Love Croakies by Sam Cheever (the kiss of deception read online .txt) 📕

variety. His large, expressive eyes were a silvery-green and probably the most attractive thing about him.

Which wasn’t saying much.

“Fenwald, you naughty boy,” the woman said, her accent strident and British. “You’re getting that bath whether you want it or not.”

She looked at me through a pair of large tortoiseshell glasses, shoving them up a pug nose and peering at me as if I were a particularly nasty bug. “What is it, then? Do ya need a book?”

The door behind me opened, and A.P. came inside the store, rubbing his decidedly red nose. He glared at the woman behind the square glasses. “Alice. That cat is a menace.”

I expected her to buckle under his severe disappointment. Instead, she grinned.

“Oy, Pudsy. How’s things? You’re looking a bit pinkish about the old snout there, eh?” Her laughter was a series of odd snorts that vibrated the glasses down her nose. She reached up and poked them back into place with a bandaged finger covered in black ink. “Ah,” she said, her smallish brown eyes rolling back to me. “So, this is my new apprentice, then?” She looked me over with a critical eye. “She’ll do.” The woman offered me a work-roughened hand. “I’m Alice, Keeper of the Artifacts. You’re Naida?”

I nodded, struck dumb by the reality in front of me. In my mind, I’d pictured a tall, powerful woman with a calm, no-nonsense manner as KoA, which is what the magical universe called Keepers of the Artifacts. My imagination might have even given her a long staff that shot electricity from the tip. Alice didn’t fit that image in any respect.

Jerking her head toward the side, Alice said. “Come on, then. I’ll make us a spot of tea.” She carried the big cat with her as she slouched toward a nook across from the sales counter. The space sported a miniature stove, a tiny sink, and a short counter, which was covered in tea-making things and had a small refrigerator tucked beneath it. The oven door was open, and a comfortable warmth oozed from its interior. The cat immediately sprawled in front of it and began to bathe, clearly enjoying the heat.

With a jolt, I realized Alice was using the ancient appliance to warm the bookstore. “Is the heater broken?” I asked, pulling my coat closer as I shivered. I wasn’t looking forward to spending a winter shivering and sniffling day and night.

Alice flipped a dismissive hand. “It’s just having a fit. It’ll be right as rain in no time.”

I sent A.P. a worried glance, and he shook his head. “You need to get that fixed, Alice,” he told the woman. “It was part of your apprenticeship agreement with the Société.”

She ignored him completely, motioning negligently toward the small, three-person table in the center of the open space at the front of the store. A high, narrow window above the tea nook showed the clear blue of an early-January sky. The bright sunshine painted a golden ribbon across the bookstore’s ratty carpet and bathed the round table in warmth. “Have a seat, Naida.” She glanced at A.P. “You too, Pudsy. I’ll have tea ready in two shakes.”

I looked at A.P. and smiled, mouthing, “Pudsy?”

He shook his head dismissively.

While the tea steeped, Alice pulled the oven door wide. Grabbing a dingy towel that was appliqued with a large black cat which looked nothing like Fenwald, she tugged a flat pan from the oven’s interior. She carefully extracted three pale, oblong biscuits from the pan, arranging them like spokes on a wheel in the center of a chipped white plate and sliding the rest back inside the oven.

Alice placed the snack on the table between us. “Scones. My specialty.”

Having missed breakfast that morning, I smiled in anticipation. “Thank you. They smell delicious.”

Alice gave me a pleased smile and returned to her tea prep.

Fenwald wandered over and sat down a few feet away from the table, staring at me through an unfathomable green gaze.

I reached for a scone, eyeing the dark spots marking its golden surface and wondering what they were. I hoped they weren’t raisins. Maybe blueberries? I thought, hopefully.

A.P. reached out and touched my hand with a finger, shaking his head and frowning as I lifted it toward my mouth.

Grinning, I took a bite.

“Ow!” I said before I could stop myself.

A.P. sat back and shook his head.

“Watch out, sweetums. They’re hot.”

I pulled the scone from my mouth and looked at the shallow dent my teeth had made in it. Feeling my front teeth to make sure they were still intact, I arched my brows at A.P.

He chuckled soundlessly. Reaching for another scone, he held it above the table for a moment, glancing over at Alice, he asked, “Is that a new thriller section, Alice?”

The Keeper lifted her head and looked into the bookstore. “Yes. Blimey, you do have a keen eye. I moved them from the back because I’ve seen new interest in thrillers of late.” Alice wandered over to the books in question and ran her hand lovingly over their perfectly arranged spines.

While she was distracted. The Société agent slammed his scone against the edge of the table, coughing loudly to cover the noise, and broke a large chunk off the end of it. He threw the piece to Fenwald. It hit the carpet with the weight of a large marble and skittered to a spot a few inches from the cat.

Fenwald eyed the heavy offering and then lifted a derisive gaze to A.P., as if to say, I’m not eating that. Not wasting any time considering the offering, the big cat reached out with a large paw and whacked it away.

We watched it skitter beneath the cabinet where Alice kept her assortment of teas, out of sight.

I wondered how many other bits of bad baking the cat had “stored” beneath the cabinet. Then I decided I probably didn’t want to know.

“I find I’m growing fond of the genre,” Alice said, oblivious as she returned to her tea-making. She glanced over her shoulder