Then, as was his way, even now, the softness in his face ebbed a bit. “And now that we have that settled, I find that I am overdue in a trip to my favorite antiquarian bookstore.”
Maia knew the one he spoke of, of course. “No more trips to buy Faustian legend, I presume?”
“No indeed,” he said, a little bit of a smile twitching his mouth again. “But I find I am missing several volumes of Shakespeare. In fact, I’m particularly interested in one comedy in particular.” His eyes danced.
“And which one is that?” she asked, although she was already laughing, for she knew the answer.
“The Taming of the Shrew.”
The little antiquarian bookshop was gone.
Gavril wasn’t surprised.
In the place where Wayren’s narrow little establishment had once been was a window that showed nothing but the interior of the tannery.
After a moment of wry contemplation, and peering into the dusty window to see the tanner stropping a piece of leather, Gavril turned away. Instead of climbing back into his carriage, ducking under the fanlike awning, he walked down the street in the sun.
Smiling.