Page 7 of Hawk & Sparrow

“Say anything?” Vesper repeated. “About what?”

“About me being here.” The young woman glanced over her shoulder. “If my parents or anyone else found out…”

Vesper was suddenly overcome with pity. She might not have fit the mold of a proper young woman, but she certainly knew the rules proper young women were expected to follow. This girl was clearly from a respectable family. The only thing that came from someone like her being found alone and unsupervised in a maze at night was scandal.

“What’s your name?” Vesper asked gently.

The young woman hesitated. “Bess.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Bess,” said Vesper kindly. “You have my word.”

Bess’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you.”

“You should go before someone else sees you though.” Vesper thumbed over her shoulder. “The exit’s that way.”

Bess gave her an appreciative nod before slipping past. As quickly as she’d appeared, she was gone again. In her absence, Vesper wondered what exactly a high society young woman might be doing alone in a maze at this hour. She thought then of the girl’s swollen lips, her slightly mussed hair. A thought crossed Vesper’s mind, then heat crept up her neck. Maybe Bess hadn’t been in here alone at all. Maybe she’d been meeting someone here for a romantic moonlit tryst. Vesper had no experience with romance, outside of what she’d learned from a few highly informative novels. She was certainly curious about it, but the truth was that she’d never felt an attraction to anyone compelling enough to make her want to do something about that curiosity. Again, the museum guard’s earlier comment echoed in her mind.

Odd girl, that one.

Maybe her lack of romantic experience was just another thing that made her odd. She folded that thought up quickly and tucked it away.

By her estimate, it was half past eight. “Damn it, Kite,” she whispered. “Where are you?”

“Not looking for me, are you?”

Vesper swiveled. Moments ago, she’d been sure she was alone. Now Maximilian Kite was sitting on a stone bench a few feet away, his long legs crossed at the ankle. She frowned.

“Exactly what is this, Mr. Kite?”

Maximilian’s dark brows rose. “Pardon?”

Vesper crossed her arms. “First you lie to me about who you are. Then you lead me into a maze and take me on some wild-goose chase. Now you sneak up on me?”

The sorcerer cocked his head. “Did I lie about who I was, or did you make an assumption?” He examined his fingernails. “As I recall, I never said I wasn’t the man you were looking for, and you never asked my name. I even seem to remember offering to let you interview me.” He looked up and his eyes flashed cobalt. “An offer you declined.”

“Yes, but—”

“Furthermore, I never told you to follow me into this maze,” he continued. “You did that all on your own, love.”

Vesper blinked. Love? She felt a rising urge to smack that pretentious look off the sorcerer’s face, then reminded herself that smacking people was generally considered poor etiquette in polite society. She also reminded herself that smacking someone as wealthy and well-connected as Maximilian Kite would probably lead to an unfortunate encounter with local authorities. No, she was a professional. She represented The Basalton Globe, a respectable newspaper. She’d conducted difficult interviews before. She could do it again now.

“Mr. Kite,” she said calmly. “My editor sent me to this exhibition to interview its host. That appears to be you. I’m a busy woman, and I’m sure you’re a busy man. So, will you answer my questions or not?”

Her sudden change in demeanor seemed to disarm the sorcerer. He looked her over, as though doing a recalculation. Then he nodded.

“Very well, Miss Evans.” He leaned back on the bench. “Fire away.”

Vesper withdrew her notebook and pen from her satchel. In the moonlight, it was almost too dim to see the paper, but she’d make do. “Right,” she began. “First I’d like to confirm the spelling of your given name. Is Maximilian spelled with two Ls or…?”

“One L. But I prefer Max.”

Vesper made a small note. “And how old are you, Mr. Kite?”

The sorcerer grinned. “Old enough for a good time.”

“Your age, Mr. Kite.”

“I turned twenty on the eighth of September,” he said breezily.