Chapter Text
The melodic keystrokes of a classical music drifted from the speakers weaving through the towering shelves of The Anchorite’s Archive as rain began to patter against the foggy, antique glass of the large front window. It was peaceful. Quite. Precisely how Harrow liked it. She found herself easily falling into an easy flow as she continued to re-shelve books. Despite the amount of work it meant for her, with the holidays right around the corner she needed to make sure the shop was ready. For some reason hole in the wall book shops had been growing increasingly popular with the general populace which, while great for business, was not great for Harrow’s antisocial constitution.
But she had chosen this life of her own free will. When she inherited the shop from her parents she could have just as well sold it, and she for a short time she had had half a mind to. However, after some time she realized her feelings towards her parents had nothing to do with the shop. In fact, the shop had been the one place of solace she had found in her younger years. The smell of old leather and aged paper, the tall, heavy polished wood shelves at times packed so tightly you could hardly focus on a single title, it was a comfort to her.
Crux and Aiglamene, old family friends, had been more than willing to help Harrow in the beginning. She was still a child, after all, and had no idea how to run a shop, and like hell she would hire some random person she didn't know to help. Even if she wasn’t particularly affectionate towards them, she was grateful for them.
She was suddenly jarred from her meandering thought as the song shifted to a much more dramatic instrumental classic. Starting at the shift she cried out as her ladder wobbled, causing her to drop the book in her hand as she reached out to steady herself against the bookshelf. Ducking her head and taking a breath she gathered herself and descended.
"This won’t do. Far too energetic for today.” She mumbled to herself as she reached the counter and grabbed her phone to change the song.
She set her phone back next to the speaker as a soft waltz began playing. Then was as good a time as ever for a break, so she reached for her cardboard to-go cup from the cafe next door. She took a sip only for her lips to be met with entirely too cold tea.
“Drat.” She glared down at the unassuming cup as if it had offended her honor and with a sigh she set it bock on the counter. Weaving around a display table she worked her way back to the ladder and the stack of books that needed sorting. It didn’t take her long to get back into the rhythm as she swayed, carefully, along to the calming music. Just her, her books, and calming music. What more could a woman ask for?
The rest of the morning passed quietly. A few customers came to browse the overstuffed, but meticulously organized shelves but only a few bought something. A few hours into the day Harrow sold a near mint illustrated copy of Sappho’s poems to a woman that tried to tell Harrow how it was a wedding gift - of which Harrow politely told her she needed to get back to work. Then, just after she’d opened back up after lunch, she purchased a signed copy of Neil Gaiman’s Good Omens from a kindly old man who asked for cash. Harrow didn’t mind, having managed to turn a profit between the two. She’d feel sorry for the fact that people clearly did not know the true value of the books they brought in, except that it wasn’t her fault they didn’t do their due diligence before coming to her. While she refused to take advantage of her customers, she was, at the end of the day, trying to keep the shop open, so she offered what she believed was fair.
As the afternoon wore on, the rain turned to sleet and Harrow was glad she had plenty to keep her busy. The small bell that hug on the door clanged against the bar that held it as it flew up from the impact of someone suddenly opened it. There was a hushed curse then a shuffle as the door was then gently closed.
Irritation mounting at the interruption of what had been a mostly lovely afternoon, Harrow ducked out of the Young Adult Fiction section to find out what inconsiderate fool had just barreled her shop. As her scowl settled upon the newcomer, her steps stilled, and, for the moment, so did her irritation.
The woman who entered posed a striking figure. She had to be nearly six feet tall, broad shouldered and tanned skinned. What caught Harrow, however, was the liquid golden eyes that flashed to her, followed by an equally bright and apologetic smile. A pair of black over-ear headphones hung around her neck and Harrow could hear them blaring some sort of garish music that mixed poorly with her own. The woman’s worn overcoat was dark brown and spattered with wet spots from the rain outside. It only took Harrow a moment to regain her irritation as she noticed that the woman’s black boots were dragging dirt and water into her shop. The woman ran a hand through her shocking red hair and let out a breathy laugh.
