by Tessa Bailey
“Option two. And coffee.” Roksana leapt off the bed, shadowboxing as soon as her feet touched down. “Maybe we’ll get some action today, yes?”
Ginny paused in the act of choosing a dress from her closet to smile over her shoulder. “Yes, I can almost guarantee it.”
The slayer seemed to be holding her breath. “Really?”
“Oh yes. My dress making club is always action packed. There will be backstitching, hemming, maybe even some ruffled embellishment.”
“Very funny.” She flexed her fingers. “Dress making club. This is really a thing? You can buy clothes on the internet.”
“Is that where you buy yours?”
“Occasionally.” She fingered the strap of her bra. “I have to sort through a lot of ball gags and latex suits to find what I’m looking for, but it’s there.”
Ginny laughed. “I just never imagined a vampire slayer having a credit card.”
“I don’t have one. I steal Elias’s—”
When the slayer abruptly cut herself off, Ginny looked up from the mint green frock she’d chosen for the day. “Who is Elias?”
Roksana rubbed at the back of her neck. “Forget I said that. He’s no one.”
“Is he one of Jonas’s roommates?”
The other woman approached with what might have been a menacing expression, if she didn’t have two spots of color on her cheeks. “I told you nothing. You never heard that name.”
“What name?”
“Good girl.”
“Elias?”
“Ginny!”
She giggled at the slayer’s outrage. “You can relax. I won’t say anything.” Her thumb traced the curved top of the hanger. “Maybe Jonas will tell me himself one day.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. He’s the strictest follower of the rules.”
“I guess he has to be, right?” Ginny moved past Roksana and laid the dress out on her bed. “Since he teaches the Silenced how to follow them.”
Roksana was silent for long moments. “He told you that?”
Ginny nodded, silently brimming with pleasure that he’d confided something important in her and vowing she’d never, ever make him regret it. “I’m going to go take a quick shower. Then we’ll go get bagels.”
She breezed from the room before the slayer could respond, though she could feel Roksana’s interested gaze following her from the room. Within half an hour, Ginny had showered, dried her hair and thrown on the green dress, receiving a grunting approval from Roksana. She called downstairs to the office to make sure Larissa had woken up for her shift, breathing a sigh of relief when her stepmother answered the phone albeit in a weary tone. After a reminder to Larissa that she’d be at her dress making club that afternoon, she snuck Roksana downstairs and out the back entrance of the house.
Roksana had drunk an extra-large coffee, scarfed her bagel and started on the second half of Ginny’s breakfast by the time they reached the club.
Embrace the Lace Dressmaking Endeavors met once a week in the basement of the Our Lady of Solace Catholic Church. It smelled like stale coffee, dust and there was a distinct lack of fresh air, but Ginny found the whole operation glorious. If she could pick one sound to hear for the rest of her life, it would be sewing machines chirping away, set against the cutting of fabric. Women with pins in their mouths and sketchpads at the ready? It was heaven. Perhaps the members of the club hadn’t welcomed her with open arms, but because that was the norm for Ginny, she was able to look past their discomfort over her presence and enjoy the atmosphere.
Ginny couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been fascinated by dresses. Not so much the act of looking pretty as the sensation of feeling feminine. Maybe even a touch dramatic. One couldn’t sweep from the room after a witty rejoinder in a pair of jeans. Dresses—bright ones, specifically—were a tale to tell. In pleated pink tulle, she could be delicate, like Audrey Hepburn. In sunset orange, she could be bold, like Sophia Loren.
Ginny couldn’t remember a lot about her mother, mainly just blurry memories, muted sounds and the few stories she’d been told by her father. Her favorite one was that her mother used to dance around the kitchen to the Foo Fighters with Ginny on her hip. Her least favorite story was the one about her mother going out for diapers and never coming home. More than once, she’d caught her father reading the note Ginny’s mother had left behind, folded beneath his shaving cream can, but she’d never asked the contents.
