The Raven Master. Diana Whitney
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by the attention, Janine made a production of filling the sink with soapy dishwater. “Besides, the ointment you gave me helped a great deal.”
“You must use it twice daily,” Edna said sternly, shaking a fistful of gloppy forks. “Infection is always a concern when wild creatures are involved.”
Jules propped his elbows on the kitchen table. His dark eyes sparkled with excitement. “What if it’s rabid?”
Althea smoothed the dipping bodice of her fire-engine red cocktail dress, tossed her napkin on the table and emitted a contemptuous snort. “Birds don’t carry rabies, you idiot.”
“But what if they did? Why, we might come to breakfast some morning and find poor Janine writhing on the floor with foam oozing out of her mouth.”
Rolling her eyes, Janine roughly turned off the faucet. “I promise not to foam, Jules.”
“Oh.” The disappointed young man scooted his chair backward so his grandmother could finish clearing the table. “Still, the creature is dangerous. It should be taken into the woods and shot.”
Janine quickly glanced over her shoulder and was relieved that Quinn’s dispassionate expression hadn’t changed. He was seated casually with one arm looped over the back of the chair, his lean legs extended and crossed at the ankles. Actually, he didn’t appear to be the least bit concerned by Jules’s threat.
In truth, neither was Janine. She knew perfectly well that all this rabies business was just part of the young man’s melodramatic nature. Nevertheless, Janine felt obliged to defend her decision in allowing the raven to stay. “Edgar is not dangerous, Jules. As I’ve already explained, I frightened the bird and he reacted. Besides, he’s safely secured in Quinn’s room. There’s no way for him to escape.”
Althea grinned smugly. “Unless, of course, he was deliberately let out and, say, locked in Jules’s room. My goodness, that big blackbird could probably peck a person’s eyes out while he slept.”
Jules went white. “That’s not funny.”
Since Janine was up to her elbows in bubbles, she suppressed an inhospitable urge to fling soapsuds in the smirking woman’s face. “You’re not helping the situation, Althea.”
Althea instantly arranged her crimson lips in a sultry pout and patted Jules’s knee. “Now you know I was just teasing, don’t you?”
Jules folded his arms and stared sullenly at the gingham tablecloth. “I detest birds. They’re…dirty.”
“Every creature of God is good,” Edna murmured, piling the remaining dishes on the counter.
Althea turned her attention to Quinn, leaning flirtatiously across the table. “Personally, I think it’s very sweet that you rescued the poor thing.” She fluttered her clumpy eyelashes. “Is it true that men who like animals make the best lovers?”
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