Blood Politics
Page 3

A thought struck me. “Hold on, he said his best librarian?”
Mrs. Alcoon sipped her tea. “Yes, dear.”
Uh-oh. If that was who I thought it was going to be, then Mrs. Alcoon’s mettle was going to be tested more than both either she or I had anticipated. I shrugged mentally. She was made of stern stuff; she’d cope. I flipped open the plastic lid to my coffee and took a large gulp, scalding the sides of my throat, then placed my cup to one side and got to work.
The bookshelves were already in place, and we’d spent the previous week giving the walls a coat of inoffensive cream paint, and the wooden floor a fresh varnish. Now all that really remained was to sort out the stock. I reached over into the nearest box and began pulling out books, ready to put them into order on the shelves. I’d managed to convince Mrs. Alcoon that Gaelic tomes weren’t going to draw in much of an audience here in London although she’d vetoed the idea of going mainstream and selling bestsellers. Instead we were touting ourselves as a ‘New Age’ bookstore. In essence that meant all manner of Otherworld-based books, along with some make-believe human versions. The colourful book on top of the pile proclaimed itself as ‘Crystal Wisdom: How to harness the power of gemstones to change YOUR life’. Yeah, that would be a human one then. I started two piles: one fit for normal public consumption that we would place near the front of the store, and one for the more discerning Otherworld customer, that would be somewhat hidden towards the back. I also started my own secretive pile that I hid surreptitiously behind me, ready to stuff into my backpack later. I’d sneaked a couple of vampire books into the purchase order for my own perusal and, while I was sure that Mrs. Alcoon wouldn’t have minded me ordering a few books for myself, I was fairly confident that she wouldn’t be impressed with my reasons as to why I’d ordered those particular ones. Aubrey and his little vampire friends still had a lot to answer for after their actions at the mage academy that had inadvertently caused the death of my friends. I wasn’t about to forget what they’d done and, somehow or other, I was going to make them pay.
Before too long, I was surrounded by books. I rested back on my haunches for a second, looking around. I barely seemed to have made a dent in the boxes that packed the floor space. This was going to take some time. I was just reaching out for the next box, when there was a snap and crackle in the air. Looking up, I noted the purple shimmer, idly wondering to myself if there was a way to prevent the mages from dropping in unannounced whenever they wished. Not that I disliked them or didn’t want their custom, but I wasn’t really particularly keen on the idea that they could show up whenever and wherever they wanted to. I’d have to do some investigating to find out. There had to be a mystical version of a doorbell that we could somehow install.
“Dear? The air is humming and looking really rather peculiar,” called out Mrs. Alcoon from the other side of the store.
“I think that’ll be your helpful librarian,” I commented.
I hadn’t even finished my sentence when a familiar chubby figure came fluttering heavily through the portal. While I, of course, would have been throwing up all over the newly varnished floor, Slim irritatingly appeared none the worse for his travels.
“Fecking hell. Is this it?” the little gargoyle exclaimed.
I flicked a glance over at Mrs. Alcoon, who was blinking rapidly. “Goodness,” she murmured.
“Can’t fecking believe I’ve been made to come all this way for a little shop. Fecking humans.” Slim wheeled round in the air and fixed a beady eye on me. “Not that you’re human, you weird fecker.”
“Good to see you too, Slim,” I smiled.
As the steely custodian of the library in the mages’ academy, Slim clearly knew all about what happened back in February when I’d shifted into a dragon and killed Tryyl, the wraith that had left destruction and devastation in its wake. The Arch-Mage had assured me that he had placed a geas – an oath – on all the witnesses so that my real identity wouldn’t go any further. I was somewhat skeptical but could do little about it now. It wasn’t as if I could go around threatening the entire Ministry, even if I did apparently have the ability to transform into a fire-breathing beast. I hadn’t actually tried to shift again since that terrible day. The dragon form had so completely taken over my consciousness, and had been so consumed by the blinkered desire for violence, that I was kind of afraid to attempt it. I had discovered that I liked being in control of emotions. I supposed it was rather ironic that it was Thomas, whose death had caused me to lose all that control, who had taught me to feel that way.
Mrs. Alcoon found her voice. “Well, this simply will not do, Mr Slim. It will not do at all.”
Uh oh. I watched the older woman warily. Maybe she wasn’t going to cope with being confronted by a flying purple gargoyle with a penchant for old books quite as well as I’d thought. She lifted a single finger in his direction.