When puberty reared its head at twelve and Ginny had no one to speak with about the changes happening with her body, she’d expressed those wild mood swings with dresses. The act of making the dresses and focusing that confusing energy had the biggest impact initially, but as she grew older, they became her shield. Sophia Loren didn’t care about whispers behind her back, and neither did Ginny, as long as she was wearing sunset orange with scalloped edges.
Now, as Ginny and Roksana walked into the basement—a few minutes late, thanks to Roksana having trouble choosing between poppy seed and plain—the cacophony of Ginny’s favorite sounded ceased. This was the usual reaction when Ginny arrived to the club meetings, however, the whispers typically followed in short order. Not this time. They gaped at Roksana like a row of codfish along the back basement wall.
“Hello,” Ginny called, her voice echoing off the walls. “I brought a friend.”
“Friends aren’t allowed,” came a sing-song voice. It belonged to Galina, one half of the Russian, middle-aged twins who held dominion over the club when the founder, Ruth, wasn’t present, which appeared to be the case this morning. Among them were Mercedes, a regal black woman and stay-at-home mother who mainly crafted holiday dresses for her children and Tina, a Florida transplant that talked of nothing but how to get bang for your buck at Disneyworld. “They have to sign up in advance and pay the fee,” finished Galina.
Ginny smiled. “Can we make an exception just this once?”
Galina squinted in lieu of a smile. “I’m afraid not.”
Roksana sauntered over to the closest table, kicked out a metal chair—squeeeeeal—and sat in it backwards. “How about my fee is not kicking your a—”
“She can stay,” Galina blurted, her smile on the verge of shattering. “But Ruth will be here soon and as founder, she’ll have no choice but to enforce the rules.”
“Yes of course, Galina,” Ginny said, taking her usual seat at her favorite sewing machine, laying out the fabric she’d purchased the day before.
“These women take dress club very seriously.”
Ginny pursed her lips. “I take it seriously.”
“You would not be unkind about it.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Ginny fussed with her chiffon. “Look, I know you probably think I acted like a pushover, but I’ve found it’s easier not to engage them.”
Roksana gave an exaggerated hum. “Is it easier?”
Ginny hesitated. “Yes.”
Though…she wasn’t quite as secure in that philosophy as she used to be. Pretending to be Lauren Bacall had been easier when she didn’t have a vampire slayer and immortal beings populating her life. Roksana was so brave, so daring, so assertive. For the first time in a long, long time, Ginny acknowledged the secret wish that she was better at standing up for herself.
She swallowed. “I hope you won’t be bored while I work.”
“Eh, I think everything is boring. I kill—” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I kill vampires for a living. Very hard to top that.”
“I see your point.” Ginny chewed her lip as the words Death Girl drifted toward her from the small group of women. The slayer heard it, too, frowning, and Ginny rushed to fill the resulting silence so they wouldn’t have to talk about the nickname. Or the fact that she never did anything to stop it from being spoken aloud. “Speaking of vampires, would you be willing to tell me more about…you know, Jonas’s world?”
“Uh-uh.” Roksana made a chopping gesture across her neck. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”
&nb
sp; “By Jonas.”
The slayer’s expression turned suspicious. “Yes…”
Ginny loaded a spool of white thread into her Singer, absently noting the whispers had commenced on the other side of the room. “Weren’t you scheduled to slaughter him and his roommates today?”
She studied her nails. “You’re wondering why I keep their secrets when I’m going to kill them?”
“Wouldn’t you wonder?”
“Perhaps I’m being paid well for my discretion.”
“Oh.” Ginny perked up. “Are you? Because that might make sense.”
Roksana leaned back in her chair with crossed arms. “Perhaps you are not such a pushover after all. Deep down, you are Ginny the Not So Meek.”
She gasped. “I’m going to stitch that onto a dress.”
“Hooray for you.” Roksana twisted slightly in her chair to glance over her shoulder. “Don’t they serve alcohol at this club?”
“I’m afraid not,” Ginny answered, hiding her smile. “Would you need to be drunk in order to let me use you as a dress model?”
“Nyet. You’re crazier than me if you think that will ever happen.”
Twenty minutes later, Roksana stood on the round, elevated pedestal in front of the three-way vanity mirror used by the club, wrapped in persimmon chiffon, her combat boots peeking out from beneath the uneven hem.
