2. Paws and a Bookmark #2
"One moment, please." He went to the locked case with the academic and artistic erotica in it.
He removed a key on a chain from his pocket, opened the bookcase, found the desired volume, then relocked the door.
"Sorry, sir. To prevent complaints about access by minors.
" He set the book on the table and moved out of the man's way.
The customer paged through some of the images, then smiled and closed the book. "That's the one! I don't see why her work isn't more widely available."
The low growl from Vladimir's?—Borscht's—floor basket should have been sufficient answer. The customer had not noticed the sound, thanks be. "The cost of her prints might be one factor, or so I've been told by one of the photography instructors at the college, sir." It was both true and neutral.
"Hmmmm." He sensed the man staring at him as he returned to the counter. "I'll take these, cash."
Only after the man paid and left did Borscht emerge. "Deckle, we need check for charms."
"Da." He locked the register, then locked the front door, and followed Borsht to the art book section.
Nothing there stood out. They went on to the next section, the children's books.
The cat sniffed here and there, then inflated, back arched as he stared at the bottom shelf.
Simeon pulled a silk kerchief out of his shirt pocket and wrapped his hand, then crouched.
Ugly green magic pulsed at him. He reached with the silk and pulled a strip of paperboard out from between young readers' folktale books. He spun a shield around the malign object and swathed it in the silk. "Alley," he said, teeth gritted. "Is fighting."
"Da!" Borsht raced for the back door, his mage close behind.
They stepped out into the hot, late summer air.
Simeon set the paperboard down in the middle of a green, spray-painted circle on the asphalt, whisked the silk off of the charm, and stood back.
"Shield, then break," his Familiar commanded, panting.
Them, or the circle? Simeon drew from both of them and shielded the circle, then themselves. He sent magic to the ground, then reached up, under the charm carrier, and pushed magic at it.
Poomf! Nastiness with a sharp sting erupted from the charm.
He held the shield, letting the thing burn itself out trying to find a victim.
The spell faded away. "In the name of the One who made the world and called it good, be gone," Simeon intoned.
Nothing else moved, so he pulled down the shield on the circle and returned some of the magic to his Familiar.
"Amen." Vladimir sat, then flopped onto the warm bricks. "Ugh. Is worse than much dead mouse." The Familiar's flanks had thinned, now showing ribs.
"Da." Simeon returned the silk to his pocket, dropped the shield, then opened the back door. He scooped up the cat and took him to his food corner. Once, there, he set his Familiar down, opened a packet of fancy wet food, and squeezed it into Vladimir's bowl.
As the cat ate, his mage went back out and collected the charm carrier.
He took it inside and slid it into one of the silk pouches he kept in his satchel.
Then he drank a full-sugar soda, followed by a local fruit juice blend, and munched on pi?on nut trail mix, after unlocking the front door.
Oh, why did things like this happen when Stacey and Pedro had the day off?
He didn't sense anyone else in the shop, so he took his time rinsing his hands after the snack.
As the church bells chimed one, the door opened. An older Hispano man with a commanding presence stepped into the shop. Simeon bowed a little to him. Don Paulo Juan de la Cruz de Romero y Gallegos nodded in return. "Something for a young lady who is starting school, please."
"Yes, sir. This way, please." Simeon led him to the children's section, and considered. His magic pushed him to the third shelf. "I believe these might be appreciated, Don Paulo." He offered the books, then moved out of the gentleman's way.
The patrón of the San Martín de Los Pueblos land grant studied the trio of books, then gestured his agreement. "Perfect as always Se?or Simeon." Then he stopped, frowning. "Dark magic was here, was it not."
"Yes, Don Paulo. A charm to cause fear and physical pain that could be gathered by a left-hand worker."
"You broke it. Give the carrier to me, please. I will deal with it, and the caster."
Simeon started toward the back. Vladimir raced past, emerging with the silk pouch in his teeth. "Thank you." Simeon took it and handed it to the sorcerer.
As he rang up the purchase, Don Paulo glanced in the pouch, frowning deeply as he did. Then he tucked the silk into a jacket pocket and removed a very old-fashioned wallet from another pocket. "I had heard stories about a left-handed worker who has grown overbold. This may be his work."
