Page 3 of Werewolves Don't Howl
He pursed his lips slightly before he shrugged. “It’s his assistant that’s so irritating. He’s a goblin, but so persuasive and clever, you’d think he was a siren, stealing away your soul. I’ve always wanted to do a good exposé on the senator, and have tried with multiple channels, but it’s always the same dull, carefully rehearsed story that doesn’t dig into who he really is, or what he really wants. I don’t mind a corrupt politician. I know what to do with that, but I have no idea if he is or not, or what his actual agenda is.” He narrowed his eyes as he studied me. “If he was honest with you…”
I held up my hands and backed away. “Writing a political exposé is the last thing I want to do. He’s right. I’m a fluff writer, and that’s how I want to stay.”
“A fluff writer?” He raised a dark brow and then frowned. “That’s all he said? That’s not enough to really draw any conclusions from. You should have argued, accused him of something, so he had to defend himself, to break down his natural reticence.”
“Or I could talk to you about your masked ball. When are you thinking of hosting it?”
He gave me a slight frown, considering if he wanted to push the subject of the senator. “In the summer, after Bram’s wedding. What will you go as?” he asked, stopping to look at a group of sculptures, a large fox chasing three rabbits with a bear in the background. “You ran away from him like a rabbit.”
“A bunny? That would be adorable.” I made a point of looking as adorable as possible, but it helped that I really didn’t like conflict.
“Or a bear. They’re cuddly. Gnomes are notoriously cuddly,” he said, eyes traveling over me the way males did from time to time. Only no, of course an elf wasn’t interested in curves, particularly an old friend of my father’s. He was considering what animal I most closely resembled. All the same, being looked at so appraisingly reminded me of something. He’d looked at me like that before, a very, very long time ago, commenting on my having grown up to be a beauty. Oh! That’s right, it was at the college dance fifteen years ago, the night I was infected by a werewolf I never saw, heard, smelled, or felt. My heart twisted at the memory, when I’d been so innocent and full of hopes and dreams.
I held onto my smile, even though it felt brittle. “I think I’d rather go as something exotic, like an alpaca.” Alpaca yarn was so fun to knit.
He almost laughed, but he remained his distinguished air, only letting his eyes smile. “An alpaca? Oh, yes, I can see how elegant this party will be.”
I slipped my arm in his, looking up at him. “I promise I’ll be a very elegant alpaca. You really should do it. The zoo is on its last legs and is one of the original landmarks of Singsong City since the World’s Fair a hundred years ago. It needs strong donors, or it can’t continue to exist at all, much less be free to those who are less fortunate.”
His eyes shifted from amused to intent, like he’d heard of a new company he wanted to purchase to expand his domain. “Hm. Well, if you promise to strive for elegance, I suppose I’ll have to do it.”
We turned a corner and almost walked into the senator where he was standing in the middle of the shadowy path, like he was waiting for us. His eyes looked indigo in this light.
“Are you lost?” I asked, then felt idiotic. Senator Silverton was an elf. Elves had an impeccable sense of direction.
He smiled slightly while his violet eyes glimmered. “That’s right. Miss Era, do you mind giving me a tour of the maze? I’m afraid that I’m in grave need of assistance.”
I looked up at Mr. Clay for a moment and then at the senator, who was very clearly in-control and capable of finding his way out of the small garden maze. He must have returned to apologize to me for his incredible rudeness earlier. Of course he was.
I relaxed and gave Mr. Clay a small smile. “It seems I am needed. I’ll try to shake him down for something juicy,” I added in a loud whisper so the senator would hear.
Clay’s smile to Silverton was civil, but only barely. “Of course. I need to speak to Leticia about her stunning maze, anyway.” He gave me a slight wink, then took my hand, placed it on Silverton’s, and strode off. Because he thought I could crack the incredibly tough shell of the senator if his best reporters couldn’t do it.
I sighed and shook my head, watching Zephin Clay become just another shadow among the sculptures.
“We’re close to the African sculpture garden, if you’d like to start there,” I said politely, looking up at him to find him watching the shadows where Zephin Clay had gone.
Senator Silverton turned a warm smile on me, and my knees went weak. Elves shouldn’t seem warm, or you’d accidentally think they liked hugs.
“He left you with me rather abruptly. I hope he’s not ill.” His voice was so decadent and delicious that I leaned closer, inhaling that delicious scent of night woods and carnations. I brushed his chest with mine when I realized that we were standing in a shadowy corner of Leticia’s garden, staring at each other.
I pulled away and turned to point at the nearest statue. “That’s a rhinoceros.” A spotlight shone on it, outlining the silhouette of the creature who was on two back legs, front legs ready to rip you in pieces.
“Do rhinos stand on their hind legs? I wasn’t aware. You know Mr. Clay well?”
I glanced up at Silverton. And up, and up. He would be a warlord in a different world. Perhaps he wasn’t all elf, like me. I smiled up at the imposing figure, imagining a secret ogre heritage in the scheming politician. “Well enough to know that the only reason he left me with you is that he’s hoping that your previous lack of guarded diplomacy will be repeated, ending in a salacious exposé on the popular senator. He isn’t aware that you came here to apologize.” I smiled a forgiving smile, showing him that I didn’t hold his words against him, but he only studied the rhinoceros statue.
“I’m not going to apologize,” he finally said, turning to face me, expression cool, calculating. “How can you live such a miniscule life?”
Miniscule? I stared at him, completely bewildered. I’d given him a perfect opportunity to be polite and he turned it down? Impossible! “Wait, you didn’t come to find me in the hopes of apologizing, but instead to insult me further?”
He narrowed his eyes slightly, still looking at me too intently, peering into my soul and finding it lacking. “I read your article, the one you wrote after the library incident. Your research was stellar, the writing clear and persuasive. You made people think about old things in new ways by reframing the story. And now you’re back to reporting on garden parties.” He gestured at the statue before he took a step closer and turned those disturbing violet eyes on me. “Perhaps someone’s dress won’t be hand-embroidered. The shock. Or perhaps someone will wrinkle their nose in distaste at the champagne. The horror.” He wrinkled his perfect nose in a perfect imitation of Mr. Braxley’s face earlier when he’d claimed his champagne was too stale.
Was the senator joking? Elves didn’t joke. At least not often. He really must have a strain of something else that was rude and blunt. Ogre was definitely a possibility with those broad shoulders. Forsythia would be so disappointed, but I have to admit, I found him slightly more interesting.
I studied him openly in return. His lips were taut, braced for my reaction. He was trying to provoke me. “Embroidery is an art, but shock and horror are what I strive to avoid.”
He nodded, looking at me like he could see me in the dark as easily as I could see him. “Yes, I realize that, but your talents are wasted because of your aversion to reality. I hate waste, and I hate avoiding necessary unpleasantness for the sake of denial.”