“I will get even with you for this,” Roksana swore.
Ginny smoothed and tucked the material, taking a pin from her mouth to secure the adjustment at Roksana’s waist. “It’s an honor to be penciled in on your slaughter schedule.” She stepped back and clasped her hands tightly beneath her chin. “This persimmon color looks incredible on you.”
She scoffed. “You’re wasting time making me a dress. I won’t wear it.”
“No special occasions coming up? Or maybe a special someone…?”
Those telltale twin spots of color appeared on Roksana’s cheeks. “No. And no. There is no one. Are you almost finished?”
“Yes.” While Ginny helped Roksana out of the garment, guilt prodded her in the side. “Sorry, I think maybe I’m forcing girl talk on you because I never get a chance to have it. There doesn’t need to be a special someone to dress up, either. Right? Therefore, I’m making you a dress.”
Roksana looked like she wanted to protest, but reached out and rubbed the material between two fingers, instead. “Blood would blend in very nicely with this color, I suppose.”
“That’s the spirit!”
Ruth, founder of Embrace the Lace Dressmaking Endeavors, blew into the church basement with an arm full of fabric sample books. Her son, Gordon, and Ginny’s one and only date, trailed behind her with a red Radio Flyer wagon loaded down with a sewing kit and endless bolts of fabric.
“Ladies, I’m so sorry to be late. Please forgive me.” Ruth slipped her fingers up beneath her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. “I got all the way here and realized I’d forgotten everything, including Gordon.”
The son in question grimaced and waved, his gaze searching out Ginny. When he saw her, his spine snapped straight and he dropped the wagon handle. Clank.
“Another besotted male, eh, Ginny?” Roksana said out of the side of her mouth. “When it rains it pours.”
Ginny started to tell Roksana that this was definitely her first downpour, but she quieted when Galina marched in Ruth’s direction. On her way, the twin sent a pointed look at Ginny, clearly intending to make a complaint. “Uh-oh.”
Roksana sighed. “I really don’t like that bitch.”
Ginny sighed. “At least she’s consistent.”
“Ginny,” Gordon called, approaching with his wagon once again in tow. “You brought a friend.”
“Hi Gordon. Yes, this is Roksana.”
Roksana stuck out a hand for him to shake. “Cool wagon.”
“Oh, uh…thanks.” He scrubbed at the top of his head, making a mess of his ginger hair. “So, listen. Ginny, I was wondering—”
“Yes, yes, Galina. Yes. A couple of reminders, ladies!” Ruth’s voice rang out, unknowingly cutting off her son. “The dress expo is nearly upon us. Now, we’ve been preparing for this night for what seems like ages! I’m sure you’re all very excited to show off your creations to friends and loved ones. But I’ve been keeping a teeny tiny little secret.” Ruth wiggled her hips, fingers crammed to her mouth. “The dress expo will also be a silent auction! All those in attendance will have a chance to bid on your dresses—isn’t that exciting?”
The members erupted with gasps and squeals.
For Ginny’s part, her stomach clenched. Ruth had been planning this dress expo for the better part of the year. Ginny was apprehensive about showing off her designs at first, but steadily grown used to the idea. Now she’d be jockeying for bids?
“One more thing.” Ruth sent Ginny a genuinely apologetic look. “Please remember, if you’re going to bring a guest, let me know if advance so I can plan for the extra person. We like guests to pay in advance and of course, we have limited space.”
A leak dripped nearby, echoing in the barely filled basement. Roksana made a huge show out of turning in a circle and pointing out all the empty seats, only stopping when Ginny poked her in the ribs.
“Oh, uh. Mom.” Gordon cleared his throat. “I forgot to tell you, Ginny mentioned to me last week that she’d be bringing a friend tonight. She already paid the fee, too. I can’t believe I forgot to mention it.”
“Oh!” Ruth seemed relieved. “Crisis averted.”
