The tips of Solomon’s ears reddened. Shaw looked confused once more.
Viggo wondered drily how long it would take for that particular penny to drop.
CHAPTER 11
An hour later,Shaw had coerced Rufus, Ginny, and Solomon into a card game. She collected yet another hand with obvious glee.
“I don’t understand how she keeps winning,” Rufus grumbled.
“It’s called counting cards,” Solomon muttered.
“She’s been doing it since the second hand,” Ginny added.
Rufus sucked in air, outraged.
Viggo had settled in a seat near the window,The Odysseyopen in his lap. He’d been trying to concentrate on the Greek text for the past twenty minutes, but his attention kept drifting to Evander.
His lover sat across from him, poring over his case files with single-minded focus. He would occasionally pause to make a notation in the margin or flip back to reference an earlier page. The afternoon light caught his dark hair, bringing out hints of auburn Viggo had never noticed before.
“Does he do that when he’s worried?”
Viggo looked up to find Fairbridge watching him. The man had set aside his tome on European magical law.
“Do what?” Viggo asked warily.
“Review his notes obsessively.” Fairbridge nodded towards Evander. “Like he’s looking for something he might have missed?”
Viggo frowned faintly. “You seem to be watching him rather closely.”
“It’s my job to understand the people I will be working with.” Fairbridge’s tone was matter-of-fact.
Viggo’s jaw set in a hard line. “That sounds an awful lot like spying.”
“It is spying.” Fairbridge’s lips quirked slightly. “Though I prefer the term ‘intelligence gathering.’ It sounds more respectable.”
Viggo felt a reluctant twinge of amusement despite himself. “Does anything rattle you, Fairbridge?”
“Many things.” The levity faded from Fairbridge’s expression. “But I’ve learned not to show it. In my line of work, showing any kind of weakness can get you killed.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds the excited chatter from the card game and the rhythmic clatter of wheels on rails.
“Greek,” Fairbridge said abruptly, nodding at the book in Viggo’s lap. “Original text, if I’m not mistaken.”
Viggo’s hand tightened reflexively on the leather binding. “What of it?”
“Nothing. Merely an observation.” Fairbridge’s gaze was thoughtful. “Most men of your background wouldn’t have received the education for classical languages.”
“Most men of my background are too busy trying to survive to worry about education,” Viggo said flatly.
“True enough.” Fairbridge paused. “Who taught you?”
“My mother. Before she died.” The words sounded more vulnerable than Viggo had intended. “She was the villageschoolteacher. She believed knowledge was the one thing no one could take from you.”
“She sounds like a wise woman.” Something almost like respect entered Fairbridge’s expression. “And after she died?”
“I taught myself.” Viggo met his gaze levelly. “My uncle Jack helped when he could. But mostly I just read everything I could get my hands on.”
“Impressive.” Fairbridge’s tone suggested he meant it. “Greek is not an easy language to master on one’s own.”
