Stephen had rather wanted to talk with Henry Winter at length, if for no other reason than to cement his hopeful deduction that Henry's recent wedding had well and truly laid to rest the remnants of old animosity concerning the woman who was now Mrs. Winter. Unfortunately, there had simply been no time for conversation. Stephen had brought little
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Meanwhile, he himself could have no notion what kind of experience Henry spoke from ...
"I believe we must all have had different intentions. Shaun, for example, would have liked to keep this part of the world safe from zombies," he said, sobering a little. "I do not know whether he had been endowed by Susan with the sort of sensory powers you and I had been speaking about, or whether it was merely the unrelated enchantment operative on a broader scale; whatever the case, I expect his ability to tell the difference between zombie and innocent bystander may have been somewhat impaired. Myself, I have been known to harbor certain political allegiances, particularly in my youth." He made it sound like a harmless throwback to 19th-century enthusiasms (which, in a sense, it was).
"Surely Camilla at least could have posed no one any danger?" Henry was physically imposing enough that he could do some damage.
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His expression went neutral. "In her own way, she's very dangerous," he said, thinking of the ravine, of her going with him to check Bunny's dying pulse. "All the more so because no one would suspect it of her."
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"Those are the most dangerous sort," he agreed gravely.
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"They have an advantage, in a way," he said thoughtfully. "Those who can lull everyone into a false sense of security. Ryder, now--this serial-killing demon--clearly thought Camilla was completely defenseless when he first met her. I was watching when he learned otherwise; it was a very small thing, a small moment, but his surprise was obvious. He didn't look at either myself or Susan that way--only Camilla. Something about her suggests a certain helplessness, I suppose, at least to people who don't know her."
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On a different note altogether, Stephen found it promising that Henry should, in his diffident way, be so forthcoming in conversation as this -- and concerning such a subject, concerning this subject in particular. The wedding invitation in itself could have meant any number of things, from the most blatant to more subtle gradations of communication. It could have been the baldest territoriality, the logical extension of Henry's remark to Stephen once: Camilla was spoken for, he'd said, cold and taut, and what was a marriage but the underscoring of that claim? Thus the invitation meant little to Stephen by way of settling old scores, particularly since it had been extended by Henry rather than Camilla. It could have been a pointed message. Their conversation now sent a different message. Whatever ill will Henry might have borne, it had passed away, Stephen thought.
This made him happy. He had disliked and regretted extremely the entire mess some while back.
"It is like unto a sort of protective camouflage," he mused now, "as some lizards have." What? Comparing Diana to a lizard was an extreme compliment both to the lizard and to Diana! "Or like the flowers of some plants, which are exceedingly beautiful, yet protected by truly vicious thorns."
Which brought Stephen around to wondering what it was that Xipe Totec was going to be blessing. "Did you have in mind to plant flowering things, or edible? My particular friend Jack Aubrey used to have a cabbage garden, and to wax approaching poetic on the subject."
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"It really is," he said. "Those who appear harmless can often do more damage than those who don't." It was one of the huge differences between Camilla and Susan, really--Camilla was able to inspire all sorts of strange confidences from people; inspire them to tell far more than they would probably like. She was beguiling, whereas Susan had all the subtlety of a brick. Also like a brick, she was much better at smashing than anything else.
He shook his head, looking at Xipe Totec again. "Roses," he said. "I grew roses, before. I think I'd like a garden again." A pause, and he laughed quietly. "Susan said she'd help me, if I'd let her. I think that would not end well, personally."
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The gleam of a scythe in his mind's eye gave him a momentary chill, dampening his amusement.
"Would you like a hand with that lump of heathen nonsense, or shall I leave you to it?"
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"May your roses thrive," he said solemnly.
If the rosebushes grew enough, when the time came, their growth might occlude that hideous statue.
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