“I don’t think she knows what crisis means,” Roksana muttered, turning to Gordon. “Thank you for the kindness, my dude. However, I see your motive is brownie points with my friend. And while Ginny is not technically dating someone, you are in grave peril just standing this close to her—”
“Roksana!” Ginny cut in, with a high-pitched laugh. “She’s joking.”
The slayer scoffed. “I assure you, I am not—”
“I think it’s time to go.” Ginny shuffled Roksana away from Gordon. “See you at the expo, okay, Gordon?”
“Actually, I was thinking I’d come by for a visit.”
“Sure, sure,” Ginny said, not really registering what he’d said. As quickly as possibly, Ginny packed up her material and tools, tucking them in her burlap tote bag. Gathering her courage, she called a goodbye to the ladies on the opposite end of the basement, not expecting a response and not receiving one, either.
She shrugged at Roksana. “Oh well. Maybe next time.”
Roksana started to follow Ginny from the room, but stopped in the doorway and turned to glare at the foursome. “Good luck sewing yourself a personality,” she called, waving her middle finger at them.
“Roksana,” Ginny scolded her half-heartedly, while trying not to laugh—at least until they were out of earshot. “I can’t believe you did that.”
She waved Ginny off. “I should have thought of something better.”
“No, I loved it. It was perfect.”
Roksana cracked a smile and sent Ginny some prideful side eye. “I guess.”
That evening, they ate hot dogs from a cart on the boardwalk for dinner. While Ginny tried her best to find out more about Roksana, she came away with the barest of details. She’d moved from Russia to Boston as a child and made her way around the major cities, where she claimed vampires liked to congregate. Her preferred music of choice was synthetic pop, she’d been a competitive gymnast into her teens and suffered from seasonal allergies. That last one she’d been most reluctant to reveal because it exposed a weakness.
Sunset signaled the shift change between Larissa and Ginny at the funeral home and that time was approaching fast. Not wanting to risk getting caught with the slayer, nimble and adept at hiding though she was, they parted ways at the end of the block. Ginny entered through the front entrance, waving at Larissa on her way to the stairs, before detouring and letting Roksana in the back way.
With an hour to go before sunset—and the start of her
shift—Ginny left Roksana sharpening her knife on the fire escape and turned on the end of The Quiet Man, since she’d missed it last night. Maybe it was the beautiful, green scenery and musical accents of the movie. Or maybe it was the memory of falling asleep against Jonas during the same scene the night prior. Whatever the reason, Ginny found herself lulled to sleep, her face nuzzling into one of her couch’s throw pillows.
The dream that crept in was unfamiliar, as in she’d never had it before, but somehow she knew the exact steps to take. Knew what was coming before it happened. There she was, walking through the county fair, the hem of her dress flapping in the nighttime breeze. Around her, lights flickered, games ding-dinged and people laughed. There was a roasted chestnuts smell wafting past and a sense of wonder in the air. The brassy womble of a lone trombone dipped and lifted, coming from the direction of the bandstand. Happiness bubbled in her belly, anticipation, though she couldn’t say for what.
She only knew if she turned the corner at the cotton candy stand and left the loud, main drag, she’d see him. That’s where he’d been the night before. Standing under the willow tree in the shadows in his newsboy cap and suspenders, watching her. Making no attempt to lure her closer, but luring her nonetheless with the promise of…what?
The mystery he represented excited her. It had excited her the first night of the fair, but she’d exercised caution like she’d been taught and stuck to the crowd. What would she do tonight? Would she play it safe and spend another sleepless night wondering what if? Or would she go find out why, at such a distance, this unknown man could have such a wild pull on her being?
She took a step off the path and his body went on alert, separating from the tree. He shook his head at her. “Don’t,” he mouthed. “Please, don’t.”
His warning only made her more determined. More curious.
Another step was taken…
And then the dream changed. Shifted like sand.
One moment she was on the edge of the lively fair and the next, she was floating. Floating, kind of like last night when Jonas carried her to bed. White haze passed over her like torn shrouds and she left them twisting in her wake. Was she moving? Bright dots of light hung high above her and below, there was a sound of movement. Large movement. Rushing air and muffled music. And it was getting closer. Or, maybe she was moving closer to the sounds?
