By Dana Cameron
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Extra info for A Fugitive Truth
Michael picked up on my reticence. “Oh, come off it, Auntie. ” Michael patted himself down, then caught himself. “Shit, no smoking in this crypt. ” He sighed with galactic weariness. ” That nettled me—I always fancied myself as more than usually truthful and open-minded. ” Michael was unaffected by my tart response. ” He slunk back and resumed his place on the couch and once again, closed his eyes. “See you around, probably. ” I got my scarf as quickly as I could and shut the heavy door to the house firmly, trying to get a little distance between me and my new housemates.
Thanks, I’ll be fine. ” Realizing that Jack was at least right about the outside temperature, I decided to get a scarf. On my way back through the hall, I ran across the second of my three fellow Fellows in the darkened parlor. Or at least, I thought I had. All I could see was a large dark shape off to one side of the couch. ” I asked quietly, just so Jack wouldn’t hear, in case I was actually greeting a pile of coats or something. The pile stirred and a voice came mournfully from the depths of the cloth.
Pleasantly businesslike, he began to walk backward, to show me around the facilities. “Let me show you around my kingdom—” Always alert to Shakespearean possibilities, I seized on this one. ” “Actually, my proper title is His Serene Majesty, the Emperor of Bibliopolis,” he answered with a grin, “but you can call me Harry. All personal belongings—books, coats, bags—go into the lockers over there—” Just then, Michael Glasscock swanned past us, dressed now, but still wearing his overcoat. “Morning, Harry.
A Fugitive Truth by Dana Cameron