“Sorry ‘ bout that, miss. Slipped.” She jutted a thumb behind her at the door. “Sleet sucks. Make up your mind, rain or snow, yanno? It’s both and worse than either.”
Harrow looked back up at the newcomer. “Wipe your feet. If you have any questions I’m in the young adult section.”
Turning on her heel, her skirt tangling momentarily between her legs she quickly reached down to adjust it then disappeared back into the sea of shelves. Harrow heard a muffled ‘Uh thanks.’ as she picked up the stack of books started back toward the Young Adult section.
There was a distinct thud and drag as the woman wiped her feet on the mat — Thank God — and Harrow listened as the woman moved to a different part of the store. It was strange, despite the music playing Harrow could hear her every step and movement. It was obnoxious, to be so loud in a place that most saw fit to go as far as to barely whisper when they spoke to each other. Then again, some people lacked tact and basic decency. She was bound to run into one of such poor manners eventually.
Despite trying not to, Harrow continued to listen as she worked, once or twice hearing a fumble and a curse as the woman seemed to be unable to even hold a book properly as they hit the ground. Harrow flinched. What was the saying Crux used to say about people like her? Bull in a china shop. Peeking around the corner Harrow watched as the woman picked the book up and put it back on the shelf — hopefully in the correct place — and shuffled off to a different section.
Another ten or so minutes passed before Harrow heard the familiar ding of the counter bell. Rising from the floor she brushed off her skirt and approached the counter, against which the woman was leaning.
Harrow settled herself behind the register and looked down at the items the woman had selected. It was a single book titled “The Art of Sword Combat: A 1568 German Treatise on Swordmanship”.
“Sword fighting?” Harrow found herself asking, puzzled. She didn't even know she had books about the subject, let alone anyone would be interested in them.
The woman shrugged, leaning her forearms on the counter. “Dunno. Looked cool.”
Harrow glanced up, studying the stranger's face. The woman looked to be around Harrow’s age but that’s where any similarity between the two of them ended. While Harrow was a starless sky in the middle of winter, this woman was a tropical island in the peak of summer. Turning her attention to her terminal as she looked up the book.
Broad forearms leaned on the counter. “Nice little shop you got here. Cozy.”
“Thank you.” Harrow kept her eyes on the screen.
“You work here long or?” Was this woman really trying to make conversation with her? It was bad enough she came in and caused a scene. The last thing Harrow wanted was to have a conversation.
“It’s been in my family a long time. So yes. Quite some time.”
“Ooooh. Inheritance then?” Harrow shot her a glare, to which the woman straightened, holding up her hands. “Sorry not trying to assume anything. You just have an ‘I’m the owner not a lowly employee’ vibe. There's also that "In memory of plaque tucked in the back of the true crime section.”
Harrow narrowed her eyes at her. She was sharp, Harrow would give her that. “Yes. I inherited it. Thirty four twenty seven please.”
“Thirty four? Oh!” The woman looked puzzled for a moment before realizing Harrow was asking her to pay. Perhaps she wasn’t as sharp as Harrow had presumed. “Do you take card?”
Harrow reached out and tapped the small device on the counter. As the woman paid, Harrow wrapped and bagged the book to protect it from the poor weather outside. The woman grabbed the bag, flashing another toothy smile. “Thanks. I’m Gideon by the way.”
Harrow gave her a tight lipped smile, quickly reaching her limit of human interaction for the day. It was clear, however, that this Gideon was looking for her name in return.
“Harrowhark.” She offered, just wandering to be done with it.
“Harrowhark? Huh. Interesting name.”
“And Gideon is a man’s name.” Harrow snapped back, and watched as the redhead cringed.
“Sorry didn’t mean interesting as in bad, just…different. And yeah. Long story, which you probably don't want to hear.”
“You are correct. I have lots of work to do. Is there anything else I can help you with?” She folded her hands on the counter.
“Right. Yeah, no I’m good. Looking forward to this.” Gideon held up her bag. “Thanks. Have a good one.”
