he promised. “Do you mind walking?”
“It’s one of my favorite things.”
Wil did give me a proper tour, pointing out historical and architectural sites. We had breakfast at a bright, light-filled restaurant on the edge of an ancient market by the Thames. The waiter recognized Wil, who didn’t look at the menu. “Give us the special and something to take the edge off, would you?”
“I’ll expedite your order, sir,” the waiter said.
Looking around at the hip clientele, I said, “I thought you were going to drag me to another basement.”
Smiling, he said, “Our people could survive underground for years if things go all to shit. One hopes they won’t. We’ve adapted very well within this city, which is why so many of us live here.” He tipped his chin toward the glass wall. “These windowpanes filter out UV rays.”
“Now you sound like the somber person I expected to meet,” I said. “Wil, it was so sweet of you to take me out last night, but I hate to drag you away from your important obligations.”
He reached out and twined his slim fingers between mine. I didn’t pull away until the waiter returned with tall red drinks.
“ Bloody Marys,” the waiter said, and in a lower voice, he added, “Brown Cow organic beef.”
When he’d left, Wil lifted his drink to me and said, “To our friendship, Mil.”
“May it last long,” I said, and we both sipped our spicy, salty drinks.
His hand went to mine again. “I’ve wanted to meet you ever since I heard about you. Bonus that you’re an exhibitionist.”
“I’m not!” I said, and then remembered incidents that might be seen as exhibitionistic if taken out of context. “Not usually.”
“I like it,” he said. “Lucky Ducharme.”
“I’m here with you now, Wil.” As I looked into Wil’s pretty hazel eyes, I wondered if Ian was with Cricket now while Ford watched. “So why is the Council irked with you?”
“If our kind live equally among Normals, the Council becomes irrelevant. Those dusty bastards aren’t going to willingly relinquish their power and the wealth that goes with it.”
I swirled the carrot stick in my drink. “Are things so different here that you’re ready to safely come out?”
“No, but we can organize and establish relationships with key contacts. We do that with the Bloody Good Table, our clubs, our business alliances.”
“How fab that you incorporate your activism with your social life,” I said. “A lot of activists back home are deadly serious.”
“You Americans are like that. Look at the way you treat sex—schoolgirl giggles and Puritan moralizing. Sex is just sex.”
“Sex is never just sex,” I said. “Oh, God, did I actually say that? Please ignore it.”
The waiter delivered our plates and said to me, “It’s an update of the traditional English breakfast with black pudding, what you call blood sausage, free-range eggs with shaved black truffle poached in an heirloom tomato sauce, organic red lentils, and whole grain cranberry bread with red currant jam. Enjoy.” He left us to our meal.
I dug in, saying, “Everything is so organic this and heirloomthat. I had no idea that you were such foodies.” A minute later, I said, “Why did the waiter explain what black pudding is?”
“Word travels fast with our kind, and the thralls have their own network,” Wil said. “As to the sustainable foods, we’re not the ones living in the Dark Ages.”
“Wil, if I wasn’t enjoying these eggs, I might have to give you a beat-down.”
He laughed and said, “You can do that later.” Then he outlined his plans for the day.
“Fine, but there are some things that I want to do.” I pulled a Time Out from my bag and flipped open to the first Post-it marker. “I must see at least one Shakespeare play and I’d also like to see something utterly new. I’ve got four must-visit exhibits and a list of places mentioned in some of my favorite books.” I unfolded a map that had dozens of
“It’s one of my favorite things.”
Wil did give me a proper tour, pointing out historical and architectural sites. We had breakfast at a bright, light-filled restaurant on the edge of an ancient market by the Thames. The waiter recognized Wil, who didn’t look at the menu. “Give us the special and something to take the edge off, would you?”
“I’ll expedite your order, sir,” the waiter said.
Looking around at the hip clientele, I said, “I thought you were going to drag me to another basement.”
Smiling, he said, “Our people could survive underground for years if things go all to shit. One hopes they won’t. We’ve adapted very well within this city, which is why so many of us live here.” He tipped his chin toward the glass wall. “These windowpanes filter out UV rays.”
“Now you sound like the somber person I expected to meet,” I said. “Wil, it was so sweet of you to take me out last night, but I hate to drag you away from your important obligations.”
He reached out and twined his slim fingers between mine. I didn’t pull away until the waiter returned with tall red drinks.
“ Bloody Marys,” the waiter said, and in a lower voice, he added, “Brown Cow organic beef.”
When he’d left, Wil lifted his drink to me and said, “To our friendship, Mil.”
“May it last long,” I said, and we both sipped our spicy, salty drinks.
His hand went to mine again. “I’ve wanted to meet you ever since I heard about you. Bonus that you’re an exhibitionist.”
“I’m not!” I said, and then remembered incidents that might be seen as exhibitionistic if taken out of context. “Not usually.”
“I like it,” he said. “Lucky Ducharme.”
“I’m here with you now, Wil.” As I looked into Wil’s pretty hazel eyes, I wondered if Ian was with Cricket now while Ford watched. “So why is the Council irked with you?”
“If our kind live equally among Normals, the Council becomes irrelevant. Those dusty bastards aren’t going to willingly relinquish their power and the wealth that goes with it.”
I swirled the carrot stick in my drink. “Are things so different here that you’re ready to safely come out?”
“No, but we can organize and establish relationships with key contacts. We do that with the Bloody Good Table, our clubs, our business alliances.”
“How fab that you incorporate your activism with your social life,” I said. “A lot of activists back home are deadly serious.”
“You Americans are like that. Look at the way you treat sex—schoolgirl giggles and Puritan moralizing. Sex is just sex.”
“Sex is never just sex,” I said. “Oh, God, did I actually say that? Please ignore it.”
The waiter delivered our plates and said to me, “It’s an update of the traditional English breakfast with black pudding, what you call blood sausage, free-range eggs with shaved black truffle poached in an heirloom tomato sauce, organic red lentils, and whole grain cranberry bread with red currant jam. Enjoy.” He left us to our meal.
I dug in, saying, “Everything is so organic this and heirloomthat. I had no idea that you were such foodies.” A minute later, I said, “Why did the waiter explain what black pudding is?”
“Word travels fast with our kind, and the thralls have their own network,” Wil said. “As to the sustainable foods, we’re not the ones living in the Dark Ages.”
“Wil, if I wasn’t enjoying these eggs, I might have to give you a beat-down.”
He laughed and said, “You can do that later.” Then he outlined his plans for the day.
“Fine, but there are some things that I want to do.” I pulled a Time Out from my bag and flipped open to the first Post-it marker. “I must see at least one Shakespeare play and I’d also like to see something utterly new. I’ve got four must-visit exhibits and a list of places mentioned in some of my favorite books.” I unfolded a map that had dozens of
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