He points at me, wagging his crooked finger in my direction, but all I can do is shrug.
“I don’t know,” I say. “You’re the watcher, not me.”
He hobbles forward for a closer look.
“What have you been up to, son?” he asks.
What have I been up to?
Gods, let’s see.
In the last week, I’ve covered up a murder, acquired a mouthy, man-eating girlfriend, threatened to maim a few people, sat through the dullest pack meeting in Crescent history, fed my mouthy, man-eating girlfriend, and narrowly avoided having her fall apart at the seams.
Am I forgetting anything?
Oh, yeah, and I’m pretty sure I’m being blackmailed.
That’s what I’ve been up to.
Treehorn looks at me expectantly as I try to figure out how to sum it all up, but all I can come up with is, “Helping a friend.” To which, he hums loudly.
“Hmmm. I see…” He scratches the greying patch of scruff on his chin. “But that’s not possible, now is it?”
“What’s not possib?—”
“Oi!”
A deeply accented voice cuts across the store, breaking Tree’s focus.
“Where are you?” it shouts. “You know your sign says?—”
“Be right there!” I call back, moving toward the dais at the end of the aisle so it can deliver me back to the front.
When I manifest on the other side, Dred is leaning on the front counter, flipping through a copy of Kelton’s Abbreviated Guide to Nymph Mating Rituals, a rather pained expression on his face.
“Put that down,” I say. “Or I’ll tell Ty.”
Dred’s fangs descend, and his accent grows thicker as he grumbles, “Her name is Tysin. And you wouldn’t dare.”
No, I wouldn’t. I’m not a snitch. But I like fucking with Dred. Especially when it comes to Tysin. I’m not sure if he’s blind or just dumb, but he seems to be under the impression that his obsession with her is not noticeable. Which only makes it funnier each time I mention her name.
“It’s not an obsession,” he snaps, plucking my thoughts right out of my head. “It’s?—”
He glances at me, eyes darkening before he ultimately shakes his head.
“Never mind,” he mutters. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I shrug.
He’s right. I probably wouldn’t.
I’ve never felt anything but pain and pleasure my entire life. Whatever tortured emotion he’s grappling with is well beyond my scope of possibilities.
“Well,” I say, snatching the book back from him. “If you ever decide to do something about it, we’ll make sure to save a copy of this for you.”
I tap the hard, leather-bound cover before setting it back on the cart of returns.
“Yeah, yeah.” Dred’s crimson eyes roll. “Can we hurry this up? I don’t want to run into?—”