“Do not move,” she stated firmly, then disappeared underneath the counter and began rummaging around in something, before standing back up and brandishing a flowery yellow headscarf. Mrs. Alcoon held it up in front of her face and squinted sideways at Slim. “Yes, this will suit nicely, I think.”
Slim’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. I watched, thoroughly amused, as she carefully picked her way around the boxes until she was directly in front of him. Then she reached out around his waist and, in one swift motion, tied the scarf around his middle, knotting it at the side and hiding his naked nether regions.
“What the feck are you doing?” screeched Slim, short arms scrabbling down to his side trying to snatch off the offending piece of fabric.
“Mr. Slim,” Mrs. Alcoon began in a patient voice, “Mackenzie and I are most grateful to have your assistance and we do hope that you convey that thought to your March-Mage. However, flying around here with your bits hanging out all day long simply will not do.” She fixed him with a beaming smile. “It’s simply too distracting. I’m sure you understand.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Now, can I get you some tea perhaps?”
Slim gaped at her, then stared down at himself. The clash between the yellow of the scarf and his purple skin was really rather extraordinary. I couldn’t help myself: a tiny snort escaped me, causing the gargoyle to spin round in the air and snarl.
I tried to look serious, and failed. “It suits you, Slim, it really does. I think yellow is definitely your colour.”
“You can fecking shut your trap,” he hissed.
“Mr. Slim,” repeated Mrs. Alcoon, “would you like some tea?”
He muttered an affirmative reply, not looking at her.
For her part, she smiled at him benignly. “Then I’ll be right back.” She disappeared off into the small kitchenette at the back of the shop.
As soon as she’d gone, Slim jabbed a stubby finger in my direction. “If you fecking tell anyone else about this, anyone at all…”
I grinned. “My lips are sealed.”
He stared at me suspiciously, then grunted unhappy acquiescence. “Well, let’s get to work. Sooner I get out of this fecking hell hole and away from that crazy woman the better.”
With Slim’s help, the process of unpacking the books and sorting them out became much faster. He had a few choice words about our selection, muttering away to himself whenever he came across a particularly New Age endowed human text, but I had to admit that he knew his stuff and was able to arrange the piles much more efficiently and knowledgeably than I could. It helped, of course, that he didn’t get distracted by every third book like I did, and feel compelled to sit down and read a chapter of it. When Mrs. Alcoon brought out his tea, he sniffed at it warily before taking a tiny sip. I stopped what I was doing and watched, waiting for him to spit it back out again, but instead a curious spasm crossed his face and he said nothing else. He ended up drinking the entire thing, causing me no end of surprise. For once, however, I wisely kept my mouth shut.
By the time it was midday, everything was unpacked and in piles around the floor, and I was depositing the flattened cardboard boxes outside, ready to be collected for recycling. I’d managed to drop the vampire books into my backpack without the others noticing, and planned to read through them carefully at my leisure later on. I designated myself to go out and pick up some sandwiches for lunch, hoping that it was safe to leave the pair of them behind on their own. Certainly Slim could hardly go wandering about the streets of London, and I didn’t trust that Mrs. Alcoon would manage to bring back anything edible. Hungry as I was, there seemed little other choice.
I turned left out of the shop, thinking that I’d wander down to the small supermarket on the corner and pick up some crusty bread and perhaps a rotisserie chicken if they had any left. As I did so, a tiny movement caught my eye from across the street. I paused mid-step, thinking for a moment, then continued, keeping careful watch on the busy road next to me. I deliberately slowed my steps, making it appear to the entire world as if I were simply out for a relaxed stroll in the daytime sun, and counted down in my head.
I’d timed it perfectly. As soon as I reached the crossroads, the traffic signal changed to green and the stream of cars revved up and continued on their journeys, effectively blocking anyone from crossing over to my side of the street. As soon as that happened, without turning my head, I turned left down the street and away from my watchers, and began to run. I pelted down the pavement, dodging passersby. There was a hairy moment when I almost got entangled with the lead of a small terrier that was tied up to a nearby lamppost and began barking at me, but I managed to leap over it, then twist left again down a small alley that led along the back of all the shops, parallel to the direction I’d just come. The faint smell of urine and rotting rubbish reached my nostrils, reminding me that on my list of things to do was finding some time to clear out the back of the bookshop so that at least we could avoid having any unpleasant whiffs drift in and bother the customers. For now, however, I ignored it and continued to sprint, this time unencumbered by pedestrians, until I reached the end when I turned left again out onto the street and up to the same busy road that I’d originally been on, albeit a few hundred metres back from where I’d started.