There were six standard cast-iron table presses, plus stacks of twenty or thirty iron weights of different sizes and shapes. The students would have to share the equipment, but that was rarely a problem since everyone worked at their own pace.

The door opened and Karalee walked in and closed the door. She was BABA’s book arts manager and, along with Mark Mayberry, aka Marky May, the print arts manager, was part of the small permanent staff at BABA. They designed and ran the two main curriculums offered here.

“Hi, Karalee,” I said with a tight smile. I didn’t know her all that well, but we’d always had a good business friendship. Until tonight, anyway.

“Brooklyn, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know Layla hired Minka until this morning. I was supposed to teach that limp-binding class, but Layla said she promised it to Minka. I swear, if I had any real authority, I would tell her to take this job and shove it.”

“You can’t do that, Karalee,” I said. “It’s okay.”

“Well, if I’d known sooner, I would’ve tried to change her mind.” She shrugged helplessly. “I’ve worked with Minka before and she’s a mess.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” But I was grateful to know I wasn’t the only one who thought so. I cleaned a bunch of glue brushes in the sink and organized them in glass jars as we talked.

She tapped her nails on the worktable, plainly uncomfortable. “I’m just worried we’ll lose students because of her.”

I choked out a laugh. “You’d lose me if I had to take a class from her.”

“You and me both,” she admitted. “Damn it. Well, I don’t want to lose you, so let me know if I can do anything to make things easier for you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll just stay close to my classroom and try to avoid her.”

“That’s so unfair,” she said, nervously straightening the pile of colorful papers I’d fanned out across the side table a minute ago. “But look, I mean it. I want you to be happy. So just come running if you need anything.”