Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(71)

“Ah, neither, exactly.” The weasel shifted his weight under the burden of her sweet regard. “I might move here though. I’m job-hunting.”

“Ugh, I don’t think anyone enjoys looking for work. What’s your occupation? No, wait, let me guess.” She tilted her head. “Hmm. Maybe a teacher?”

Terrifying thought.

“Ah, no. I’m—”

“Phooey. Let me see your hands.” Laughing merrily, she took one hand and looked at the back, then turned it over to study the palm. “My sister and I pretended to read fortunes at Halloween. Let’s see… Your Mount of Venus is on the flatter side, so you’re less influenced by emotions.

The human grinned. “Probably right.”

“So, maybe business?” Vicki frowned. “Or, no—the Mounts of Mars, inner and outer, show you’re brave and into adventurous stuff. Maybe a ski instructor? White-water rafting? Or there are soldiers who have strong Mounts of Mars.”

The twitch of his lower lip was like a shout, before the human grinned. “Sorry, ma’am. Nothing so interesting. I’m just a minimum-wage guy. I can run a cash register, stock shelves, do bartending, and wait tables. Basic shit.” All places where people congregated.

“Speaking of cash registers”—the weasel turned to Owen—“any chance the old guy here is hiring?”

“Sorry, it’s a one man operation.” Owen shook his head. “I don’t know anyone who’s looking for workers right now.”

Vicki tapped a finger on her lips. “Let me think. Maybe over at the B&B? No, I think they’re good. Or the grocery. No, he prefers to hire high school kids. The tavern only has barmaids, which does seem rather sexist, don’t you think?”

Gawain stared. Had she just accused the Cosantir of being sexist?

“I’m not gonna point any fingers,” Owen said with a grin. “I think the tavern owner keeps a shotgun behind the bar.”

Vicki’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sure that’s just a rumor.”

Gawain watched in awe. When Vicki’d mentioned her past as a spy, he hadn’t taken her seriously. He should have.

As she babbled away, acting as if she had fewer brains than a tree sprite, the Scythe agent relaxed and leaned against the counter, obviously hoping for tidbits.

“The gas station…well, they use their own kids…and, although teens always insist they’re overworked, I don’t think some practical experience hurts a child. Have you noticed how whiny the next generation is about doing a bit of work?”

“No shit.” The human nodded, totally pulled into the conversation.

“My kid isn’t going to be lazy,” Vicki said with a decided pat on her big belly.

“Good to hear.” The weasel smiled. “Are you going to have a boy or a girl?”

“Oh, my husband doesn’t want to know. He wants to be surprised.” Vicki pouted. “I think he’s awfully unfair. How am I supposed to know whether to decorate the nursery in blue or pink? Or what color of baby clothes to get?” The color of the baby’s room was obviously the most important concern in her life.

“Maybe you should go for green or beige,” Gawain suggested.

She gave him a shocked stare. “What’s the fun in that?”

“Wait till you get married, bro. You’ll learn how important women consider these things,” Owen told him knowledgeably—as if he’d ever spoken to a female outside of a Gathering.

Gawain managed not to laugh.

“Well, I’m blathering on. I just popped in to grab some decaf coffee, although I have to say, if there’s no caffeine in the coffee, it’s not nearly as satisfying. But my doctor is all full of telling me how caffeine is bad for the baby and how a sip of wine will make her—or him—be born with no brains or something.”

No, she wasn’t merely good; she was brilliant.

As the human edged away from her, she leaned forward and patted his arm. “I’m afraid I can’t think of anyone looking to hire. But best of luck in finding a job.”

Having somehow acquired a disarming waddle, she walked toward the rear of the store.

The Scythe agent picked up his book. “Doesn’t look like I’m going to find a job here. I guess I’ll try the next town down the road.”

“Those are the breaks,” Gawain said. “Good jobs are tough to come by.”

Owen merely nodded.

As the door closed behind the human, Vicki wandered back with a cup in hand and nary a waddle. Sneaky female.

“Nice act,” Owen said.

Gawain watched the human cross the street, climb into his van, and drive away. “That’s it? We’re just going to let him go?”

“Actually, no,” Vicki said. “My job was to stall him long enough for Wells to place a tracker under his bumper. He’ll have people monitoring where the bastard goes.”

“Perfect.” Owen gave her an approving nod.

The bell rang as Thorson shoved the door open. The old werecat stopped and sniffed. “Damned stinking human. I’ll be smelling him all day.”

“Poor Joe.” Vicki patted his arm. “Wells is in town and said he’ll be by later. He wanted to be sure you still had his favorite French roast.”