Free Angel of Destruction by Susan R. Matthews Page A

sounded exasperated; she had raised her voice, but quickly dropped it again. “We’re in settlement now. We have to maintain appearances. If my aunt so much as caught you here, she’d call my cousins to beat you. And if you can’t at least respect my feelings, I’ll call for her, I’m warning you.”
    That was a good idea, too, Walton thought. The one about calling Modice’s cousins to run Daigule off. How had he gotten past the perimeter watch? She’d have something to say to the night security tomorrow morning at debriefing.
    Still, Daigule hadn’t done anything to deserve a beating — yet. And cousins could get overenthusiastic where they thought the honor of a girl-cousin was involved.
    “I’m sorry, Derchie. I didn’t come to quarrel.” It seemed that Daigule finally realized that he’d overstepped the boundaries of Modice’s maidenly modesty. It had been three years. Modice had been much younger, so much so that Walton doubted Daigule had fully realized the potential damage his lighthearted flirting might inflict. Modice had always looked older than she actually was; her beauty surrounded her with an aura of knowledge and power that was easy to mistake for that of an adult woman.
    “It’s all right, Kazmer, we’re friends. But it hurts my feelings when you make fun of me. Nobody knows about that but family.” No, they’d kept the secret of Kazmer’s escape, to avoid compromise. And to spare Modice the teasing. “Still. You should go now. Come in the daytime if you want to visit me. Bring a present for my aunt.”
    Walton held her breath.
    Was Modice giving Daigule permission to court her?
    Or was she just pointing out the awkwardness of coming to a young woman’s window in the middle of the night?
    “I did bring a present for you,” Daigule said. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing that might embarrass you. Unless you have some bizarre objection to really tasteless patterns.”
    Modice almost succeeded in stifling an apparently involuntary shriek of thrilled horror, so that it came out a squeak. “Kazmer. It’s awful. What is it?”
    Walton listened eagerly for the answer.
    “For your hair, Modice. Head scarf. Or a handkerchief. Rolled for a fabric belt, I don’t know. Can be used to dust small and not easily breakable objects. Put this on first thing in the morning and nothing worse will happen to you for the rest of the day.”
    Well, it clearly wasn’t an intimate garment, or something that would have been otherwise improper between friends. Walton relaxed a bit.
    “Go away, Kazmer,” Modice said, her voice soft with what sounded like affection. “And don’t come back unless it’s to the front door. In the daytime.”
    Where Walton could be waiting — with reinforcements, if necessary. Now that she knew that there was the possibility that Daigule would visit.
    “By your command, beautiful Modice. Give my regards to your family. My respects to your aunt. No. Wait. Better hold off on that for a day or two. Give me time to get out of system. Good night.”
    Walton had to smile.
    It was a shame Daigule was so unsuitable for a Langsarik household. He already knew them so well.
    But he wasn’t suitable for a Langsarik household — because he wasn’t a Langsarik.
    Walton heard the shutters click against one another as Modice closed her window. She pulled the bedroom door back shut, carefully matching her movements to the sounds Modice was making in order to mask anything that might draw attention to herself.
    Modice had carried the mission on her own, and hadn’t needed backup after all.
    How long would it be before Modice told her about Daigule’s visit?
    Would Modice tell her?
    The only way to find that out was to wait and see; and that could be done just as well or better from the comfort of one’s own bed as standing barefoot in a dark hall.
    Her feet were cold.
    Modice might decide to visit the bathroom before she went back to sleep. The hall had to be empty in case that