“Oh, I wiiillllllll,” she intones, with dread promise.
“Don’t mind her,” the orc whispers. “It takes a bit of getting used to, but once you see through the natural dread she instills in all living creatures, Caroline is really quite lovely. Wicked sense of humor. Terribly fond of birds.”
“Indeed!” I chirp, hoping against hope that Caroline will head out very, very soon. After a few more minutes with the book club collectively delighting in various bits and bobs I’ve stashed around the desk, including effusive compliments directed toward the stationery Honey left me for personal use—note; stock stationery to sell at slight markup?—the group finally drifts out.
“I need to clean up,” I tell the pirate, who isstill here. “You don’t need to stay.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” he says, lightly.
Sighing, I step over him and head upstairs to examine thedamage, but aside from a number of empty bottles and eight goblets, sticky with mead residue, the third floor is in fantastic shape.
“If you’re going to be hanging around,” I yell down the stairs, “you might as well come carry some bottles and make yourself useful.”
“Thought you’d never ask,” he says, appearing on a gust of salt-scented breeze and taking the empty bottles from my arms. We stash the bottles by the front door and stack the goblets in a space I’ve set out for them in a cupboard under the stairs. I had to use several spells to encourage the alarming number of spiders inhabiting the cupboard to vacate it last week, but they don’t appear to have returned. One little washing spell leaves the goblets sparkling and ready for their next outing, and I finally manage to shoo the pirate off and retire to bed feeling extremely pleased with myself. My hand doesn’t even hurt anymore.
Chapter 20
Sasha droops in after school the next afternoon, looking especially glum.
“Ready to tackle the second floor?” I ask.
“Ugh,” she says.
“Or not,” I amend.
“Ugh,” she says again.
“Something on your mind?”
“No,” she says, and slides bonelessly onto the stairs in a pose suggestive of terrible anguish, covering her eyes with one arm. After a long moment, she sighs dramatically.
“Gosh,” I say.
“Do you ever just,” she says, and then pauses. “No, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Probably not,” I agree.
“It’s just sounfair,” she moans.
I decide my best tactic is to distract. “The pirate dropped by again yesterday,” I say brightly.
“Ugh. What didhewant?”
“No idea. He seems drawn to chaos. He ran into your mother’s book club at the inn and seemed to want to be around while they were here. I’ve really come to look on him as some sort of ill omen.”
“I just don’tgetit,” she says.
“The…pirate?” I suggest. “Me, neither.”
“No, you know.Everything.”
“Ah.” My diversionary tactic seems to have failed. “Tough day at school?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me?”
“Ugh.”
