Page 15 of The Claiming of the Shrew
Beneath his shirt, Fawkes was lean and muscular. He had a thatch of dark chest hair and a treasure trail pointing down to what Leah realized, her cheeks heating, she was about to see as soon as he got done taking everything off.
He was also, she found out, a boxers guy.
Fawkes glanced at her and gave her a sideways smile, at which point her brain shorted out, just before sliding his boxers down his narrow hips, which did away with any remaining coherence that she had managed to hold on to.
Then, of course, he turned into a raccoon.
She had known it was coming, but somehow had managed to forget it around the time that he started unfastening his jeans. Even remembering that the shift was the point, however, probably wouldn’t have prepared her for the mental whiplash of going from ogling a hot naked guy, to having forty pounds of rotund trash-eating omnivore drop into the middle of Fawkes’s discarded pile of clothing.
The look he gave her this time was distinctly smug before he began sniffing around the chairs.
“You jerk,” Leah said weakly. She wondered if taking a break from the clue search to go have a cold shower would be reasonable.
But she found herself caught up in watching Fawkes quest around busily, sniffing under chairs, standing up on his back legs, and eventually starting what was obviously a search grid around the set. It was clear that he had done this kind of thing before, which was giving her a lot of unanswered questions about his exact skill set.
Abruptly Fawkes made a beeline for something and pounced on it. Leah came over to see what it was, just as Fawkes shifted back and straightened up. He had an object in his hand, which Leah had absolutely no interest in, as her eyes were wildly trying to find somewhere to rest that wasn’t totally ripped manflesh.
“Found this,” Fawkes said cheerfully.
Leah grabbed his pants and threw them at him. “Put these on and we’ll talk.”
Fawkes snorted and set down the object he’d found, something crumpled and silvery. “I’m not done looking yet. I just wanted to show you.”
“Is that a cigarette pack?” There was no answer from Fawkes, who had gone raccoon-shaped again and was sniffing around in a widening spiral. “Fawkes, this isn’t really a clue. Several peoplein the cast and crew smoke, including Gloria, although she doesn’t want anyone to know. Any of them could have dropped it. In fact, at a guess, I’m going to say these are probably Gloria’s and she had them stuffed into one of the props so she could have a quick smoke without anyone noticing. As if we don’t notice anyway,” Leah muttered.
Fawkes’s only response was to scuttle up to her, swiftly drop something else at her feet, and hurry off again.
“And this is a—” She picked it up. “An empty orange soda can. Fawkes, are you bringing me trash?”
It soon became clear that this was exactly what he was doing. In short order, he brought her a crumpled receipt from an auto parts store, a candy wrapper, a cheap rhinestone from a costume necklace, and a few other items.
By this point Leah had become tired of standing, which was hard for her to do for long periods of time, and went to sit on one of the prop chairs while a small pile of trash accumulated at her feet.
Fawkes’s latest acquisition, which he hopped to her awkwardly carrying against his chest while walking on three legs, was something metallic and shiny. Leah reached for it after Fawkes dropped it, but he hastily moved a paw in the way. It was very strange watching a raccoon do something so deliberate, but not nearly as distracting as when he shifted back, naked and kneeling.
“Don’t touch that; there might be fingerprints. Right now the only fingerprints on it are a raccoon’s.” Fawkes shook his left hand as if it hurt. “My kingdom for an actual opposable thumb. Raccoons have hands, but not thumbs.”
“Thank you for the anatomy lesson, Dr. Doolittle.” Leah leaned over to look. “Is that a pair of scissors?”
“Shears,” Fawkes said.
“They’re probably from the costume trailer. You found them on the ground?”
“Shoved under some leaves.” Fawkes pointed up. “I’m gonna guess this is what was used to cut those ropes.”
Leah looked up into the treetops, which was the only thing preventing her from staring at a very naked Fawkes. “You’re probably right. Now can you put some pants on,please?”
When she dared to look at him again, he was buttoning his jeans, though still distractingly stripped to the waist.
“See if you can find something to wrap around our piece of evidence.”
“Your shirt?” Leah suggested, half-jokingly.
“You’re right.” Fawkes shook out his shirt.
Leah experienced an instant in which her baser instincts, most of which were screaming at her in high-pitched shrew voices, nearly overcame her common sense: namely, the idea of Fawkes walking around shirtless all afternoon. Then she realized the fact that the Menagerie consisted about 95% of women and gay men would result in her shrew wanting to fight people constantly, which was always exhausting.
“I have something better,” she said as Fawkes bent to collect the shears. “Here.” Delving into her purse, she took out a small snap-seal plastic bag.
