If Uncle saw the mouse above stairs, the shop keeper would banish Ainsworth from the premises for breach of contract. The agreement preceded my time; it had been in place since the tribe had taken up residence in the basement. The world of men wasn’t safe for talking mice anymore. The Godfather’s Closet remained their last haven. Banishment would mean death for Ainsworth, and Mouston needed their mayor.
“If she tries on the shoes, Principe. If she slides her foot inside them…” He sucked in a breath. “She will be won.” He spewed spit across the room with every word.
Uncle didn’t seem to notice the dumbwaiter’s slow descent beside me.
The strain loosened with each passing moment. We’d pulled it off nearly under Uncle’s nose. Perhaps our future plans would also find success.
Uncle kissed his fingertips and then spread them wide. “Oh, Principe. Did you see her feet?”
“They were quite lovely,” Principe murmured. Cindi’s hair glittered in the sunlight and her voice lilted with the intensity of a church choir. But, of course, the shoes would notice the feet.
Uncle went on. “Her toes are perfectly formed, manicured, and the most beautiful I have ever seen, Principe. The shoes are most pleased, most pleased, indeed.” He bustled away without another look back.
A ragged sigh rushed from me as the tension drained away. That had been close. Too close.
That morning, Ainsworth had snuck into the living quarters above Once Upon a Ballgown to leave a note warning Cindi about the shoes. Not the best of plans, given the resulting circumstances, but neither of us had noticed a cat. What could we do now?
If she slipped her foot into those shoes…
Ainsworth had to know of a way to break the bond. Spells could always be broken, couldn’t they? Wasn’t that the way magic worked?
I scooped up my broom and returned to sweeping. I had no other choice.
Uncle spent his night muttering and pacing the store while I spent mine tossing and turning in my narrow cot. I needed to speak to Ainsworth again, but I didn’t want Uncle to find out we plotted against the shoes. Mutiny wouldn’t be taken lightly.
By the time the sun lit the eastern sky, I had dressed and made my way to the kitchen to grind the coffee beans and pour hot water into the French press. Uncle’s snores rattled the ceiling over me.
My gaze drifted to the leather strips that separated the storehouse from the shopfront. Uncle might sleep thirty minutes, or he might sleep for hours. I couldn’t be sure which, but I needed to speak with Ainsworth. He had to know of another way to free Cindi from the bonds of the evil shoes.
The coffee steeped for fifteen minutes before pressing. Was that enough time to make it to the basement and back again?
I couldn’t be certain. I smoothed my knuckles over my cheek, recalling the last time I had chanced such a risk. When I discovered the remains, I tried to go to the police, but Uncle caught me before I could reach them. He’d beaten me and then locked me in the sarcophagus with the whispering ghosts.
Why did I risk my wellbeing for someone that I didn’t know?
Hundreds of bones wept in the basement. In Uncle’s mutterings, he’d let the truth slip about the crystal slippers. All the times the shoes had fallen in love and the three bodies in the basement had been important enough to care for… Uncle had cared about them. He kept the remains of his wife and stepdaughters close to him.
But Uncle kept a secret journal filled with the names. The pages listed one hundred reasons why I couldn’t let Cindi become bonded to the shoes. Cindi’s life would end like all the others had. She would become something else… something other…
Then the shoes would feed off her lifeforce until she died, sharing her energy with Uncle and granting him unnaturally long life. Cindi would wither away to brittle bits and tucked in a stone box or discarded like refuse nobody cared for.
My mouth dried, and my heartbeat thundered in my ears. I trembled from head to toe. I would not let that happen. My hands closed to fists. The shoes would consume no one else. They would die from hunger. Licking my lips, I took a step toward the opening that led to the storeroom. Ainsworth would know how to beat the vampiric pumps.
I slipped between the leather strips, and the stairs over my bedroom creaked, and the wood complained beneath the weight of the fat tailor.
My shoulders drooped. Too late.
“Principe,” he bellowed, his voice echoing in the space. “The shoes have spoken. She will return today. I know it. We must be ready.”
He bustled about the shop, making ready for the day.
As Uncle unlocked the door and turned the sign from Closed to Open, she appeared, her nose pressed to the glass.
Behind her, the sky was robin’s egg blue, one of the hottest shades on the runway in Milan this season. I knew only because Mémère had mentioned it as she’d dumped her trash into the dumpster. Cindi scanned the interior and waved. Her smile stretched from blushing cheek to blushing cheek.
Uncle chuckled. “See, Principe? None can resist the allure of glass slippers.”
I swept harder. “Yessir.”
She rushed in and plopped down in the seat she occupied the day before. “Good morning. I had the oddest dream about a talking mouse last night,” she said, studying Uncle’s face closely.
“What an interesting dream,” he answered.
“And shoes that spoke to me.”
“Hmmm,” he said. His expression didn’t change.
“Has that ever happened to you?”
“I think all art speaks to us in its own way.”
“But that’s not…”
He raised a brow. “Not what?”
“Oh. Nothing.” She turned to me. “I don’t think I’ve officially met you yet. What’s your name again?”
I opened my mouth.
Uncle cleared his throat. “His name is Principe. He cleans. I can send him away if he bothers you.”
She shook her head. “Oh, no, it’s not that. I’m not used to ignoring people. Can he join us?”
The muscle worked in Uncle’s cheek. “He doesn’t mind it. He has work to do.”
She glanced from me to him and back again. “Can he talk?”
I leaned my broom against the counter. “I can, miss.”
Her eyes widened. “Then why don’t you?”
I shrugged. “It’s hard to speak when those around you don’t wish to listen.”
Uncle’s face reddened, and fury flashed in his eyes.
Cindi turned to Uncle. “Is that true?”
