Bookshops & Bonedust (Legends & Lattes, #0)(33)

Fern glanced back at her. “That’s not what I mean. I saw his eyes when he … when he hit Potroast.” She swallowed. “They were so dead. It made me cold all over.”

“He’s wrong, for sure. All the way through.”

“I just mean to say I don’t doubt you. Don’t doubt what you did. At first, I was upset, because I’ll be honest, I haven’t seen a lot of street fights. Not very common in Murk!” She laughed weakly. “I suppose Iridia makes sure of that. Now, I guess I’m a different sort of upset. And not at you.”

They were quiet for a moment while Viv painted around the top edge as best she could. She wasn’t sure her brush technique could even be called workmanlike, but the door was definitely red.

“Last night, Potroast woke me. Hooting and barking, just like before. Do you think … ?”

Viv finished the last stroke with the brush and carefully placed it in the pail. She looked at Fern seriously. “I don’t want you to worry about it. If he’s coming for anyone, he’s coming for me, and he won’t do that here. What could he possibly need from the bookstore? Or have to fear from you?”

“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better.”

“Like I said, this is what I do,” replied Viv. She grinned a little. “Now, you’d better take care of that paint in your fur. You look like you’ve been murdering chickens.”



* * *



“Aw, shit,” said Gallina, shaking her open hand. “Was that wet?”

Viv was so astounded to see the gnome in the bookshop, she almost forgot to be annoyed. “Didn’t you see the sign about the paint?”

The gnome braced the door open with her back—on the unpainted side—and glanced over at the window, and then up, where she finally spied it. “Outta my eyeline.”

Viv pushed away from the counter, where she’d been leaning in conference with Fern. “If that’s got fingerprints in it now …”

“Don’t get all touchy. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“If it’s on your hands, it’s not on the door,” groused Viv.

“What do you care? It’s not your—Oh, hey.” Gallina wiggled her fingers at Fern. “Nice to meetcha.”

The rattkin put her chin in her paw and sighed. “It’s fine. I guess I should be thanking you for helping Viv. Some prints in the paint are a small price to pay.”

Gallina beamed, and Viv thought she might’ve puffed out her chest, too, though it was hard to tell under all the knives. “See, yeah, that’s what I’m—Wait, helping?”

“Saving my ass. Is that better?” asked Viv. “I’m still checking the door.” She stumped the rest of the way over and gave it a careful inspection while the gnome ventured into the shop, looking around with a critical eye.

“Fern,” said the rattkin. “And you must be Gallina?”

The gnome cocked a brow at Viv.

“Yes, I told her about you,” she said patiently. “You’re very appreciated.”

Gallina settled into one of the chairs.

Her chair, Viv noted. Gallina appeared to be developing a habit.

“Hey, you’re right, this is pretty comfortable.”

Potroast trotted into view, promptly leapt onto the chair, and curled against the gnome’s leg.

“Aw, who’s this?” Gallina stroked the feathers between the gryphet’s eyes, and Potroast snuggled even closer.

Viv was more nettled by that than she would ever admit.

“That little gentleman is Potroast,” said Fern.

Gallina made a face. “What’d he do to deserve that?”

The rattkin laughed. “His real name is Pallus. My father named him after the Great Gryphon in The Fourth Wish as a literary joke, but I was little and couldn’t say the name right, so …”

“You deserve better,” the gnome stage-whispered to Potroast.

Fern directed a curious glance at Viv, who shrugged helplessly and asked, “Anything we can help you with?” Oddly, that “we” felt perfectly natural.

“I think you owe me another chapter or two,” Gallina said.

“Looking to fall asleep this early in the day, huh? Well, I don’t have the book with me.”

“Sounds like welcher talk. Are you, like, workin’ here, or what?”

Viv shrugged. “I help out.”

“For free?” The gnome seemed shocked.

“Oh, no, she’s got the run of the store. Whatever she wants to read.” Fern regarded her with amusement.

Gallina made a face. “So, basically for free. What exactly do you do in here all day?”

“Well, when customers come in—like you, for instance—we sell them books,” supplied Fern.

Gallina studied the rattkin as if trying to decide whether her tone was patronizing or not. Fern did an admirable job of providing no clues.

The rattkin continued, “We were just discussing a book for someone in particular. A gift. That’s the bookseller’s art, choosing just the right one for the person in question.”

“Who for?”

Viv cleared her throat. “Uh, just … a friend.”

“You’ve got friends here?” asked Gallina incredulously. “Oh, wait, is it me?”