Jade Mouse

Chapter 11

“Talia,” I said, my voice the barest whisper of stunned disbelief.

My mystery thief was . . .

Her?

I felt my heart suddenly begin pounding in my chest, as though it hadn't been busy pumping blood a mere moment ago. That made some sense I supposed . . .

Most things stopped working properly when they were breaking.

Talia smirked.

“I'm 'pretty solid for a Talia', am I? Well,” she said with an arch little grin, “I do try to keep fit . . .”

Okay.

Angry now.

The wry look fled from her face upon seeing my newest expression, and I sent her flying back against the wall with a slight shove, knife still pressed against her bare neck, our faces inches apart.

“What in the name of Belial's gigantic backside do you think you're doing!?” I growled at her through clenched teeth.

“Helping you, obviously,” she sniffed, eyes disdainfully looking down her nose at the metal gleaming against her windpipe. “Of course, lately I've been asking myself why I bother . . . and that knife you've got really isn't clearing things up for me at all. I mean, honestly, it's like-”

“Help?!” I practically shouted.

“Yes. 'Help'. You're familiar with the word, I'm sure. I know it probably sounds dirty to you, knowing how you prefer to do everything yourself, but-”

“How?” I shoved her again for emphasis. “How is it you could possibly think that what you're doing – stirring up the others like this – is helping me?! Did you figure I needed practice defending myself against rich and angry Lords in the throes of a murderous rage?! Did you perchance think my life was too boring?!”

“Well, perhaps if I could get a full sentence in, possibly have that knife removed from my neck, I could explain what I-”

She froze, mouth half open.

Her eyes did the most remarkable thing, then. First, they widened with realization, accompanied by her mouth making a moue of surprise. Then, her eyes went very wide, and a ghost of a moment later they narrowed to slits and fixed me with a look of such intense anger that I momentarily forgot I was the one holding a knife.

I think she may have forgotten as well.

“Oh,” she said in a dangerous tone, shaking her head slowly as she curled her lip at me very un-prettily, fingertip pressed against my chest accusingly. “Oh, of course that's what you would think. You. Stupid. Ass!”

She started jabbing me with each word as she spoke, and she leaned forward angrily, seeming to grow taller as she did.

I found myself stepping back and not entirely realizing why, my knife-hand retreating slightly.

“Of course, that's just what you do - I'm only now starting to get it,” she pressed, continuing to inch forward. “You're just so brilliant that the first notion that pops into your head must be correct! You don't even have to stop to think. Like in my bedroom, when you automatically assumed that the books on my dresser were nothing more than a collection of tawdry romances, or flighty tales of make-believe, the kind that might be read by some silly girl!” She jabbed twice more, fiercely, emphasizing her last two words.

“Uh . . .” I started weakly.

“Why even consider the possibility that those books were useful? Perhaps valuable?” she said, continuing to needle my chest with her finger, “Or that their owner might have had a Lord or two in her family tree somewhere? Hmmm? Indeed, why bother? I'm just some dizzy keepmistress, after all!”