“I’ve not mocked you once, Miss Whoever-You-Are. You’re misreading me. In fact, it’s been you who has repeatedlyjudged—”
A soft chirp cut off whatever further comment the supposed shop owner was about to say. Instead, Alora caught the widening of his eyes and the sudden stillness of his form before she turned to find the sweet barshet sitting placidly, watching her, from several feet away.
“Don’t,” demanded the shopkeeper.
Alora opened her mouth to protest that she'd not planned to do anything but stilled when she saw his expression. The quiet horror she found there caused an icy burn to form in her own chest then. When the barshet chirped again, hopping forward, Alora shuffled back. Her hips met the counter with a jarring thud she didn’t pay attention to. Should she really be so terrified of such a creature?
She wanted to ask if she should run, but he’d told her not to speak, and she didn’t know how fast it could move. How fast it could claw its way down her throat. It wouldn’t really, would it?
Goddammit!Why had she chosen this shop?
The barshet gurgled, and Alora watched as it began to fall within itself, flattening to the floor. What was happening to it? Was it dying?
A sharp curse left the proprietor a moment before arms snaked beneath hers, hauling her up and over the counter. A mere second later, a distinct splat was heard from the opposite side.
Quick breaths pulsed against her back as she was enveloped by the scent of vetiver. It was quite nice, despite the circumstances.
“It almost had you. It should be stunned now.”
She could hardly register the strong pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, nor the feel of the shopkeeper’s broad chest against her back, before they were gone.
“Wait!” she cried out, as he abandoned her for the back of the shop.
Alora clapped both hands over her mouth immediately upon realizing her mistake.
A familiar chirp sounded behind her, and she screamed. The barshet, not so stunned apparently, slithered onto the counter. It gazed up at her adoringly. Perhaps too much so? Alora replaced her hands over her mouth, determined to keep it from leapingdown her throat. With one foot behind the other, she backed carefully away.
The creature would not be deterred. She observed in horror as it made to sink into itself as before. Any moment now and it would spring—
A frying pan smashed onto the countertop.
Alora screamed again, though it was muffled by her hands, and leapt backward, slamming her back into the staircase hard enough to bruise. The shopkeeper released the handle. Green goo oozed from its side, dripping from the counter’s edge.
“Is it dead?” Alora whispered, hoarse, hands clutching her throat.
“Likely.” Glancing her over, he turned back, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe up the mess on the floor. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she said, even as her back throbbed. She supposed it was nice he cared to—
“Good,” he replied, from his crouched position. “You owe me one hundred evergolds.”
***
Horrible man, she seethed, tossing her satchel onto a chair before easing into the one beside.As if I'd pay him for the experience of nearly losing my voice to a creature he has no business keeping.
“Hello, dear. Would you like the usual?”
Alora glanced up to the familiar apple cheeks and short gray curls belonging to Ellie Turkens. “Yes, thank you. But also, I was wondering if you knew of a book cataloguing rare creatures. I recently learned of one today, a barshet, and am curious to know more.” Like what the proprietor of Potions and Peculiarities meant by “likely” when asked if the creature was dead.
“Hmm, let me do some investigating. Be back shortly.”
Alora watched Ellie go, disappearing beyond shelves of books to ready her order. If anyone could find her information on a subject, it would be Ellie Turkens. The woman had begun El’s Books and Nibbles back when she was younger than Alora, and she was at least eighty now, though you'd never guess given her energy.
Alora let her mind drift as she studied the plants nestled in crannies and hanging from the ceiling. Small butterflies and several bees flitted about them, as Ellie often left the back door open in invitation. She wondered if they’d weathered the storm inside, or if they’d come in recently now that it’d moved on.
She desperately needed the tea to be strong today. She’d love the largest cup Ellie owned, the one with blue flowers preferably—Alora’s favorite color—and a single cube of sugar to cut the edge. Yes, that would be perfection.
“Oh!” Alora gasped, said cup materializing at her fingertips. She glanced around, but thankfully there was no one seated near her. There was a man perusing the shelves, but he was behind her and thoroughly engrossed in his finds. Her breath shuddered still; Ellie would be back soon. How would she ever explain having retrieved her own cup of tea?
