“Whatever really brought Swinn here will sour this village,” he said.

Farrow nodded.

“The restoration of The Jumble is the key to Sproing’s survival.”

Farrow nodded again.

“Then perhaps we can work together to ensure that Victoria retains control over the human part of the terra indigene settlement.”

Farrow gave him a tight smile. “We can do that. But it can be a fine line between helping someone and giving that person the impression that you don’t think she’s capable of helping herself.”

Ilya repressed a sigh. That fine line in a wounded female like Victoria was probably smudged, and all he could hope for was not to stumble too far over that line and make matters worse.

“Do you still want these books?” Farrow asked.

“Yes.” As Farrow turned away, Ilya added, “I didn’t feed on her. In case you wondered.”

Farrow didn’t reply, but Ilya had the impression that the human male was relieved.

CHAPTER 20

Vicki

Windsday, Juin 14

I thought some rude things about Julian Farrow when I unpacked the bag of books and discovered he’d sold me the first five Wolf Team books instead of the whole set, filling the bottom of the bag with books by someone named Alan Wolfgard as well as other authors I hadn’t heard of. Then I saw the boys’ response to the Wolf Team books and could, grudgingly, appreciate Julian’s strategy.

Conan and Cougar weren’t swift readers—or accurate spellers, if the sign on the chain across my access road was anything to go by—so five books would be plenty for the four readers currently using my library. And when they had finished with those books, there would be more that could be purchased, either by me or by them, if I was very brave or incredibly stupid and took them into Sproing to visit Lettuce Reed and purchase books for themselves.

For a community that maintained that the Others were Out There, Conan and Cougar would be an eye-opener—and probably fill the doctors’ office with a slew of people experiencing heart palpitations or dizzy spells, especially if someone forgot about looking human and slapped a paw on a counter to lay claim to something of interest.

Then again, if people signing up for the trail rides that Ineke had proposed weren’t interested in seeing the terra indigene, they wouldn’t be getting on horses and riding around in the Others’ backyard, so to speak. But I could appreciate that there was a difference between seeing one of the Beargard in the woods and having one sit on the stool next to yours at the diner. There would always be the possibility that you would look tastier than the food on his plate.

I’d been more focused on Conan’s and Cougar’s reactions to the books because of the whole tooth and claw thing they had going for them, but eventually I realized Aggie was spending a lot of time looking at the covers and not saying anything.

“Nothing of interest?” I asked.

She traced the title on one of the books with a finger. “If there was a Reader at The Jumble, more of the terra indigene could enjoy the stories. Every terra indigene settlement has a Reader. Sometimes more than one.”

Aggie looked at me. Conan and Cougar looked at me.

“You want me to be the designated Reader?” I could hear the capital R when Aggie said the word.

They all smiled at me. Conan and Cougar hadn’t seen enough smiling humans to get all the teeth sorted out. The result was unsettling. It also made me wonder how they enunciated as well as they did.

“I guess we could start with the first Wolf Team book,” I said. “Maybe I could read for an hour before dinner tonight?” It had been a while since I’d done any reading aloud, but I thought I could do a decent job reading to the three of them.

Aggie bounced up and down and clapped her hands. As she dashed out of the room, she said, “I’ll tell my kin. They’ll pass the word.”

Kin? Word?

Conan took the second Wolf Team book and Cougar took the third before wandering off and leaving me to sort through the rest of the books Julian had tucked into the bag. I remembered seeing some of the titles in the stacks of books he’d had on the island counter. I didn’t recognize the authors or the publishers. Of course, I didn’t know Alan Wolfgard’s work either, but the name offered a clue about what he was.

Using half a piece of heavyweight writing paper, I made a tent sign, put it on one shelf in the library, and shelved the new books I’d purchased that day. As I worked, I let my thoughts wander through the events of the past forty-eight hours. A lot had happened since I called the Bristol Police Station to report a dead body.

Detectives Swinn and Reynolds were forbidden to return to The Jumble, and Ilya Sanguinati had stressed on the ride home that if Swinn or anyone working for him contacted me, I was to hang up immediately and call him. Officers Grimshaw and Osgood were exempt from that gag order, but no one else.

It seemed excessive to insist on no contact at all since I wouldn’t mind answering a question or two if it helped solve the puzzle of why the first dead man had ended up dead, but Ilya seemed to be holding back a fair amount of anger and I didn’t want it spilling over on me, so I agreed to do what he asked.

Then it struck me. He had heard what Swinn had said. I doubt he understood why it had hurt so much or why I’d gotten so churned up instead of calling Swinn an asshat and moving on, but he’d witnessed the eruption of Mount Victoria and had decided to shut down the problem by denying Swinn any access to me without him being present.

So, yay, Team Vicki.

The shelf with the new books looked so nice, I made a few more tent signs and rearranged the books I’d previously acquired. I spent a happy hour putting the books into categories so that other residents, and potential guests, of The Jumble could find specific kinds of books.

I slipped the last book into place when Aggie’s comment about having a Reader truly sank in.

Every terra indigene settlement has a Reader. I wasn’t really the proprietor of a human business. Like Honoria Dane, I was the token human who provided a valuable service by bridging the cultural gap between the Others and the residents of Sproing.

Given that the survival of humans on the continent of Thaisia depended on the Others’ feeling some tolerance toward us, bridging the cultural gap should be a good thing. Which made me wonder if the attempt to force me out was part of a plan to have a particular person replace me in order to influence the terra indigene who lived around Lake Silence—or if it was part of a plan to break any chance of peace between our species.

* * *

• • •

When in doubt, call your attorney.

I didn’t think I’d sounded urgent, but I’d barely had time to pick up my basket of gardening tools and start weeding the flower beds that bordered the screened porch when Ilya Sanguinati walked up behind me, startling me enough that I squeaked and would have fallen on my butt if he hadn’t grabbed one of my arms and hauled me to my feet.

“I didn’t hear the car.” I had to stop squeaking and develop the full-bodied scream that actors in scary movies managed to achieve. Then again, they weren’t really scared breathless, which I’m sure helped with scream volume.

“I came across the lake,” Ilya said.

“You have a boat?” I couldn’t imagine him rowing a boat or paddling a canoe, so maybe it was a little sailboat?

He laughed. “The Sanguinati’s smoke form can travel over water as easily as land, and the direct route across the lake was faster than using the car.” He waited a beat. “You had a question.”

“Every terra indigene settlement has a Reader.”

“That is a statement, not a question.”

“Aggie and the boys are excited about me being the Reader here, but I’d like to know exactly what that means.”

“Because of the sacrifice usually required to achieve it, being the Reader is a position of respect in a settlement.”

Sacrifice? What kind of sacrifice?

“Would you like to work while we talk?” he asked. “I don’t want to disrupt your schedule of chores.”

I noticed he didn’t offer to help. Then again, when the Sanguinati turned into smoke, their clothes also turned into smoke, which just added to their mystique. I had heard that the whole turning-into-smoke thing was the reason the Sanguinati always dressed in black or shades of gray. That might be something someone made up. Or it could be cultural, like Simple Life men wearing dark trousers, white shirts, and suspenders. But seeing Ilya crouch beside me as I weeded the flower bed, I really wanted to ask if it was as hard to get grass stains out of Sanguinati clothing as it was regular old human clothes.