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“We know,” Asha said. “That’s generally how we prefer it.”

Zara ran a finger along the windowsill, which was spotless, of course. There weren’t enough books in the display to accumulate any dust.

Asha let Clement stew for a moment, then cut to it.

“We’ve been reconsidering our investment, Clem.”

All three of the men went very still.

“Reconsidering how?” Archie asked. He adjusted the cashmere beanie that was hiding his bald spot.

“We’ve decided we’re pulling it.” Asha smoothed the front of her leather jacket. “Unless….”

“Unless what?” Barnabas took a step toward them and tripped over Nell’s outstretched foot.

“Oops,” she said as she shoved him back to his feet. “My bad. So sorry, Barney.”

“Unless you’d like to hear our alternative,” Asha said.

Clement was sweating now. And speaking much too quickly. Of course he’d like to hear the alternative. They all would like to hear their alternative. They very, very, very much would.

“Then I’ll leave it to Nell to run our proposal by you,” Asha said. She waved a hand at Nell. “You’re on.” She took a seat on one of the nearly empty display cases.

“Used books,” Nell said. “That’s where our hearts really are, as it turns out.”

Clement’s eyes went wide. His face turned bright red.

“It was a mistake to get rid of them,” Nell continued. “And we’ve decided to change direction.”

“But… We don’t have old books here anymore,” Clement stuttered. “Someone stole them. That pest of a stepdaughter of mine. She robbed them from the back alley when they were waiting to go to the pulper. I should have pressed charges!”

“Don’t worry. We found plenty more. Several trucks are on their way here,” Asha said, before he could object. “Should be here within the hour.”

“Trucks?” Barnabus repeated.

“Truckloads,” Zara confirmed happily. “Terribly damaged ones, mostly. Oh, the ones we’ve found. You wouldn’t believe the condition some of them are in.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “It’s devastating, honestly. All those stories just falling apart.” She sighed. “Old books have the best souls.”

“Which is why,” Nell continued, “we’re so pleased you’ll be pivoting to a new business model and repairing them. We’re turning Fowler’s into a bindery. All the work can be done right here, by you three.”

“Seems pretty perfect to me.” Asha shrugged.

Clement opened his mouth and shut it again.

“But… we don’t know how to bind books!” Archibald complained.

“Don’t worry, we’ve hired a real know-it-all to help with that.” Asha glanced toward the door. “Oh, there he is now.”

Vance Priest came through the door like a man who could deliver a talk about what regret felt like on a molecular level. Head hanging and feet dragging. He was carrying a bone folder and staring at the floor.

“Hi,” he said to no one.

“Right,” Clement said, finding his footing. “See, here’s the thing. This isn’t what we had in mind for the store. We have a brand. We have a reputation. We are not running a bindery here.”

Nell had been very patient up to this point. She reached into her jacket.

What she produced was not the swearword coloring book. It was an eighteen-inch blade with a curved tip.

The three men took a collective step backward. Vance Priest sat down on the floor.