She walked him a little distance away, into a quiet alley between an abandoned shop and a closed bar. Her eyes were on him and she backed him into a wall, gently enough that he'd not hurt himself. He'd told her he'd done nothing to her book, but was he lying? Did he know just what she was, and was only telling her what she wanted to hear so that she might not kill him? There was a way to find out. Mae dared to look him straight in the eye. She held his gaze for a few seconds, challenging him. Those eyes, those pale eyes; either he was a damn good liar, or he was telling the truth. In a single motion, Mae shoved her hands off of him and turned away.
She lingered in the alley for a moment, trying to decide on a new course of action. If he really did know nothing about her, she was safe to leave. But there was something else in his eye, some desire, and she had to be wary of that. She had gone off to bathe and then sleep; could she really rest, now that this had happened? Losing her book was a real scare, and even now that she had it back, could she release her troubles and sleep? What if this thief, who now knew the worth of her book, followed her, and attacked her when she was vulnerable? Maybe sleep wasn't a necessity quite so soon. Maybe a day awake wouldn't kill her.
She turned back to him and removed her book from her bag, cracked open to the exact page she needed. Dark eyes brushed over the page, too quickly to be reading. If he looked at the book he'd see two pages of symbols he wouldn't recognize, letters from a land no one knew. When Mae finished she snapped her book shut and looked back to him. "If we ever have a run in like this again, I really will not be so kind," she promised, a bitterness lacing her words. "I know how it goes. You need to get by, and who cares about who you screw over, so long as you wind up on top. I know that. And normally, I'd only be a little bitter. But this, this is mine, and you're not even a good thief." In her head she rehearsed the words she'd just read, a promise, a spell with his name on it. "Count your blessings, traveler, and let this be a lesson learned." With that, she turned away from him and started away.
You should have killed him. Mae tried to ignore the voices in her head, the chorus of voices that criticized her decision. She waited until she had walked out of town to address them. "Shut up," she muttered. "I don't need comments from you. He didn't know what it was. I can't kill him for that." You like him, don't you? At this Mae physically stopped and shook her head. True his eyes were the prettiest gems, but like him? Why would she? There was no redemption about him. He was some low-born, who stole from women and watched them without their knowledge, and who looked at them as if they were the most important woman in the world--no. His glance meant nothing. Chances were, he was drunk anyway, and any complimenting gaze was directed only by booze.
She started walking again, trying to remove him from her mind. No harm done. Her book was back, she was headed west, and she'd be traveling through the day. With a gentle sigh, Mae clutched her bag closer and listened to the war going on in her head.
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