My ear throbbed.  I put my hand up to tenderly touch the base of it, and pulled away when I felt a bitter stinging pain in response.  My fingertips were red with blood when I lowered them.

“Oh, I must’ve fallen ear first on a rock with some raspberries hanging over it.”

…

Okay, that won’t be as funny to you guys as it is to me unless I tell you a little anecdote from my life.

When I was in second grade, I had a friend I liked to play with. Next to her house, there was a forest filled with raspberry bushes, where we sometimes went to play in the trees. In particular, there was this one spot where a tree had fallen, lying over the ditch of what must’ve been a small stream of water at some point. Naturally, climbing on this tree was something we liked to do.

But one day, I was wearing boots after it had rained. Yeeah, bad idea. I soon went headfirst into the ditch, and in a case of oddly bad luck, landed right on the sharp corner of a motorcycle gas tank or something like that, that had been lying unnoticed in that ditch for some reason. As you might expect, my head didn’t like that and opened up a bit.

Getting up from the fall, I put my hand to my now slightly hurting head, and when I took it back down, it was covered in a bit of red. But I was seven or so and had just taken a hit to my head, so my first thought wasn’t “this is blood, I’m bleeding from my head”, but rather:

“I guess I must’ve fallen on a rock lying under some raspberries.”

Fortunately my friend was a little smarter than me and got me to come with her back to her parents. I went to the doctor and got seven stitches, and since then my head has only had the holes it’s supposed to have. 🙂

Sophia gave me a look of pure loathing, “You’re a coward, Hebert.  A rat.  You know you’re a nerd, you’re flat chested, scrawny.  Nobody likes you, nobody wants you for a friend, you’re not good at anything.  So you run, you hide, skip school, stay quiet, don’t do anything with your waste of a life.  And if things get tough, if anyone decides to have a little fun at your expense, you go crying to the people in charge, because you can’t take it.”

Geez.

You really don’t know Taylor at all.

She let go of my ear and tapped hard against the lens of my glasses as she continued, “This is your reminder that everyone has their place in life, Hebert, and you should stick to yours.  Trying to act better than you are only embarrasses you and irritates me, get it?”

Yeah, fuck you, Sophia, okay?

She yanked on my ear again, as if to make her point clear.

“Nod if you understand, and I’ll let you run off home.”

I glared up at her.

Taylor is so done with this shit these days.

My fingertips traced against the books on the bottom shelf until I found the hardcovers.  I got hold of one, pulled it free, and in the same motion, drove one of the corners of the text into Sophia’s side.

Please give her a papercut, please give her a papercut…

…am I evil for wishing that on someone?

She fell over, and I flipped onto my back to swing again, switching to a two-handed grip to add more power to the swing.  The time it had taken me to get into position for another swing, however, bought Sophia time to get out of the way.  I had Brian’s tips on fighting in mind, keeping on the offensive, and the only way to do that was to fling the hardcovered reference book at her head.  She used her arms to knock it out of the air, then winced, rubbing her arm.

This is Taylor’s chance to show what she’s learned.

Also seriously, the shopkeep really can’t be paying attention. It’s that or this shop is ten times bigger than I thought.

“What the fuck is your derangement?!” I shouted at her.  “In what twisted perspective is it all right to stalk and attack someone because they kissed a boy?”

“derangement” is a good word.

“It’s not just that,” Sophia started toward me, then stopped when I let my backpack fall to the ground and straightened, ready for another confrontation.  “You got me fucking suspended.  I don’t care about missing class, but I’m off the track team until further notice.  And it’s all because you ran off to whimper for the grown-ups.  I need that shit.”

Oh coddammit this is exactly what Taylor was trying to avoid.

“Boo fucking hoo.  If I knew it mattered that much to you, I’d have written a letter to your coach days ago, just to drive the point home and make sure you never got back on the team.”

I mean, getting them suspended on a short term basis that doesn’t do jack shit to keep them from taking revenge. That’s what’s happening here – that revenge.

But yeah, Sophia deserves what she got and more.

With both hands, using her grip on my ear and jaw, she lifted my head up and plunged it down hard against the pile of books beneath me.  It wasn’t the worst hit I’d ever taken, but it still left me reeling.

I couldn’t afford to take too many hits to my head.  Though my concussion was more or less healed, I’d be susceptible to a relapse of symptoms and future concussions for a while yet.  I just had to use my bugs to get her off me, buy myself time to get my knife and baton and…

Are you sure pulling out a knife in a mall is a good idea, even if you’re out of sight from most of it? Also, the bugs should be enough, unless she’s secretly a parahuman too. You’re not going for the kill, I’d imagine. Or rather, you won’t be, once you think a bit more about what you just told yourself.

…and then I’d be fucked.  I’d do more damage to myself in the long run, outing myself as the girl with the bug powers.  I’d never be able to go home to my dad.

Exactly.

Sophia let go of my cheek to cover my mouth with her hand.  Using this fresh hold, she wrenched my head as far to the right as it would go, so I could see her looming over me, her hair hanging down around her face.  She looked like a panther, black-skinned, savage, teeth bared just a little as she panted.

Fitting, considering black panthers are simply black specimens of three other feline species

(which can also be collectively referred to as panthers, without the “black” modifier), one of which is the leopard, the quick runner.

She wrenched my ear again, changing the direction again, and I cried out.  If she went any further, I was positive the skin would tear and the ear would come off entirely.  I struggled, but the books slid beneath my hands and knees, giving me minimal traction.

So, uh, shopkeep? Are you not hearing this fight taking place in your shop?

“And I hate losing the most when it’s to a depressing queef like you,”

That’s, uh, quite the insult you went for there.

she rocked her right hand back and forth against my cheek, as if she wanted to drive her fingernails through the skin.  Her thumbnail bit into the underside of my jaw.