Harrow let out a short hum as she watched Gideon leave the store, grateful when she was finally alone again. Just her, her books, and Chopin. It was all she needed.
She had all but forgotten about Gideon as the week progressed. The weather outside continued to lower into the grasp of winter and one morning when she woke up she almost immediately knew it was going to be a terrible day. As she slid out of her bed she was immediately met with an ice cold wooden floor, the air around not much warmer. Whipping her blanket off her bed she wrapped it tightly around herself and went to check on the radiator, nothing. Slowly picking her way downstairs through the shop, then into the basement she was met with a completely silent boiler. She tried everything she knew — which was a very small number of things that mostly involved smacking it with various implements — but to no avail.
Feeling defeated, she dragged herself upstairs and began her morning routine as best she could, opting to skip washing her hair that morning to keep herself from freezing entirely. Her teeth were still chattering from the cold shower as she descended the stairs once more. The bookshop was just as cold, perhaps even colder, and she cursed her fate. She had half a mind to not open but with the holiday season starting up the loss of sales from not being open would be a problem.
Flipping the open sign light on, she settled onto the stool that she had tucked behind the counter, contemplating if the cold was enough of an issue to call a repairman for or if it would eventually sort itself out. This wasn’t the first time the boiler failed on her and typically after a day or two it would start working again. She could hold out. There was no reason to waste the money.
It only took about twenty minutes before she was back on her feet and moving about the store. She had a shipment coming in later in the day but for the moment she had very little to do so she ended up simply pacing the aisles, trying to warm her small body up.
Eventually the bell chimed as her first customer of the day entered. She didn’t see who it was at first but when they spoke Harrow recognized it immediately.
“Holy shit it's cold as a witches tit in here.”
With a sigh Harrow came around the shelves. “Do you even know what that means?”
Gideon blinked at her, pushing up a pair of obnoxious aviator sunglasses onto the top of her head. “Uh, that it’s really fucking cold?”
“I meant the idiom? “
Gideon looked at her, completely lost.
Harrow rolled her eyes and moved to behind the counter as she wrapped her arms around herself and sat. “Nevermind. The heater is broken, I apologize for the inconvenience. You can always come back another day when it decides to work again.”
“Why not call someone? Temperature’s gonna drop even lower tonight. They said it might snow. You probably don’t wanna be without it.”
“I can manage. I have more important priorities. Now are you here to buy another book or comment on how I take care of my shop?”
Gideon held her hands up in surrender. “Sorry. Just trying to help.” She paused, an expression Harrow couldn’t place crossing her face as she rubbed the back of her neck. “I could — I can take a look at it if you want.”
Harrow raised an eyebrow. “And what qualifications do you have to fix a broken boiler?”
Shrugging Gideon shoved her hands in her pockets. “My ma is good at fixin’ stuff. Always said how it saved money to learn how to do it yourself and something about being self-reliant. We had an old boiler and it broke all the time, so she taught me and my cousin how to fix it. Lots of other stuff too.”
That was a lot of information that seemed only mildly relevant, but it did answer her question.
Harrow pulled her arms tighter around herself as the cold continued to seep in despite the layers she wore. “What would you want in exchange?”
“Coffee date?” Gideon winked, flashing a lopsided grin at Harrow, then laughed as Harrow glared daggers at her. She held up her hands, speaking through her laugh. “I’m kidding. I dunno, got any more sword books?”
“Fresh out.” Harrow replied flatly, trying to ignore the way her pulse had quickened at Gideon’s ‘joke’.
“Okay how about this.” Gideon stepped up to the counter, rubbing her hands together then blew into them before shoving them into her jacket pockets. “I do the work, we see what it takes then we’ll agree on a price point and I’ll get something up to that point?”
Harrow studied Gideon’s face for any trace of mischief, but found none. She was honest to God trying to strike a deal. “I suppose that’s fair.”
Smiling Gideon’s hand jutted out, Harrow looked at it for a moment, then took it and gave it a single, firm shake before letting go and sliding off her stool. “Follow me.”
