Page 69 of Blood of a Huntsman

Paper and Needles

It so happened that Chloe didn't want to spar tonight. Cat received a raven right after her business lesson.

"Hey! I have a race with Tris and the others tonight. Sparring tomorrow?"

Cat groaned, scribbling on the other side of the note before sending the bird right back.

"Sure, in the evening. I'll be out during the day."

She was annoyed at herself for turning down dinner with Sebastian tonight.

By the time Cat reached Adairford, the bird was back.

"You wanna meet us for drinks at the Snuggy Snot after? We should be done by eight."

Cat sent a quick yes, and after debating the issue, asked the bird, "Can your master send another message for me?"

The raven chirped something that sounded like an agreement.

"Good. To Bash—Sebastian Venari."

She pulled out a piece of paper and wrote, "Snuggy Snot, 8—A Pretty Girl."

Cat entered the printer’s shop in town feeling quite greedy.

There were only a few businesses in Adairford, selling the kind of stuff college students stuck so far from civilization would find necessary. A pub—most of them were of age, after all, although a few geniuses in their teens had entered the Institute a time or two. A sports apparel store, essential for their intense training. A few clothing stores, a pharmacy, an apothecary that sold most of the ingredients needed for the crafting of spells, and, of course, a printer. Personal home printers worked well enough for notes and exercises, but most people liked to make their reports pretty.

In her six months here, Cat had become a regular. She liked binding her documents and using nice, heavy-grained paper.

"Oh, hello there!"

"Mrs. Lowery. I hope I didn’t catch you at an inconvenient time."

The owner of Thin Tree was a plump sixty-year-old with long white hair. The store looked a lot like a cozy living room, with a foyer and an armchair close to the fireplace where she liked to knit.

Mrs. Lowery's sister taught spells to post-grads. She also liked to knit, but her knitting involved needles crossing in mid-air in the corner of the classroom while she taught. Cat had heard a rumor that in the winter, the woman distributed scarves, gloves, and sweaters to everyone in town.

"Oh, shush. You could never disturb me. Let me just get that knot right, and then I'll be with you shortly. You want to pick your binding while I work? I got new colors in."

"Oh, I'm not here to print a lesson. Don't mind me, I'll just look at your displays for a minute."

She paged through the printer's catalogue and chose a thick pink paper. Cat pulled out her computer and adapted the design she'd been working on to fit the paper’s circular shape.

She'd kept things simple: the doodle of a teapot and a cup in one corner, then a short, "You're convivially invited for afternoon tea at Number Three, Night Hill, on Sunday at four. RSVP by Friday."

She'd signed the invitation by hand to make it look a little more personal. Having the tea this Sunday didn’t leave much notice, but the term ended tomorrow. They had a six-week summer break after that. Cat, always the overachiever, wanted to get the ball rolling before most of Oldcrest returned home for the summer.

"Oh! Afternoon tea. And on the hill, too. How delightful, dear. In my day, I would have squealed for something quite as exciting."

"You studied here?" Cat asked, somewhat surprised.

The older woman laughed. "No, I think not. I was never the studious one. But I was born here. My mother used to own this shop, and her father, and his mother before that, back since the days when we would be copying the speeches the lords of the hill gave us. I went away for high school, and then came right back. There's something about this place. It's impossible to leave. The rest of the world feels wild. And dirty."

Cat understood what she meant. The air was clear here—they barely used cars, and no factories were near.

Oldcrest might have been a little quiet if not for the company of many young sups. And hot teachers. And the occasional attack. Plus the underlying threats from many sides.

Come to think of it, Oldcrest wasn't quiet at all.

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