And that is the exact moment that Betsy chooses to bounce back into the shop.
Ironically, and because my life is a fucking shit show, that is also the moment in which Calida comes soaring back into the room and drops an enormous rat on the coffee table.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Multiple things happen at once: Betsy shrieks, I gag, and Flint lurches towards the table in what I assume, and desperately hope, is an attempt at grabbing the lightly bleeding critter. Calida uses a wing to smack at his hand and…
My ears hear what sounds like a crow, but inside my mind, I hear a maniacal giggle.
She’s enjoying this.
Fuuuuuuuuck.
Flint recovers from having his hand slapped in time to gently grab the alive rat in one hand and Calida’s body in the other. She makes another crow-like sound, although this one doesn’t sound anything like a laugh. More like a squawk, really.
Keeping a firm grip on both, he walks to the door, side stepping around Betsy, who shrinks back with a hand pressed to her bosom. Giving her the side eye, I toss the throw aside and follow. I reach the door in time to hear the tail end of Flint explaining to Calida that some meals, specifically “living meals” should not be taken in the company of strangers. He firmly chides her for dropping a bloody rat on a table.
Apparently, dragons are supposed to have table manners. I wonder how old she is. She certainly seems young.
He realizes I’m standing there and turns to me.
“Is there anywhere she can eat her snack that she won’t be disturbing anyone? I understand it’s abrupt, but she really does need to eat. Traveling can take a lot out of them.”
I think. I obviously don’t want her to eat her furry snack inside, especially with Betsy here, but I also don’t need to try to explain to the neighbors why there’s a winged reptile eviscerating a rat in our entry space. I also don’t really want to know where the hell she found the rat, and make a mental note to call an exterminator. With my limited attention span, I really should be making a real reminder, but I’m not sure where my phone is and I can’t exactly look for it right now. Especially with Betsy watching, wide eyed, from the threshold.
“Um… there’s a small courtyard out back? Or the roof? Either of those would be fine. She wouldn’t be disturbing anyone with her snack there.”
He looks at Calida with a pointed gaze, I think to make sure that she understands me. Calida gives one head bob and Flint puts the poor rat down on the cobblestones. She dips her head, collects her prize, and again takes off.
Which just leaves us with Betsy.
I turn to look at Betsy and expect her to still be hovering in the doorway, examining our handsome stranger and the weird flying iguana. To my surprise, she’s nowhere to be found. Shit — she’s probably calling animal control or the cops or a fucking news crew. That’d be my luck, with the way this day is going. Is Mercury in retrograde? Is there a full moon?
My luck cannot be this shitty!
Flint looks at me and shrugs. He shrugs his beautiful, sculpted, muscular, shoulders….
Bitch–Betsy. Where. Is. Betsy?! FOCUS.
“Betsy?” I call. I have no idea where she is or what she’s thinking. I step inside and scan the main room, but she’s nowhere that would be obvious. “Betsy!” I call again.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I heard you. I’m not deaf.” Her voice is coming somewhere in the stacks of books.
“Are you okay? I thought you were done today.”
She comes bustling out — how does she always have so much energy — from the romance section. “I’m fine, pumpkin. How are you and your friend? Do you need anything?”
Why is she acting like she didn’t just stumble into the bookstore to find a giant bloody rat on the table, me laying around on the couch, Flint studying me intensely,and a fuckingdragonabout to go to town and do the happy food dance while ingesting said bloody rat? Better question — why is she avoiding eye contact?
“Uh — we’re fine.” I manage.
Flint isn’t looking at Betsy or me, but rather at the ground, as he goes back to his chair.
“Flint,” she calls, forcing him to look up. “Do you need anything, sweetie? Casie means well, but her head is in the clouds half the time and forgetting things the other half.”
She slides up to his side and lays a hand on his bicep. Flint looks distinctly uncomfortable with Betsy shamelessly feeling him up.
“Betsy, what are you doing back? I thought you were gone for the day.” I take her hand and tug, gently, but firmly. I’m trying to detach her from Flint’s bicep. His uncomfortable look sets me on edge even more and, really, old women should be held to the same standard as old men — stop touching other people’s bodies without permission. It isn’t that hard.
