The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

Chapter 118: A Visit to the Slum

How should she organize her edition of the Mage's Guide? Floridiana was wondering. Should she keep the original structure and divide it into sections by geographical location? Or should she organize it chronologically, to evoke the gravitas of the Imperial Annals of History? She was so absorbed in her planning that when something stung the side of her neck, she literally jumped.

"Ow!"

Her brush tip went skittering across the sheet of paper. (Paper! Real paper! When she had time to really think about it, really appreciate it, she still marveled that she was writing on actual paper!) However, the problem with rice paper, as opposed to parchment, was that ink soaked right into the fibers. You couldn't scrape off the ink when you made a mistake. All you could do was throw away the whole sheet. What a waste!

Not that wastage was an issue here – say what you would about Piri, she kept the place well stocked with writing supplies – but it still made Floridiana's heart hurt. Her younger self, the one that had walked all over North and East Serica begging for jobs, and lingered inside mage supply shops gazing at parchment notebooks without daring to stroke their leather covers – that self shrieked.

On instinct, her hand had flown up to slap away whatever stung her neck. Her fingertips knocked into something soft and downy that tumbled off with a yelp.

Every time Floridiana thought something nice about The Demon, she did something like this!

"Whoopsssie, don't worry, I gotcha!" called Bobo's cheery voice.

You hit me! An instant later, an indignant ball of feathers crash-landed on her ruined paper and glared up at her.

"Well, you pecked me," Floridiana retorted. She probed at her neck, but the sparrow's beak hadn't broken skin.

Piri was settling her wings in a most disgruntled manner. I didn't peck you. I merely tapped you with my beak to get your attention, since you were ignoring my words.

Oh. Come to think of it, Floridiana did have a vague inkling that someone had been repeating her name, but she'd blocked it out so she could concentrate.

When in doubt, attack.

She fixed Piri with a glare of her own. "I was working. And now you've gone and ruined that entire page. I'll have to rewrite the whole thing."

Bobo, at least, arched her long neck over the desk and inspected the page with gratifying horror.

However, attacks had never proven effective on Piri. Probably because the crafty demon mind had already foreseen all possible tacks and angles, and had accumulated centuries' worth of counterattacks for every scenario.

Well, if you'd simply stopped working the first time I called your name, then I wouldn't have had to tap you on the neck, and you wouldn't have dropped your brush, would you? There's a clear lesson here.

Or maybe it was just Piri's sheer, concentrated self-centeredness that was so hard to counter. She could twist any situation to be about herself.

And anyway, you've been hunched over that desk all morning. You're going to ruin your posture. Your eyes are all bloodshot. You don't want to get nearsighted like Lodia, do you?

Floridiana's eyes were dry, and she was starting to get an eyestrain headache, but she retorted, "I'm a mage. I can fix my vision if necessary."