Gray Streak steps forward. "She asked you questions."
"Oh no, that's not—we don't need to be threatening about it." I touch his arm. His sleeve is damp. Why is his sleeve damp? "We're just asking about property."
But he's already looming with greater purpose, still holding the lavender soap. "The lady wants to know about the house."
"T-twenty bedrooms," the taller woman stammers. She's got flour on her cuff. Baker maybe? "Four floors. Two kitchens. Garden. No mold that we know of?"
"Two kitchens?" The shadows warm against my neck. "That's perfect! What about bathrooms? Please say multiple bathrooms."
"Six? Maybe seven?"
"Seven bathrooms!" I turn to Gray Streak. "Do you understand what this means? People could bathe. Regularly. With hot water! No more sharing! No more waiting! When did you last have a hot bath?"
He's still looming at the women.
"The drainage. Tell her about the drainage," he says in his most menacing voice.
"Modern pipes! Installed five years ago!" The shorter one looks ready to faint. "Very good water pressure!"
"See? That wasn't so hard." Gray Streak seems pleased with his interrogation technique.
"We weren't interrogating them. We were having a conversation about housing." The shadows pat my shoulder. "I'm so sorry. We're not usually like this. Well, he is, but notabout houses. Thank you for the information. Are you getting enough iron? You look anemic."
We retreat to the counter where the shopkeeper has assembled our supplies with shaking hands.
"Actually, do you have any tea? The calming kind?"
She practically throws chamomile at me.
More whispers follow us:
"—Shadow Guild—"
"—saw the shadows myself—"
"—planning something with the Brambleton manor—"
"We're not planning anything nefarious," I announce to the shop at large. "We just need better living conditions. Our current place has aggressive mold."
Silence.
"The healing one," someone whispers. "From the compound."
"She's wearing his shadows."
"Are they courting?"
"Can you court the Shadow King?"
"We should go," Gray Streak suggests, gathering our bags.
Outside, I breathe easier. The shadows adjust themselves, keeping my neck warm against the morning chill.
"You interrogated those women about drainage."
"You wanted to know about the house."
"Yes, but through normal conversation, not threats while holding soap."