She led Gideon down the stairs into the basement, halfway down she realized the predicament this could put her in. While she knew this woman’s name, she had no idea who she was. She could be a murderer for all Harrow knew and she was leading her down into the perfect place to not be found for a very long time. Shaking her head, Harrow pushed away the idea, it was ridiculous She’d been reading too many true crime books and made a promise to herself to take a break from them.
They got to the back of the basement where the boiler was located. Gideon stepped up next to her, hands on hips and let out a low whistle.
“Wow this thing is ancient.”
“The building has been in my family for a long time. Can you fix it or not?” Harrow didn’t have time for Gideon’s opinions on the state of anything she owned.
“Hold your horses, ice queen, give me a bit of time to try. I have a few ideas.” She stepped up to the pipes, examining them. “How many stories this place got?”
“This basement. Two floors. And an attic but there’s no radiators up there.”
“Living quarters above or offices? Storage?”
“I don’t see why that matters.”
Gideon sighed, turning back to Harrow. “Look Harrowhark, the more info I have the better I can help you.”
“Living quarters.” She replied shortly.
“See? Was that so hard?” She turned back to the pipes before Harrow had a chance to react, pushing back her sleeves and stooping to look at some of the dials. “Okay, give me some time and I’ll see what I can do.”
“I shall be in the shop.”
“Sounds good.
Harrow began to make her way to the stairs and paused. “Harrow.”
Gideon looked over her shoulder. “What?”
“Call me Harrow. Harrowhark makes me feel like I’m back in the Academy.”
Gideon blinked at her with those bright, golden eyes. Were they contacts? They seemed so unnatural, but suited Gideon’s face perfectly. Some strange genetic mutation maybe? Gideon smiled. “Oh. Yeah sure, Harrow. No problem.”
Gideon then turned back to her work humming something softly that Harrow couldn't place. She stood at the foot of the stairs for a beat more than ascended back up to the bookshop. It was a risk, getting any sort of help from Gideon. She seemed the sort that once you let her in, it was impossible to shake her. Harrow needed to make sure that never happened. She had carved out a quiet, comfortable existence here for herself and she wasn’t about to let some red-headed menace ruin that. She had been through far too much to lose her peace.
At first Harrow considered returning to behind the counter, but as she looked out the window and past the lettering of the shop, the ground was wet with sleet again and the sky was growing darker by the minute. It was her favorite sort of reading weather.
Scanning the shelves she found herself a copy of The Little Paris Bookshop and settled into one of several armchairs she had placed around the shop. The next time the door dinged Harrow began to stand but settled back down as she recognized the familiar short brown hair and clouded glasses of Palamedes Sextus. He was an old college schoolmate of hers and had managed to land a tenured Professor job there as well. He was one of few people Harrow would ever consider more than an acquaintance, though it had taken her years to finally consider him a friend. But she was twenty eight and denying the familiar bond they had grown to have would be foolish of her. She was fond of him, even if she wouldn’t say it aloud. He was also the only other person who could give her a run for her money at trivia. As a team they were terrifying, having won most trivia nights Harrow had been convinced to go to.
“Harrow.” She could hear his smile behind his scarf as he tried to shuffle his face out of it. His hands were preoccupied with two to-go cups with the familiar label of the cafe next door. She could almost cry at the thought of hot tea. Bless Palamedes Sextus. Her wonderful, fantastic friend. “Wow it's chilly in here. Boiler broken again?”
He made his way over to her and perched himself on the round ottoman, handing over one of the cups. Harrow grabbed it and held it close as the warmth spread across her palms.
“Yes. But I have someone looking at it.”
“Oh. Good. Have things been going well? Camilla said the holiday season is already picking up.” He took a sip from his cup, then pushed his glasses up as they had begun sliding down his nose.
“The last few days, yes. Today it's been very quiet, however. Which considering…” she motioned vaguely to the cold air that surrounded them.
