“Messed up again?” His voice is impossibly small, like a mouse, as he jumps around the edge of the building and crosses his arms.
I resist the urge to reach over and splash sludgy potion on him with my shoe. “Yeah, Bellami. As you can see, I messed up again. Thank you.”
The tiny gnome male snorts. “You’re not great at this, Lou.”
I breathe deeply through my nose. “Obviously.” I wave my hand dismissively in his direction. “Don’t you have somethingto do? Malik told me you’re expanding the gnome village. You should get to that.”
The gnomes are horribly straightforward. Last time I had a bad day, one of Bellami’s brethren asked me if I actually ate shit or just looked like I had.
Case in point. Bellami uncrosses his arms to straighten his hat with a grunt. “There’s potion all over your hands.”
I look down, turning my hands over to see what he’s talking about. After a second, I get it and loose an irritated breath. “Those are freckles, Bellami. They’re permanent. It’s part of my skin.”And I happen to like them, thank you very much.
He gives me a blank look. “Whatever you say. Anyways, I’m not here for that. I came to ask for your help. Your niece, Wren, told me you were good with organizing. I’m thinking you should try helping us for a while since your career in potion-making looks like it’s gonna be short.”
“Jesus, Bellami,” I snap. “I’ve been at this for all of two weeks.”
“Precisely,” he says with a snort. “If you were gonna get it, you would have. My people could use help from someone—” his eyes rove over my much taller figure, “—broader.”
Damn. How rude can this diminutive male be in a two-minute encounter?
“What kind of help?” I hedge.
He glances at the black puddle where I’ve been dumping my potion. “Hauling plants and small trees. Moving rocks. Lifting mushrooms. You know. Gnome village stuff.”
Lifting mushrooms.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to deny him help simply because the gnomes are so…bossy. But then I consider that I, too, am very bossy. It takes a bitch to know a bitch. That being said, if I can do something to help, I will.
“Okay.”
Bellami gives me a clipped nod. “Good, just show up whenever you have free time, and we’ll put you to work.”
Before I can answer, he turns on a heel and stalks back around the side of the building, his tiny legs moving at super speed. The gnomes are always so purposeful, so quick to go wherever they’re going. Damn, the one time they offered to help me learn how to throw an ax at Bad Axe, a half dozen of them crawled all over me shouting directions. They don’t do anything in a relaxed way.
I wonder if they’re into potions like most of the other monster residents of Shifter Hollow, outside of downtown Ever. Now that I think about it, I haven’t ever seen them in the store during my shifts. Some calming tea is what they need. Or a chill pill.
“Everything okay?” Malik’s soothing voice echoes from inside the doorway to my right.
I turn and force a smile. “Bellami was just here commenting on the state of my potion, and then had the gall to ask me for help after insulting me.”
Malik snorts, stamping one of his horsey forelegs as he crosses his human arms. “You know what you need, Lou? Another kind of potion.” His expression goes a little devious, elegant pale nostrils flaring.
“Let me guess. Milkshake?”
He plants both hands on his hips with a huge grin. “Milkshake. Get on, friend.”
It’s always an odd feeling for me to climb onto Malik’s broad back. It feels personal, like something a mate might do, and I am most certainly not his. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s got the hots for Alba, the centaur who owns the Galloping Green Bean diner up on Main Street. So, when he takes me for milkshakes, it’s an excuse to visit her at work.
Even so, I smile as he bends his left foreleg, curling his fetlock so I can use his hoof as a step. I grab a thin fabric handle sewn at the bottom of the back of his vest, using the leverage to haul myself onto his broad back, careful not to kick his wings.
“Settled, Lou?” He glances over his top half’s shoulder as I tuck my feet between his sides and his beautiful big wings.
“Don’t know about settled,” I mutter, “but I’m on.”
Malik turns and clops carefully out his back door, his white wings tucked tightly over my legs. Like always, I have to resist the urge to stroke the beautifully detailed feathers. Up close, they’re iridescent, each one bursting with tiny rainbows of color.
He steps into the small clearing behind Alkemi and spreads his wings wide. He’s stopped telling me to hold on at this point because he’s flown me so many times. Flying seems to be Malik’s answer to everything wrong in the world. Stomach issues? Go for a flight. Feeling down in the dumps? Soaring through the treetops will fix it.
