that I liked being in control of emotions. I supposed it was rather ironic that it was Thomas, whose death had caused me to lose all that control, who had taught me to feel that way.
Mrs. Alcoon found her voice. “Well, this simply will not do, Mr Slim. It will not do at all.”
Uh oh. I watched the older woman warily. Maybe she wasn’t going to cope with being confronted by a flying purple gargoyle with a penchant for old books quite as well as I’d thought. She lifted a single finger in his direction.
“Do not move,” she stated firmly, then disappeared underneath the counter and began rummaging around in something, before standing back up and brandishing a flowery yellow headscarf. Mrs. Alcoon held it up in front of her face and squinted sideways at Slim. “Yes, this will suit nicely, I think.”
Slim’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. I watched, thoroughly amused, as she carefully picked her way around the boxes until she was directly in front of him. Then she reached out around his waist and, in one swift motion, tied the scarf around his middle, knotting it at the side and hiding his naked nether regions.
“What the feck are you doing?” screeched Slim, short arms scrabbling down to his side trying to snatch off the offending piece of fabric.
“Mr. Slim,” Mrs. Alcoon began in a patient voice, “Mackenzie and I are most grateful to have your assistance and we do hope that you convey that thought to your March-Mage. However, flying around here with your bits hanging out all day long simply will not do.” She fixed him with a beaming smile. “It’s simply too distracting. I’m sure you understand.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Now, can I get you some tea perhaps?”
Slim gaped at her, then stared down at himself. The clash between the yellow of the scarf and his purple skin was really rather extraordinary. I couldn’t help myself: a tiny snort escaped me, causing the gargoyle to spin round in the air and snarl.
I tried to look serious, and failed. “It suits you, Slim, it really does. I think yellow is definitely your colour.”
“You can fecking shut your trap,” he hissed.
“Mr. Slim,” repeated Mrs. Alcoon, “would you like some tea?”
He muttered an affirmative reply, not looking at her.
For her part, she smiled at him benignly. “Then I’ll be right back.” She disappeared off into the small kitchenette at the back of the shop.
As soon as she’d gone, Slim jabbed a stubby finger in my direction. “If you fecking tell anyone else about this, anyone at all…”
I grinned. “My lips are sealed.”
He stared at me suspiciously, then grunted unhappy acquiescence. “Well, let’s get to work. Sooner I get out of this fecking hell hole and away from that crazy woman the better.”
*
With Slim’s help, the process of unpacking the books and sorting them out became much faster. He had a few choice words about our selection, muttering away to himself whenever he came across a particularly New Age endowed human text, but I had to admit that he knew his stuff and was able to arrange the piles much more efficiently and knowledgeably than I could. It helped, of course, that he didn’t get distracted by every third book like I did, and feel compelled to sit down and read a chapter of it. When Mrs. Alcoon brought out his tea, he sniffed at it warily before taking a tiny sip. I stopped what I was doing and watched, waiting for him to spit it back out again, but instead a curious spasm crossed his face and he said nothing else. He ended up drinking the entire thing, causing me no end of surprise. For once, however, I wisely kept my mouth shut.
By the time it was midday, everything was unpacked and in piles around the floor, and I was depositing the flattened cardboard boxes outside, ready to be collected for recycling. I’d managed to drop the vampire books into my backpack without the others noticing, and planned to read through them carefully at my leisure later on. I designated myself to go out and pick up some sandwiches for lunch, hoping that it was safe to leave the pair of them behind on their own. Certainly Slim could hardly go wandering about the streets of London, and I didn’t trust that Mrs. Alcoon would manage to bring back anything edible. Hungry as I was, there seemed little other choice.
I turned left out of the shop, thinking