So, is there a vampire in the Colonial Department?
I have no idea why Shirly calls her mother "Ma". In case anyone was wondering.
They were about halfway to the ice cream shop when Shirly’s phone rang. She dug it out of her coat pocket and frowned at it. “Parents,” she said, and flipped the phone open. “What is it now?” she asked.
Lucian put his hands in his pockets and waited, refraining from commenting on exactly how much information Shirly’s active call was providing to any interested parties who might be listening in, electronically or otherwise.
“No, he hasn’t kidnapped me,” Shirly said. “No one’s kidnapped me. I could ask him to pretend to have kidnapped me-”
“I am not pretending to have kidnapped you!” Lucian said indignantly. Shirly laughed delightedly at the horrified silence from the other end of the phone.
Lucian turned red. “I didn’t mean it like that!”
Shirly listened intently to the phone. “Yes, he is, Ma. I don’t know, I haven’t asked-She’s shocked and horrified that ‘a nice British boy’ like you would get mixed up in kidnapping-It’s all right, Ma, he works for the government.”
“Drat it, Shirly, don’t tell her about me on a cell phone!” protested Lucian. “Do-” you know how easy it is to eavesdrop on those things? “Give me that.”
Shirly shrugged and handed the phone over without protest.
“Mrs. MacBride?” asked Lucian.
“Yes? Are you going to finally make a ransom demand now?”
“No!” Lucian paused. “Look, I really haven’t kidnapped your daughter. I only met her yesterday. I’ve no idea what she was doing before that.”
“Do you really work for the government?”
“That has nothing to do with this.” Except that she’d never have confronted me if she hadn’t figured it out.
“You know, the police would be a lot more inclined to take this seriously if we had a ransom demand.”
That was what Lucian had been missing: the institutionalization of dialect-based prejudice. He supposed if he were the crusading type he’d try to do something about it, but he really wasn’t the crusading type. He stared at Shirly for a while.
“I . . . don’t think I can help you with that, ma’am,” he said, and hung up.
“Did she believe you?” asked Shirly, taking the phone back.
Lucian shrugged. “I don’t know.”
They were about halfway to the ice cream shop when Shirly’s phone rang. She dug it out of her coat pocket and frowned at it. “Parents,” she said, and flipped the phone open. “What is it now?” she asked.
Lucian put his hands in his pockets and waited, refraining from commenting on exactly how much information Shirly’s active call was providing to any interested parties who might be listening in, electronically or otherwise.
“No, he hasn’t kidnapped me,” Shirly said. “No one’s kidnapped me. I could ask him to pretend to have kidnapped me-”
“I am not pretending to have kidnapped you!” Lucian said indignantly. Shirly laughed delightedly at the horrified silence from the other end of the phone.
Lucian turned red. “I didn’t mean it like that!”
Shirly listened intently to the phone. “Yes, he is, Ma. I don’t know, I haven’t asked-She’s shocked and horrified that ‘a nice British boy’ like you would get mixed up in kidnapping-It’s all right, Ma, he works for the government.”
“Drat it, Shirly, don’t tell her about me on a cell phone!” protested Lucian. “Do-” you know how easy it is to eavesdrop on those things? “Give me that.”
Shirly shrugged and handed the phone over without protest.
“Mrs. MacBride?” asked Lucian.
“Yes? Are you going to finally make a ransom demand now?”
“No!” Lucian paused. “Look, I really haven’t kidnapped your daughter. I only met her yesterday. I’ve no idea what she was doing before that.”
“Do you really work for the government?”
“That has nothing to do with this.” Except that she’d never have confronted me if she hadn’t figured it out.
“You know, the police would be a lot more inclined to take this seriously if we had a ransom demand.”
That was what Lucian had been missing: the institutionalization of dialect-based prejudice. He supposed if he were the crusading type he’d try to do something about it, but he really wasn’t the crusading type. He stared at Shirly for a while.
“I . . . don’t think I can help you with that, ma’am,” he said, and hung up.
“Did she believe you?” asked Shirly, taking the phone back.
Lucian shrugged. “I don’t know.”