Fawkes, right? The guy my little sister was babbling about all day yesterday?”
Aha. Leah had said something about a sister.
“Nice to meet you,” he said.
“Don’t butter me up, buddy. I want to know how well you know my baby sister and what your intentions are towards her. She was half awake this morning, and I get the feeling she was off somewhere with you.”
Okay, so this was the shovel talk. Fawkes just hoped she didn’t turn into anything huge and force him to engage in defensive combat.
“She was with me for part of the evening,” he said. “She showed me around backstage, and then we split up.”
