“You remember him being your second, is what you mean to say?”
Samuels fork with a piece of the vol-au-vent came to a halt halfway. His angular face often appeared mask-like, but a series of microexpressions could be spotted around his eyes and mouth now, as he beheld this new piece of information.
He went from disbelief to uncertainty rather quickly. He felt very displeased, although not solely at Don Juan, for once.
Had Gilbert lied to him to get him to pay the bail?
He looked up and he met Mr. Dempsey's gaze straight on for the first time this evening. His eyes were alive with mischievous delight. They were animated, open. They invited him to do something rash.
Samuel sharpened his concentration to a point and directed it at the black center of these eyes and pierced into Don Juan's mind.
Impressions flashed by, but Samuel was not here to take a look around. He cut through the layers to the emotions that were running beneath it all, looking for a hint of the lie, for malice and deceit. He found nothing.
Samuel was good at legilimency by pure force, but he had never gotten the hang of sneaking around in a stranger's mind unnoticed. His presence would be felt, he realized. Like a strike to the head.
Abruptly he pulled himself back and broke eye contact.
Looking down at the table, he lowered his fork. The piece of vol-au-vent was on it still. Samuel had done something terribly rude, by the rules of magical society. If his neighbor was to admonish or even challenge him, he would be within his rights.
“You might not have it backwards after all,” he conceded.
Samuels fork with a piece of the vol-au-vent came to a halt halfway. His angular face often appeared mask-like, but a series of microexpressions could be spotted around his eyes and mouth now, as he beheld this new piece of information.
He went from disbelief to uncertainty rather quickly. He felt very displeased, although not solely at Don Juan, for once.
Had Gilbert lied to him to get him to pay the bail?
He looked up and he met Mr. Dempsey's gaze straight on for the first time this evening. His eyes were alive with mischievous delight. They were animated, open. They invited him to do something rash.
Samuel sharpened his concentration to a point and directed it at the black center of these eyes and pierced into Don Juan's mind.
Impressions flashed by, but Samuel was not here to take a look around. He cut through the layers to the emotions that were running beneath it all, looking for a hint of the lie, for malice and deceit. He found nothing.
Samuel was good at legilimency by pure force, but he had never gotten the hang of sneaking around in a stranger's mind unnoticed. His presence would be felt, he realized. Like a strike to the head.
Abruptly he pulled himself back and broke eye contact.
Looking down at the table, he lowered his fork. The piece of vol-au-vent was on it still. Samuel had done something terribly rude, by the rules of magical society. If his neighbor was to admonish or even challenge him, he would be within his rights.
“You might not have it backwards after all,” he conceded.
