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Last week, Leda told Tom that the reason she had
tricked him finagled him into having lunch with her was that her father, the leader of the local wereswan flock, wanted to meet with Tom.
For various reasons, neither of them think this is a good idea.
After a timely interruption from a clueless human waiter who suggests that Tom try the magret de canard, some awkward small talk, an important phone call that sets up a future scene, and more awkward small talk, Tom ends the meal with a question about Mr. Swanson’s motives for wanting to speak to Tom.
“Are you sure you can’t tell me why? Forewarned is forearmed,” I added.
Her shoulders did that pretty thing again. “Politics, probably. Council meetings always put him in a bad mood, but lately . . .”
“City Council or Regional Council?” I asked. Delroy Swanson had a webbed foot in each camp.
“Both,” she said.
The Regional Council is a sort of local UN for Were-species, in case I haven’t explained that already. Tom has, earlier in this chapter, so no worries about doing it again in this bit.
As I mentioned in Tuesday’s post, I’ve printed out all the scenes of this story, stacked them in a semblance of order, and am currently doing an outline to see if what I thought the story was about is actually what I’ve written.
I knew this story was about different ideas about family and the lengths people will go to protect them, but I’m also discovering a thread of unease with the difficulties and basic inequalities that come from having to hide one’s species to the majority of the world.
Can you believe that I found a public domain photo of a swan foot in less than thirty seconds of searching? All hail Wikimedia Commons!