person live for awhile, so I don’t want you acting independently on this.”
Leander politely agreed to Scanlon’s instructions, and was soon making his respectful farewells. He found his own way back to the front door, where the butler was lurking to let him out, no doubt to be certain he didn’t stick around and try to steal the silver.
He climbed into his car feeling a certain satisfaction. He’d tested himself against a world class Reader, and the man had ended up not disliking him. Given the things Leander had been deliberately thinking, that was quite an accomplishment. And he was interested in the job. That was a good thing, because as a general rule, he didn’t like to do more than two or three jobs a year. But this one had promise. He relished the idea of getting the better of such an insanely over-powered Keeper like Thorvaldson. And if he was lucky, the girlfriend would be a good enough Reader to offer him a challenge. He had little doubt he would find a way to infiltrate the group of friends, especially since Scanlon wasn’t in a big hurry. Still, he bet himself he could get the first in by the second meeting.
Leander went home to his rented loft in Pioneer Square to have lunch and change for his planned trip to McClain’s bookstore. He settled on an older pair of jeans, a lavender dress shirt with French cuffs, topped with a vintage black velveteen jacket. He pulled the cuffs of the shirt out to drip out over his hands, admired the affect in the full length mirror in his bedroom, then sat on the bed to pull on a pair of short black leather boots that showed some wear. He checked himself in the mirror once more, considering his look and how it might play with Bruce McClain. Hard to tell a lot from a picture, but given the beard and the Mexican blanket-looking hoodie, Leander was betting the man was the granola hippie type. With that in mind, he rummaged in the inlaid wood box in his dresser and came up with a pewter ankh symbol on a leather cord and fastened it around his neck. There, perfect. Iconoclastic, interesting without looking too fashion conscious. He gathered his wallet and keys, checked his laptop on the way out to confirm the address and directions, and made his way out of his building to the parking garage down the street where he kept his car.
He attracted a following of pigeons on the way. He was fond of pigeons, of their subtle iridescent markings, their ridiculous head bobble as they strutted on the grey pavement of the downtown neighborhood. He gave a subtle wave of his hand to send them flying when they gathered too densely around him. He seemed to be particularly attractive to this kind of bird, and it made him stand out too much to have them so obviously following him.
The drive to the neighborhood housing McClain’s bookstore, the Raven’s Nest, was a pleasant one. Leander took the old Highway 99 past the downtown waterfront and across the Aurora Bridge, from which span he could see both of the mountain ranges that cradled Seattle between them. The Olympics were half shrouded in clouds, but the Cascades were mostly in the clear, showing a nice white dusting of snow along their tops. He continued on past Green Lake and exited shortly thereafter, making his way to the top of a hill crowned by his destination, Greenwood Avenue. He finally located the bookstore, tucked in between a women’s clothing boutique and a game store.
It was a small storefront, but the store extended quite a ways back. There were wood floors and wood bookcases, both tall ones running floor to ceiling along the walls, and half sized ones breaking up the space and defining the store into subject sections. What wall space could be seen was a light, sunny yellow. Leander could see steps in the back of the store leading up to what appeared to be a children’s section, complete with floor pillows and a few toys scattered around. With a name like ‘Raven’s Nest,’ he’d been expecting
Leander politely agreed to Scanlon’s instructions, and was soon making his respectful farewells. He found his own way back to the front door, where the butler was lurking to let him out, no doubt to be certain he didn’t stick around and try to steal the silver.
He climbed into his car feeling a certain satisfaction. He’d tested himself against a world class Reader, and the man had ended up not disliking him. Given the things Leander had been deliberately thinking, that was quite an accomplishment. And he was interested in the job. That was a good thing, because as a general rule, he didn’t like to do more than two or three jobs a year. But this one had promise. He relished the idea of getting the better of such an insanely over-powered Keeper like Thorvaldson. And if he was lucky, the girlfriend would be a good enough Reader to offer him a challenge. He had little doubt he would find a way to infiltrate the group of friends, especially since Scanlon wasn’t in a big hurry. Still, he bet himself he could get the first in by the second meeting.
Leander went home to his rented loft in Pioneer Square to have lunch and change for his planned trip to McClain’s bookstore. He settled on an older pair of jeans, a lavender dress shirt with French cuffs, topped with a vintage black velveteen jacket. He pulled the cuffs of the shirt out to drip out over his hands, admired the affect in the full length mirror in his bedroom, then sat on the bed to pull on a pair of short black leather boots that showed some wear. He checked himself in the mirror once more, considering his look and how it might play with Bruce McClain. Hard to tell a lot from a picture, but given the beard and the Mexican blanket-looking hoodie, Leander was betting the man was the granola hippie type. With that in mind, he rummaged in the inlaid wood box in his dresser and came up with a pewter ankh symbol on a leather cord and fastened it around his neck. There, perfect. Iconoclastic, interesting without looking too fashion conscious. He gathered his wallet and keys, checked his laptop on the way out to confirm the address and directions, and made his way out of his building to the parking garage down the street where he kept his car.
He attracted a following of pigeons on the way. He was fond of pigeons, of their subtle iridescent markings, their ridiculous head bobble as they strutted on the grey pavement of the downtown neighborhood. He gave a subtle wave of his hand to send them flying when they gathered too densely around him. He seemed to be particularly attractive to this kind of bird, and it made him stand out too much to have them so obviously following him.
The drive to the neighborhood housing McClain’s bookstore, the Raven’s Nest, was a pleasant one. Leander took the old Highway 99 past the downtown waterfront and across the Aurora Bridge, from which span he could see both of the mountain ranges that cradled Seattle between them. The Olympics were half shrouded in clouds, but the Cascades were mostly in the clear, showing a nice white dusting of snow along their tops. He continued on past Green Lake and exited shortly thereafter, making his way to the top of a hill crowned by his destination, Greenwood Avenue. He finally located the bookstore, tucked in between a women’s clothing boutique and a game store.
It was a small storefront, but the store extended quite a ways back. There were wood floors and wood bookcases, both tall ones running floor to ceiling along the walls, and half sized ones breaking up the space and defining the store into subject sections. What wall space could be seen was a light, sunny yellow. Leander could see steps in the back of the store leading up to what appeared to be a children’s section, complete with floor pillows and a few toys scattered around. With a name like ‘Raven’s Nest,’ he’d been expecting
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