Keys and Curses (Shadow Book 2) (39 page)

“Come along then dear.” Jane ushered Krysta to the desk set up in a cosy corner of the bookshop. Behind it was a huge poster with a picture of a freckle-faced woman with long, dark hair. Across that was scrawled Krysta’s name and the title of the book:
The Missing Muse.

Krysta sat down. “What if nobody comes in?”

“Don’t be silly dear, we do book signings for debut authors all the time, there’s always at least one person wanting a signature.”

“Just one?”

“I can’t help the way the market is. Like I said, your book is the first thing I’ve read in years that didn’t make me want to bleach my eyeballs. Maybe all the muses really are missing, who knows?”

“Oh, ha ha.”

Jane winked. “There, you’re all set up. I have to go. Is Drew going to come by and pick you up later?”

“Yeah, as soon as he finishes work.”

“Such a nice young man.”

“My mum’s going to drop in and visit too.”

“Right. I’ll see you later then.”

Krysta grinned after Jane’s retreating form. Her publisher and her mother couldn’t stand each other.

The grin dropped from her face at the sight of the first person to come teetering over clutching a copy of her book.

Pinky Freelove dropped into the chair opposite her, breathless, and laid her book on the table. “Krysta this is so exciting! I can’t wait to read your book!”

Krysta sighed, opened the book and signed it. “Thanks Pinky, I hope you like it.”

“I just know I’m going to love it, I don’t care what your mum said, it’s-”

“What? What did my mum say to you?”

Pinky’s eyes widened. She had on pink eye shadow and pastel pink lipstick, which Krysta thought was going a bit overboard, but hey, the girl liked pink. “Oh, I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“What did my mum say?” Krysta scowled at Pinky, since that had always worked in the past.

Pinky pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Fine. Let me guess. I shouldn’t have published it because bad things will happen?”

Pinky went a shade paler. “You know she–but–it’s not–”

Krysta shook her head. “Look, I know you guys are close, but you’ve got to understand, nothing bad is going to come of writing fiction, no matter what Mum says. They’re just stories.”

Pinky decompressed her lips, gave her a big smile and picked up her book. “Of course it can’t. I have to go now. Bye bye Krysta, I promise I’ll write you a good review for Teen Scream!” She waved cheerily, then trotted away as fast as her heels would let her.

Krysta breathed a sigh of relief. She was pleasantly surprised when several sane people came to get their books signed after that. She had a conversation about Tolkien with a curly-haired boy in his early twenties, talked about the weather with an old man on a walking frame, signed a book for a mother with two small children and spent ten minutes entertaining three giggly teen girls.

She was signing a book for a skinny blonde when the weird old guy walked into the shop and looked around. He was so tall he had to bend down to get through the door. He wore a tattered lime green top hat which scraped the roof, had long dark hair streaked with white and a sneer that could have shrivelled daisies. His tailcoat, pants and boots were the same lurid colour as the hat.

Their eyes met for two seconds. Then he wandered off into the bowels of the store.

“Thanks so much!” the blonde said.

Krysta blinked. “What? Oh, no worries.” She slid the signed book across the desk. The blonde’s place was taken by a ten-year-old boy.

She signed at least another five books before there was a lull. This stuff wasn’t as easy as she’d thought it would be. Being nice to people took
effort.
 

Then the old guy in the lime green slammed her book down in front of her, making her jump since she’d thought she was alone.

“What do you call this?” The words were practically a snarl.

Krysta looked from her novel to the old guy. That god-awful suit was really, really tattered. He looked like he’d been in a fight with sixteen cats. “It’s a book,” she said. “They sell them here, you know.” She pulled it towards her, opened the front cover and signed it.
Krysta Ishtar, with love.

The old guy sat down and prodded the book hard with one long, knobbly finger. “I want to know where you got your information. There’s no possible way you could have known all this.”

Freaking hell. Jane had said there’d be weird ones. Krysta sighed. “What you have in your hands is fiction. It’s made up. It’s been a long day and I’m tired, how about you just go be somewhere that’s not here?”

The old guy’s sneer intensified, causing all sorts of interesting lines to develop around his eyes. “Listen here young woman, I did not come here to listen to the obfuscations of a purple-haired-” he stopped, evidently at a loss for words, and flicked a hand at her. “You.”

“Pity.” Krysta checked behind him for someone, anyone, but the place was empty. Damn it. Shouldn’t Drew be picking her up soon?

“Don’t interrupt me.” The old guy had up a fair head of steam, by the look of him. His fist clenched and unclenched on her book.

“Fine. Do go on.” Krysta leaned back in her chair and made a mental note to add a grouchy old grandpa with hideous dress sense to her next book.

“I demand to know who you are!”

“Krysta Ishtar. Says so on my book. And my driver’s license.”

“Rubbish. There are no Ishtars in Dream and you’re far too tall to be a Bloody Fairy. Although whether you’re actually human is debatable.”

Krysta grinned. This was going to make a fun story when she got home. “Mate, you’re taking my book a bit too seriously. I think it might be past medication time, don’t you?”

He clenched his jaw, which did more interesting things to his face. Krysta had always suspected she had a talent for irritating people, but this guy was wound up tighter than a rabbit in spring.

“I want to know who told you!” he slammed a fist onto the book. “There’s no way anyone could have known about these things! It’s impossible!”

Krysta flinched when he hit the book. Things like this stopped being funny when she stopped feeling safe. “I think it’s time you left.”

“My dear girl, I’m not leaving without the identity of your informant.” He picked up the book and shook it at her. “These are state secrets in here,
my
secrets, and I will have the head of whoever is responsible for this treason!”

Where the
hell
was Drew when she needed him? Krysta was considering locking herself in the back room and calling the police when the bell on the bookshop door jangled. She closed her eyes, breathed a sigh of relief and stood up. “Drew?” Her voice rose a note higher thanks to the edge of panic the psycho in the lime green hat had induced.

“It’s only me!” a female voice called.

Krysta said a bad word under her breath. So much for the cavalry. That was her mother, whom she had no desire to put in a room with this guy.

But something had had a peculiar effect on the old man. He shot to his feet, looking as startled as if he’d been electrocuted.

“Oh good, you’re going.” Krysta grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, ready for a quick escape.

Hippy Ishtar walked into the light. She stopped several feet from the old guy. Her eyes got really, really, wide and her skin went a shade paler under her tan.

“You.” the old guy raised a quivering finger and pointed it at her. “Why aren’t you dead?”