2. Paws and a Bookmark #7
"Not the first alley downhill. That ends in a fence that should not be there," Simeon replied.
"Cut through the arcade across the street, and you are on another street, one that doesn't feed directly into the Plaza.
This building is fire resistant, brick resistant, and I have non-police security and assistance ready and waiting if we need it. " Please may they not need it.
"Good. And I'd better move the truck." The parking enforcement scooter had him in sight, and was accelerating. Tom moved faster, and had headed down the street before the man could get out of the little vehicle.
The bureaucrat bustled up to Simeon. "This is not a parking area," he began. The roar of a clean diesel engine grew louder, and Simeon smiled to himself.
"It is a loading zone, and his flashers were on as he unloaded, sir. And the brown truck would like to finish his delivery, if you don't mind moving."
The bureaucrat scowled, waved his electronic ticket pad in frustration, and drove off. The large brown vehicle squealed a little as it parked, flashers blinking. Simeon returned to the shop and his morning tasks, including putting the large platter on display for Juana.
"Is sunrise," Vladimir stated as his mage unwrapped the piece.
Colors shaded from dark blue on the edges to soft violet, then gold-touched rose with blue the color of the morning sky in the center.
Something else... Simeon glanced around for witnesses, and sniffed the piece before setting it on the stands.
Desert flowers—it smelled a little like that blooming yellow cactus and desert rose.
How had she done it? He glanced at the price on the card.
He'd double that, but he wasn't her, and she knew her market.
"Is magic," he decided. Clay magic, or glaze and slip magic, not textbook magic.
"Da." With that Vladimir departed for the back, walking in a perfectly straight line until he reached the children's book table. He started weaving back and forth in a set of S-curves, then zig-zags before vanishing through the heavy curtain.
Stacey came in a little after noon with a new haircut and a frown. Pedro shook his head and grinned. "You going to start announcing music videos or something? I'll put on Michael Jackson, an' the Scorpions an' Gloria Estefan. Or you tryin' to get a job as the lead singer for an '80s tribute band?"
Simeon smiled despite himself. Stacey really did look like one of the VJs from the old cable music channel, with his shoulder-length hair styled and curled back from his face.
Judging by his employee's expression, that was exactly who Stacey wanted to mimic.
He tossed the hair back a little and called, "Welcome to 'Best of the Brits!
' I'm your host Stacey McClaine, and we're going to start off with the latest from David Coverdale and Whitesnake. "
"You make me feel old," Simeon grumbled with a wink. "Now get to work before some sixty-something swoons from memories of unrequited teenage whatever."
Before Stacey or Pedro could say more, they heard sirens, loud sirens. A police car hurried up the road, lights on and horn blatting. Pedestrians dove out of the way. "Not good," Pedro said.
"No. Get ready to grab things off Juana's table and get her inside, in case trouble spills our way. I'll lock everything. Emergency will be up and over, not the alley."
"Get her and her kit in, up and over if we have to. Sí, Jefe," Pedro said, all joking gone. Stacey patted something under his shirt and nodded.
Fifteen minutes later, a small cluster of customers browsed the cookbooks and regional literature titles.
Tom, Ms. Fredricks' son, had returned and was chatting with her.
He snapped straight, attention locked on the upper end of the road.
Simeon eased to the door and opened it, listening.
The all too familiar sound chilled him to the core.
His heart started to race, and he saw not the adobe tan streets of Santa Fé, but a colder, harsher place, dirty snow on the sidewalks.
Stench of burning houses and shops, angry voices baying, excited for blood, for—
Something slammed into his lower legs. "Wake up, Tovarish!" Borscht commanded. "Later, not now, get them inside the shields."
"Da." His mind returned to now, pushed the vision away. Borscht had not been with him then. "Get her inside, please," he ordered, picking up the closest pot from Juana's table and moving it into the store. His employees helped, and Tom escorted his mother inside.
"No arguing, Mama," the young man said, tone very firm. "That's trouble, and it is getting closer." She started to fuss, then stopped as they heard more sirens and a garbled bullhorn. The crunch of breaking glass followed.
"I'll move things from the window," she announced. "Just out of view."
Almost as fast as if they'd practiced, the men had all of Ms. Fredricks goods and her table out of sight of the street. "Warn the customers that the lights will go dim, please," Simeon told Stacey.
"Can do."
Simeon closed and locked the door and lowered the shades on the windows. Pedro turned off half the lights, then helped Stacey.
"Should I call?" Simeon inquired, drawing magic from Borscht and flowing it into the shields on the store. They would not kick in until he triggered the preset.
The cat paced back and forth, tail thrashing, then said, "Nyet. Not with everything out of sight. You're not the target this ti—Mrrroooooooooooowwwww." His words shifted to a low, back-of-the-throat growl, and he doubled in size. "Shields up, Deckle! Totchas, totchas zhe!" Now, now!
Simeon reached over and slapped the bit of ink-stained wood in the top of the counter hard.
Shields flashed up, hard shields against magic and objects both.
A brick hit them and bounced, followed by paintballs.
Black-clad people raced past, throwing bottles and other things.
He heard curses in two Indian languages, and Spanish, as well as English.
Those bounced, too. The mob kept going. Police in riot gear jogged after them, several cruisers following behind.
Yellow-tinged white smoke rolled ahead of the police, encouraging the rioters to move faster. Quiet followed the commotion.
"I turned off the vents too, Jefe," Pedro said. "Stacey's helping the customers."