Emily watched the stranger amble away, gossamer strands of purplish menace trailing in his wake. Was that what some people called an aura? Did this cat-sight make her a psychic of some kind? Perhaps the upcoming stint as carnival fortune-teller wasn't far off the mark.

The fellow swaggered with a shoulder-swinging rhythm that reminded her of – of what? The underage bullies she'd often had to escort out of the library? Some mobster villain she'd seen on television? This one was real as rain, and wasn't underage at all, that's for sure.

And he knew her nickname.

Clarissa's voice rose like a thunderstorm rolling in on the wind. "...inexcusable... irresponsible... unforgivable..."

"Imperturbable," leaped to Emily's lips, but her grand-niece heard nothing over her own bluster.

"...letting me move in would be the answer to your problems and mine!"

Emily hauled herself to her feet. That sprightly vigor of the last few weeks seemed to have drained away.

He knew her neighborhood nickname.

She shook herself and turned to Clarissa. "How did your job-hunt go?"

"No luck, obviously!"

"How many jobs did you apply for? That's what my one-month rent payment was supposed to be for, after all."

"Three."

"Only three?"

Clarissa crossed her arms. "Good opportunities are hard to find."

Emily snapped. "Right now you don't need a 'good opportunity.' You need a basic job to hold you over until you find something better."

The notch-eared black cat narrowed its eyes at the tone of her voice. With a twitch of whiskers it vanished off the porch rail. Rose sprigs trembled in its wake.

"So get on down to the library, find newspapers in the serials section, and hit those help wanted ads. There's a xerox machine behind the shelf of self-help books, so copy what you need to. Then scurry off home to your mother's, apologize, and ask for the bunk in the back room."

Clarissa flared. "Well, throw the book at me, why don't you?"

"Yes. The book of Self Help. Off with you now. I've got a quilt to finish, then my beauty sleep before trekking off to my own job in the morning, like all responsible people do."

"I thought you loved me!" Fuming, Clarissa snatched up her overnight bag and tromped down the stairs. (Though it's hard to tromp properly when wearing fashionable – and costly – high heeled pumps.)

"I love you more than you know," Emily whispered after her. "Enough to want you far out of the way if a certain meaty fellow comes around hunting for 'Missus Katz' again!" She shuddered, remembering the vile colors that snaked about his every movement. What did he want? Why the sense of peril?

Ridiculous! He might just be a vacuum cleaner salesman.

Without a vacuum cleaner.

Someone conducting a survey?

But why come around asking for her in particular? By a nickname?

Danger, or not?

She huffed and headed back to the chatty quilting bee in her living room. Time to concoct a ruse to keep her friends from dropping in, she thought. Time, perhaps, to take a trip to parts unknown.

.

prompt word: "book"