Palamedes chuckled. “Yeah. Unfortunate though. Hopefully it's just the weather. Seems like the whole square is suffering because of the sleet. Though, it does seem we’re due in for snow this weekend.”
“Wonderful.” Harrow replied dully, finally taking a sip. It was far too hot, but she was so cold she could feel it in her bones. She just wanted to feel warm.
Palamedes pushed his glasses up again. “If you ever need somewhere to go, you know my home is always open to you.”
“I appreciate the offer but as I said, I have someone working on it.”
“Ah true. Well, the offer stands.”
They talked for a while longer. Harrow updated Palamedes on some text books that she had received that might be to his liking, and he updated her on how things at the University were going, including a woman who’d recently started working there that he was taking a bit of a fancy to and that the University still had a spot of Harrow if she wanted it. For some time the University had tried to get her to work in the labs, she had been — as she would humbly admit — a phenomenal forensics lab tech. At one point she had wanted to work as a medical examiner. But life did not always go according to plan and she had chosen, instead, to run her bookshop. He eventually said his goodbyes, wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck again and left.
Before the bell had settled, Gideon ascended from the basement. She didn’t have her jacket on anymore and instead wore a garishly bright long sleeve t shirt that said “Slut for garlic bread” in bold lettering with, unsurprisingly, a horribly pixelated image of a piece of garlic bread. Despite barely knowing the woman, Harrow was somehow not surprised Gideon owned it.
“So I think I figured out the problem but I gotta have to walk over to the hardware store.”
Harrow only heard half of what Gideon said, as she grew increasingly distracted in how well defined her biceps were which led her to imagine the deltoid above it. The woman clearly took care of herself and Harrow so rarely saw a person that looked like something out of one of her anatomy text books.
“Harrow?” Gideon leaned into her vision. “You good?”
With a curt nod Harrow hurriedly took a sip of her tea, setting both it and the book she had been reading on the small side table as she stood.
“It’s cold. I’m cold. I’m as good as I can be.” She replied as she moved past Gideon and to the register. Pressing a few buttons the cash drawer popped out and she pulled out a few bills, offering them to Gideon. “Will this be enough to cover what you need?”
Gideon was already on the other side of the counter by the time Harrow looked up and was staring down at the bills. “Yeah. Probably. I honestly only think I’ll need about—” She took half the bills offered. “About that.”
Harrow studied her, eyes narrowed slightly. She was still weary of the woman, but she seemed almost painfully genuine. “Very well. Get a receipt and bring me the change back please. If it happens to not be enough—” she hesitated, shooting a quick glance to the window and the poor weather outside. The local hardware shop was a few blocks away and Gideon seemed to fully intend walking there. If she was short then she’d have to walk back to the shop then back to the store which was ridiculous. Dispensing a small amount of receipt paper she pulled a pen from the drawer and wrote down her phone number. As Gideon reached for it, Harrow pulled it back. “This is only for if you need to pay more. I will give my information over the phone to the clerk. Do not give the clerk this number.”
“You got it, Night Boss.” Harrow had offered it to her and she snatched it from her before she had a chance to pull it away again.
Harrow rolled her eyes then shoo’d her away. “On with it. You say it's only going to get colder than you should hurry up and fix it, if you’re so concerned.” Then she added. “There’s an umbrella there next to the door if you wish to use it.”
Gideon gave her a lopsided smirk and a two finger salute as she pulled on her jacket, grabbed the umbrella, and went out the door.
Silence settled over the shop again and Harrow took a slow, long breath.
Gideon perplexed her. Why was she so quick to offer help to a complete stranger? Surely there was some angle she had to be working. No one was that nice. Perhaps she was sent by the Tridnetarii? They had been trying to buy up her shop for years, perhaps this was some plot to get someone on the inside. She needed to be careful. They would find someone tall and, admittedly, quite attractive to butter Harrow up, to gain her trust and then strike when she was distracted and find some way to take it all from her.
No. She absolutely would not be fooled by any of it.
With a new determination Harrow made her way upstairs to grab a blanket, then settled back into the armchair in her shop to finish her tea and continue reading.