The window was already oiled. Robin had made sure of that st time.

  He eased it open, pausing every few inches to listen. Nothing. Just the distant sounds of the street outside and the creak of floorboards somewhere in the building. He slipped through the gap, boots touching down without a sound.

  The back room was dark, lit only by thin strips of afternoon light bleeding through gaps in the shutters. Robin's eyes adjusted quickly. Shelves lined the walls—not the delicate bottles and herbs he'd expected, but practical goods. Lumber stacked in the corner. Coils of rope. Boxes of nails and iron fittings. Canvas tarps. The kind of supplies a person bought when they were building something or repairing a house.

  *Interesting. Diversifying.*

  He moved through the room like smoke, each step pced with precision. The door ahead was closed, but he could hear movement beyond it—footsteps, the soft clink of gss, someone humming tunelessly.

  Robin pressed his ear to the door. One person. Moving around the front shop. Unaware.

  Perfect.

  He eased the door open just wide enough to slip through.

  The shop beyond was brighter, cleaner. Shelves of bottles and jars lined the walls in neat rows. And there, at the counter with her back to him, was a woman in a dark green dress that hugged her figure in all the right ways.

  She was organizing something on the counter—bottles, arranging them by size or type. Her hair moved as she worked, thick and dark, cascading down her back in a way that caught the light strangely.

  Robin took a silent step forward. Then another. She didn't turn, didn't react, completely absorbed in her task.

  Her hair shifted again—a rippling motion that didn't match her movements. Almost like it was moving on its own.

  Robin ignored it. He crept closer, his breathing controlled, his footsteps nonexistent. Three feet away now. Two feet. Close enough to smell her perfume—something floral with a sharp undertone.

  He lunged.

  His arms wrapped around her waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest.

  She let out a high-pitched squeal—genuinely startled—and her hair *exploded* into motion. Dozens of serpentine shapes shed outward and immediately coiled around Robin's neck, his shoulders, his arms. Not squeezing. Just... wrapping. Like an instinctive embrace.

  The woman was ughing now, her whole body shaking with it. "One of these days, Robin," she gasped, trying to catch her breath, "you are going to give me a fucking heart attack!"

  Robin grinned, keeping his arms firmly around her waist. "Really? I've been doing this for years. You haven't had one yet."

  "You *always* say that!"

  "Well, it's true, isn't it?" The snakes around his neck shifted slightly, their scales smooth and warm against his skin. "Besides, aren't you sort of immortal or something?"

  "That's not the point!"

  She turned in his arms, and Robin found himself face to face with Medusa. Beautiful as ever—sharp features, dark eyes dancing with amusement and exasperation, full lips curved in a reluctant smile. Her hair writhed above her head in a mass of small snakes, several of them still draped affectionately around Robin's shoulders.

  One of them flicked its tongue at his ear.

  "Hello, beautiful," Robin said.

  Medusa shook her head, but she was smiling. "You snuck in through the back window again."

  "I did." Robin gave her his most roguish grin.

  "You know I have a front door. With a handle. That opens."

  "Where's the fun in that?"

  She sighed, but her hands had come up to rest on his chest. "You're incorrigible."

  "You say that like it's a bad thing." Robin's hands slid lower on her waist, then gave her rear a firm squeeze. "Besides, it's not like I haven't been in your back door before."

  Medusa's cheeks flushed immediately, her eyes widening. "Robin!"

  He just winked at her.

  Several of her snakes hissed—sounding distinctly like ughter. Medusa swatted at his chest, but she was fighting a smile. "You are *terrible*."

  "And yet you keep letting me in."

  "I'm starting to question that decision." But her fingers had curled into his shirt, holding him close. "What do you need this time?"

  "The usual supplies. Rope, pitons, grappling hooks." Robin paused, his tone shifting to something more serious. "And your special concoction."

  Medusa's expression changed—still warm, but more focused. She knew exactly what he meant. "That one's not cheap."

  "I know."

  "The usual order is fifty gold. The concoction..." She calcuted. "That's another one-fifty. Two hundred total."

  Robin let out a low whistle. "You're robbing me blind, woman."

  "You're buying very specialized products." She tilted her head, snakes swaying with the movement. One of them booped its nose against Robin's temple. "Of course... there *is* the friends and family discount."

  Robin raised his eyebrows, his expression perfectly innocent. "Oh? What's that?"

  Medusa gave him a ft look. "Don't py dumb."

  "I'm not pying. I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about."

  "Robin."

  "Yes?"

  "We have done this exact routine at least a dozen times."

  "Have we?" Robin's grin was pure mischief. "My memory's a bit fuzzy. You'll have to expin it to me."

  Medusa rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now—a real smile, affectionate and knowing. Her hands slid up to his shoulders. "The discount involves you being very nice for the next hour or so. Very attentive. And very... thorough."

  "Thorough," Robin repeated thoughtfully. "That sounds like a lot of work."

  "It is."

  "And in exchange, I get my supplies at a reduced rate?"

  "Significantly reduced."

  Robin pretended to consider this, his hands still resting comfortably on her hips. "Well. That does sound like a good deal."

  "I thought you might like that."

  "Very generous of you."

  "I'm a generous woman."

  One of her snakes dropped down to nuzzle against Robin's cheek. He reached up absently to stroke it, and the snake made a pleased hissing sound.

  "So," Robin said, his voice dropping lower. "Should we discuss the specifics of this arrangement?"

  "I think we're past discussing," Medusa murmured.

  In one smooth motion, Robin bent and scooped her up in his arms—one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. Princess carry.

  Medusa let out a pleased ugh, her arms looping around his neck. Her snakes writhed happily, several of them draping themselves across both of them like a living shawl.

  "Robin!"

  "What? You said thorough." He was already carrying her toward the back room, moving with easy confidence despite her weight. "I'm just about to start."

  "You're impossible," Medusa said, but her eyes were soft, her smile genuine.

  "You keep saying that."

  "Because it keeps being true."

  Robin kicked the door open—less stealthy now, more pyful—and carried her through into her bedroom. He kicked it shut behind them with his heel.