2. Paws and a Bookmark #6
Simeon checked on Juana. She had things well in hand.
"Juana Fredricks—Modern Pottery in a Traditional Style" her sign proclaimed.
None of her pieces were exactly like Indian potters' work, even though she used the Hopi methods she'd grown up with.
She was talking to a couple about one of her wedding-jar inspired pieces, so he returned to minding the shop.
Stacey was due in at noon, Pedro at one.
The day passed with the usual blend of locals and tourists. Just before six, Pedro poked his head into the back room. "Jefe, we need to restock the American Indian books, and Stacey just sold the two big San Ildefonso art books."
"Slava Boz'ye," thanks be to God, Simeon whispered to himself.
Those volumes took up so much space. "I'll start in on the stocking if you tackle the box stack, please.
" Somehow they'd multiplied overnight and even during the day.
"Not the ones by the desk. Those are Ms. Fredricks' boxes and padding. "
"Can do. Any good for moving?" He found the tape cutter in the "Everything Else" drawer and checked the blade.
"If there are, you can have them. None of the distributers sent return crates this time." One local press did, but none of the big boys.
"Gracias." Pedro started venting irritation on the tape as Simeon made a stack of Native American history and art books and carried the arm load toward the front of the store.
A rush of customers, including two regulars, surged in as he worked.
As he'd guessed, most of the Native American art histories and guides that he'd set out were gone.
It always happened around market time. He redid those, then filled holes in the "Pueblo - General," "Hopi," and "History - Colonial to Statehood" sections.
Stacey waved, so he set down his handful and went to the counter. "Do we have a box and padding for the plate?" One of the storyteller plates and its price tag sat beside the cash register, and an impatient customer tapped the floor with one foot.
"Yes, we do. I'll get it. One moment, please, sir," he told the customer, then hurried to the back.
He returned with a box and paper as well as bubble wrap.
Once the gent paid Ms. Fredricks and returned with the receipt and certificate of authenticity, Simeon swaddled the piece and tucked it into the box.
"I'm impressed," the now-happier gentleman said, taking the box. "Were you a mover when you were younger?"
Simeon smiled as he got the door. "No, sir. I was loaned to an aunt and had to learn how to gift-wrap and pack things for her store."
"That'll do it. Thanks." The man bustled off toward the public parking lot. A subdued young woman in a long dress ducked into the shop before the door closed, and headed straight for the romantic fiction section.
Simeon returned to stocking. "Huh." A strange gap had appeared on the shelf, and two reprints of anthropological reports concerning the Comanche and eastern plains Hispanos seemed to be missing.
Yet the surrounding titles remained upright, as if held by bookends.
He shifted to seeing magic and tutted. "Reveal yourselves," he murmured, sliding a tiny bit of magic under where the books should have been.
The charm broke with a little pop, and the books reappeared.
He pulled the slip of paper out from between them and shook his head, then removed the titles from the shelf properly and took them to the desk.
"Cassie will be here tomorrow for these." He told Stacey, "Please set them back for her, with a sales ticket, and a reminder to remind her to just ask if she needs things held."
Stacey wrinkled his nose as he made out the sales ticket. "Why does she have to be cute, Boss?"
"No idea. Oh dear." An irate matron heaved the door open and marched in. "Can I help you, ma'am?"
"Where's my daughter? I saw her duck in here, no doubt looking for obscene trash."
The young lady in the plain dress emerged from the fiction section. "I'm here in Christian Fiction, Mother. I also found the books that Sister Rosa recommended in her session yesterday."
"Humpf." The woman stormed back, grabbed the titles out of her daughter's hands, and read the back covers.
"You know better than to come into places like this without me, young lady.
The stores in this part of the city reek of spiritual corruption.
" She dragged the girl to the counter and slapped the trio of devotionals and a Christian romance down on the wooden top.
Stacey did not roll his eyes or comment until after the pair departed. Then he murmured, "I bet the daughter joins either a holy order or a death metal band."
"Or runs away to the commune on the eastern slope, north of Moriarity." He'd wager on holy orders, personally, but all things were possible.
As Simeon went back to shelving, a quiet voice asked, "Is Mrs. Hopewell gone yet?"
