I create a gap and slowly add the book in.
“I have a card for them, but the ‘seven’ section is industrial practices. Seven dot five is”—she turns her head at the book—“artisanal products.”
“Did I do it?”
“Yes. Now, the books are put into the cart in order. Just pick out the next and repeat.”
Still stressful, but I can slowly ease. She’s not yellingparticularlymuch.
She just dislikes me.
The door opens, leaving a grating ringing from its bell.
“The space is open, Piero,” Mistress Vincenza coldly greets.
“Wonderful, but I do hope you’ll introduce me to your new apprentice when she’s less busy!” The man with a rough suit and eyes of orbiting blue lights—a sign that he’s a Ringborn with at least one patronized consort—appraises me. “You don’t seem to have clothed her yet.”
“I’m giving her the opportunity to run first. The robes are binding.” Despite her words having the texture of something humorous, nothing in her tone feels like levity.
“Learned that lesson from the last one?”
“Have I…” She slowly coaxes a breath.
“Yeah—Sorry. Have you seen the Lights Festival posters they’re putting up?”
Mistress Vincenza and the man converse, heads and words above me. I dance between committing myself to continuing or to listening.
I shouldn’t continue; she can’t correct my mistakes if she’s not looking.
“...wiring, and now the chairs don’t feel the same. You really need to bring your own pillows.”
But I missed some lines while thinking, and I can’t for the life of me catch up.
“And when you do go, you really should… The—the… Those legs? Give them a try! My mother’s work-friend wasraving.”
It’s starting to get to me how he scratches his coat. Grating.
I turn back to the shelf while scratching my hair foranyrelief from the sound of his coat. If I place this next one right, she may even be less disappointed in me for taking so longon the first.
“He hasn’t been interested in reading the non-necromancy stuff recently. It just doesn’t cause that same sort of… chest feeling?”
“The ‘music.’” Mistress Vincenza drums her fingers on the shelf.
“Yeah, like that. He always turns on the radio to sing along.” He grabs something off the top left of the shelf.
“Enjoy yourself.” She mechanically turns her head back to me. “What are you doing?”
“Sh-shelving?” I guiltily take my hand off the book I put in.
The man leaves to some corner of the store.
“Don’t. I need to be watching you until you actually understand what you’re doing.”
“Sorry, Mistress.”
“You have a favorite word,” she muses with a hollow voice. “Was this the only book?”
“Yes… Mistress.”