"Ah. Thank you, sir. He carries shields both prickly and uncomfortable, and looks like—" He drew power from Vladimir and cast a small illusion.
The older sorcerer studied the image then gestured understanding. Simeon unmade it and returned the magic to his Familiar as Don Paulo said, "Gracias. I will make inquiries."
"Would you like these giftwrapped?"
Now the sorcerer smiled, a rather indulgent sort of smile. "No, thank you. They will be slipped in with her schoolbooks, to soften the day."
After the Hispano patrón departed, Vladimir stretched, then asked, "Has anyone crossed him and survived?"
"Not that I know of. Either in the courtroom or in the circle.
" Don Romero y Gallegos ... It was one thing to read about the old patróns of the colonial period, the de facto rulers of the land grants.
It was another thing to meet a modern one, especially one who was the strongest sorcerer in this part of the state and a water-rights lawyer.
The rest of the day alternated mild rushes with quiet. That was normal for a weekday in late summer. Simeon redid one of the windows with mountain and Indian Market-related books, and a different Navajo rug. He liked to rotate them, so they didn't fade too much.
"End of the week chaos," Vladimir warned when he at last emerged from the back.
"Much chaos." He tried to avoid the Plaza during the major art and culture events. Since the shop was open for most of them, it wasn't too hard, as long as he came in early.
"Juana will have pots." The blue-gray cat hopped into the window by the counter and stretched out on the Two Grey Hills rug currently on display.
Would she? He'd need to make space for them. It wasn't too hard, but good to know in advance. "Thank you for reminding me."
"Spazibo." Vladimir dozed off.
Not long after three that afternoon, the world darkened outside the shop. People hurried to bring in display tables if they had any. Simeon stepped out the front door and helped Mr. Devaca carry mineral samples and a large chunk of petrified wood into the rock shop. "Gracias."
"De nada." Thunder rolled down from the mountains, right on time.
Simeon ducked back into his own business as cold wind chased papers and dust down the street.
People scurried for cover as cold rain poured out of the sky.
"Thank You, Lord, for rain and sun, and especially rain," he whispered, watching the wetting of the world.
Simeon closed at six. He emptied the cash register and purged the memory in the credit card machine after confirming that everything had gone through.
Then he locked away a few antique books that might tempt the weak or addled, turned out the lights, and tidied the back of the store.
He closed the heavy wooden door between the stock area and the main shop.
By day the curtains sufficed, but not at night.
Vladimir had slipped on two of his paw covers already.
Simeon helped with the back two, and snugged all four.
Next came the cat's harness and leash. It was all breakaway, so the Familiar could shed everything if he needed to.
"Bureaucrats," the Familiar hissed as his mage locked the alley door and listened for the alarm's three chirps.
"Agree." City statute had not caught up with magic, and Familiars were not recognized as separate from other animals, unless the Familiar was also a trained and certified service dog.
Juana had suggested getting a service-animal vest for Vladimir.
The cat had used some choice language in reply.
Now, properly harnessed and shod, he trotted beside his mage.
No one other than tourists blinked twice at seeing a cat on a leash.
This was Santa Fé, after all. Eccentricity was encouraged, so long as it fit the carefully cultivated image of the city.
Once they got to the bus stop, Simeon lifted Vladimir onto his shoulder.
The bus rolled up and the doors sighed open, as tired as the rest of the bus and its passengers.
Sam was driving. He shook his head, as usual, and ignored the cat, as usual.
Simeon swiped his card and found a seat near the middle doors.
It wasn't so far to the house that he couldn't walk, but Russian Blues were not endurance runners.
Too, some people didn't believe in keeping large dogs at home, or training them properly.
"... Of course it is going up. When did taxes ever go down?" one of the women in the back grumbled.
"Pueblo Revolt? And no, I wasn't here for that," her older companion said in heated tones.
Chuckles and grins flowed among the regulars.
The young Hispanic woman seated across from Simeon scowled and turned in her seat, as if to scold the speaker, then caught herself and faced forward.
The voice in the back continued, "Perhaps after 1821, until Mexico City decided to tax the rural provinces. "
"Maybe."