Geez, this girl is pissed.

I really wish the shopkeep had seen this, so there could be a witness, so Taylor could turn the game around and charge Sophia for assault.

I have bugs inside my jeans and backpack.  I can end this.

And now Taylor is forced to make a decision. So far, she’s held back on using her power against the Harpies, but in this situation, does she have a choice? And it’s not like it would be a Carrie situation, either – this would be direct self defense.

Now, one issue is the risk of Sophia blabbing if Taylor isn’t careful with how she goes about this. She might be best off using only a few bugs, making it plausibly deniable.

I collapsed on top of a pile of books, and the white-hot pain surrounding my ear was so overwhelming I wasn’t entirely sure if my ear was still being held or not.  A knee pressed against my side with enough force I had little doubt that most or all of my attacker’s body weight was on top of me.  Long fingernails stabbed into my cheek, forcing the skin in between and against my teeth, as my assailant gripped the side of my jaw.

Long fingernails often implies female, though not universally.

It being Bakuda would be ridiculous. Even if she did survive the Interlude, she’s not exactly the type to break out of prison quietly. Taylor would’ve heard about it in the news.

It not only forced my mouth painfully open with the pressure of my cheek against my own teeth, but it pressed my face hard against the pile of books beneath me.   My cry of protest was reduced to an incomprehensible, muffled noise, which became a primal groan as my ear was twisted again, the opposite direction as before.

Whoever this is seems to like twisting ears as an assault tactic.

“Something you should know about me,” Sophia’s voice was dulcet, “The reason I’m such a good runner?  It’s not that I’m driven to win.  It’s that I really, really hate losing.”

Oh hey, it was her.

Well then. Mayyybe antagonizing her wasn’t the best idea after all.

But only in retrospect.

I found the Instructional section and spotted the item I’d come into the store for in one of the stacks on a lower shelf.  Dog Psychology: The Basis of Dog Training.

Oooh, that’s a good idea. Research on that ought to help massively with understanding Rachel.

With minimal experience being around dogs, I needed more information, if I was going to continue relating with Bitch.  I’d known I wanted a book on the topic of how dogs thought & related to others, and I was glad to have found it.

Knowledge is power, or in this case, social skill.

Kind of.

I tucked the book under one arm, then picked up another book on tailoring, as a possible reference for future costume design.  Flipping through it, I wasn’t too impressed.  I checked out another.

My thoughts froze as a hand touched my hair.  I belatedly remembered Brian.

Ah, right, he was going to meet up with her here once he was done.

…pretty much the opposite of what I predicted seems to have happened here – I thought she’d be too preoccupied with composing her explanation to properly focus on the books, but instead she got so preoccupied with the books that she seems to have forgotten to work on the explanation.

I tried and failed to organize my thoughts.  I’d forgotten to plan out what to say to him, and what would he be doing touching my hair?

That’s also a good question. Either he’s being particularly affectionate, or this isn’t Brian.

The latter option is a little skeevier.

I started to turn around, only for the hand to seize my ear and wrench it hard enough to make my legs buckle at the pain.

Well, shit.

Definitely not Brian.

I was shoved over and my body’s weight and momentum weren’t enough to pull my ear free from my attacker’s grip, with the skin joining my ear to my head paying the price.

Owww.

I felt like my skin was tearing, and I couldn’t even scream as my breath hitched in my throat.

😦

So, options:

– Brian. Nope.

– The shopkeeper. Not likely, as Taylor hasn’t done anything suspicious and the attacker hasn’t said anything.

– One of the Harpies. This kind of direct attack doesn’t seem like their style, and the ear grab sounds too advanced.

– An Empire Eighty-Eight member. How would they recognize Taylor? Does the Empire know her civilian identity somehow?

Hm…

The sole occupant of the store was an elderly black man that sat behind the counter, leaning back in a chair with his hands folded on his stomach.  The television played a little too loudly for the store’s old school atmosphere.  Some courtroom show.

The person behind the counter being elderly does not help to dissuade the magic book shop feel.

What he’s doing kind of does, though, just a little.

After checking out the selection of fantasy books in the middle of the store, I navigated my way to the back, keeping an eye on the signs identifying each section.  The Romance section had way too many books in it.  So did Mystery, as far as I was concerned.  Both genres tended to be a little too repetitive and samey for my tastes.

Yeah, I can’t argue there.

As I disappeared behind a row of shelves, the man at the counter called out, gruff, “Don’t be shoplifting because you think I’m not paying attention!”

Not the most trusting of people, eh? Fair enough.

“Alright!” I called back, feeling silly as I said it.  I wasn’t sure how else to respond.

Hehe.

Plot twist: The rest of Worm follows Taylor as she reads The Neverending Story.

In short, as much as I liked his company, liked him, I was glad for the break and the chance to calm down and get my thoughts sorted, so I could handle it when the conversation happened.

Good luck.

The used bookstore wasn’t organized in the slightest.

None of the organization. None of it.

I actually kinda like it being phrased like this instead of “disorganized”. It really paints a vivid picture – “disorganized” implies it’s not very organized, but “not organized in the slightest” is on a whole other level of disorganization.

There was a heavy musty smell, and the racks were organized haphazardly.  There were fantasy books and science fiction both classified under ‘fantasy’, which irked me, and non fiction was one broad category that took up an entire wall.

This store is a librarian’s nightmare.

If there was a system to sort the books, I couldn’t see it, and many of the shelves had books on their sides, stacked atop one another, sometimes two or three layers deep.  Some of the fuller shelves had books stacked on the ground in front of them, requiring careful steps to avoid knocking anything over or stepping on a stray book.

You might want to avoid buying something here, Taylor. This feels like one of those dusty little bookstores that always just so happen to contain at least one or two magical books, for better or worse.