He turned to see a blonde head peeking out from behind the romantasy shelves. "Yes, she has."
"Oh good. I don't like getting screamed at." The customer emerged fully. She wore a tee shirt with the cover of one of the popular dark fantasy romance books on it. "And is there anything else like this?" She showed him one of a different series.
He brushed it with a little magic, then nodded.
"Yes, ma'am. If you like the folklore part, then I'd recommend this one, or this one.
" He showed her two options. "For something closer to the romance part, probably K.
C. Hirschorn's latest. Books one and two are out, and book three will be available in late September. "
"Great! Thanks." She dove into his recommendations, so he left her to it and shelved the last of the Native American books.
As he locked up that night, Vladimir finished his inspection of everything, including the table now propped up inside under the display window. "Quiet," the cat observed. "No surprises, no attacks."
"Da. Please may it stay that way." Tomorrow was the start of a waxing moon, and pay day, and the Indian Market. "Five of the summer reading list books sold."
"Only five?" Vladimir sounded disappointed, and his tail drooped a little. "I wagered on eight."
"Is Thursday. Friday?" He left it there. The students need to have them read by the last Tuesday of the month, when school started.
The next morning, Vladimir grumbled all the way from the bus stop to the store.
They had to detour around the Plaza, lest they be run over by people setting up stalls and arranging displays.
The cloudy sky and moist air added to the sense of tension among the art dealers, artists, and people giving directions.
The protest flyer had proclaimed noon to be the start time, but a few black-clad people with red bandanas already loitered on the corners, scowling at the artists and early tourists.
"Shields ready?" his Familiar asked once they'd turned onto their street and left the mild chaos behind.
"Da. Don Romero y Gallegos emailed this morning already, asking if we needed non-magical assistance. I thanked him and said not yet." That the older sorcerer had offered ...
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as they approached the shop. "Sir, can you stop so we can get a photo of the building, please," a young man in a photographer's vest called.
Simeon backed up to stand under the portico of the shopping arcade entrance as a pair of professional photographers arranged the shot and did their thing.
One of the men used a very old-fashioned box camera.
A model joined them and posed for a few more pictures.
The trio gathered their bags, tripods, and camera and glass-plate cases, then hurried off.
Had any of them noticed the carving on the end of the beams over the bookstore?
Probably not, since the historic district inspectors hadn't spotted them yet, either.
Simeon shifted to seeing magic and studied the shop before touching the door.
Something red oozed from the lock. His Familiar hissed, back arching.
Warned, Simeon drew a little power from Borscht, then brushed the magical slime.
"Straight out of that urban fantasy novel," he sighed, then broke the charm and cleansed the lock and latch.
Borscht stretched up, paws on the door, and sniffed.
He then dropped down and scuffed dirt, opinion very clear.
His mage unlocked the door, turned off the alarm system, and got the sack of cat treats out of the locked drawer.
He counted out five and put them in Vladimir's corner behind the counter, then carried the water dish to the back to rinse and refill.
The cat only drank soda water when at the shop.
A serving of wet food also appeared in the back room.
Simeon tidied the litter box, added more litter and deposited the used material in the appropriate bin in the alley.
Only then did he get a snack and recharge.
"At us, or at Mrs. Fredrick?" Vladimir asked after he'd eaten.
"At the shop. Let me check." He logged into the message board for Old Town merchants. "Shop. Fr. Vargas broke two, both on stores near the churches, and Gale from the kite shop helped the New Age shop dispose of one. They seem to be random, thus far."
Vladimir looked down his muzzle at the computer. "Durachit." Fool. With that he stalked to his nest behind the counter and went to sleep.
"... No, I am not going to stay all day, Mama," Tom was saying when Simeon returned to the front of the shop. He helped the Marine move the table back out, trading it for a new art plate to replace what had sold. "But I am coming around more often. I don't like the feeling in the air."
"You are wise," Vladimir intoned, no accent in his words for once. "Trouble already awaits in the plaza, and we broke a spell on the door."
Tom muttered something in Marine, but not a curse. His mother must have warned him. "Besides the obvious, what exits are there?"