“He exaggerates.” He gestured toward the back. “Isn’t there something you need to do in the storeroom?”
“Of course,” I said. “I can check on the progress of our recent orders.”
Uncle’s mouth pinched. “Very well,” he bit out. “Do that.”
I hurried toward the exit that I had been eying. The moment our audience left, I would pay for my comments. That much I knew from experience. For now, though, I had been given the perfect opportunity to visit Ainsworth.
I slipped through the hidden door, and Ainsworth met me in the corridor.
“I’ve spoken with the elders, Principe,” he squeaked. “If she puts her foot in the shoe, I know what we can do.”
I sank to my knees and extended my hand. Ainsworth climbed into it, and I brought him nearer to my ear so that I could hear him clearly.
“How do we do that?” I asked.
“It’s not easy.”
“I’m used to hard things. I will be able to do it.”
He tapped his chin and tugged on his whiskers, and then he sighed. “She must be wearing the shoes at the first chime of midnight. Then, in order to break the bond, you must pull them from her feet and shatter them by the twelfth bell.”
“It has to be done at midnight?”
“That is the only detail the Elder rodents are sure of. It is the most important.”
I punched the brick. My nonexistent experience with females would be a roadblock. �
�How do you suggest we make that happen?”
Ainsworth paced in a figure eight in my palm. “Perhaps you gain access to the shoes on her feet at midnight.”
My jaw slacked, and I stared at the furry gentlemen. Surely, he didn’t mean…
“You could court her.”
“Court her?” My shriek echoed up and down the corridor.
“Would it be so horrible?”
“No, not horrible.” Not terrible. Not any such thing. She appealed to me. If I weren’t bound to Uncle, I would like to… I shook my head and pushed the thought away.
If we survived the week, I could make that plan.
Otherwise, how did a housekeeper—janitor—convince one Cindi Ella Lass to take him seriously? She would inherit her grandmother’s shop. I had nothing to offer, no reason for her to take me seriously as potential boyfriend material.
I groaned, shook my head, and then rubbed my hand over the back of my neck.
“You are a fine man, Principe. She would be lucky to have you.”
“As unlikely as that is, thank you, Ainsworth.”
Uncle’s voice resounded from a great distance away, and I darted toward it. I couldn’t have him catching Ainsworth. The risks were even higher for the little mouse leader.
When I burst from the back and stepped behind the counter, I expected Cindi to be gone, but she remained, her feet propped on an ottoman. “Do you ever have customers? I haven’t seen any,” she said.
Uncle bustled around the shop. “On the weekends. Prom season in Paris is also a busy time for me.”
Her gaze landed on me. “Oh, hi, Principe. I wondered where you’d gone.” She took a magazine from the side table next to her. How had she gone from upset by the shoes yesterday to this level of comfort today? She should never have come back.
Uncle joined me at the counter, the glare of the shoes grew brighter as though sensing their protector nearby. “It’s lunch time, Principe. Bring us something.”
Cindi hummed as she flipped through the style magazine on her lap, oblivious to our conversation.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
In the kitchen, I stacked a large platter with crackers, lunchmeat, and cheese. I made more coffee and carted it all out to the pair. I handed each one a plate and then offered the tray. They filled their plates and behaved as though I didn’t exist.
“You are admiring the shoes, Cindi,” Uncle said.
Her cheeks flushed. “How did you know?”
“You have the look of a woman who wants to try on something exquisite.”
“Am I that obvious?”
I held the tray out to Cindi, and she placed more food on her plate. How could I warn her? What would she believe?
Uncle crossed to the shop window. “A long time ago, my wife and my stepdaughters admired them almost as much as you. They are the reason the shoes are here. They loved them so.”
She took a bite of cracker and cheese. “I’d like to meet them some day.”
“They died long ago.”
I gasped and then coughed to cover it.
Uncle turned toward me, gazed at me with blackened irises, and pressed his fingers over his lips to shush me.
Cindi’s lips turned down. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.
“When I settled in Texas, I brought the shoes with me. They have been on the counter ever since.” He crossed back to her. “May I make a strange request?”
“What is it?”
“Would you do me the honor of trying them on?”
Her eyes widened, and she scooted to the front edge of her seat. “Trying them on?”
He kneeled in front of her. “I am an old man, Miss Cindi. It would do wonders for my heart to see someone enjoy these as much as my family did when they were alive.”
She chewed on her bottom lip.
I gripped the broom handle so tightly my fingers turned white.
Say no. Say no. Say no.
She patted Uncle’s shoulder and then nodded.
He bounded to his feet and then the counter. He took a breath and then opened the protective case that surrounded them. The air in the shop turned cold.
I swayed. Horrified, I watched the scene play out. What could I do? Though, I wanted to tear the building apart, piece by piece. How could I get through to Cindi? How could I explain? She couldn’t possibly believe everything that I knew.
He took a knee in front of her and extended the shoe toward her now naked feet. In what seemed like slow motion, she placed her foot inside the crystal slipper.
A gust of wind careened from all corners of the shop. The flash of lightning illuminated the world, and the lights flickered. A distant rumble shook the windows in their panes.
Cindi’s blue eyes fluoresced orange, and then a smirk split her face. “Oh, I hadn’t expected… that.”
Her expression turned sallow, and I groaned. As easily as that, the shoes had a new young woman in their clutches.
Uncle gave a single nod. “It gets better, Cindi.”
“Call me Ella,” she said. “I think I like that better now.”
I had to do something. I rushed toward them. “Cindi,” I yelled, slamming my hand into the tray of food to send it flying.
The orange faded from Cindi’s eyes, and she scowled down at the shoes. “What happened? What…”
Panic crossed Uncle’s face, and he shook his head. “I don’t know. Let’s get the other shoe on.”
Cindi scowled down at the shoe she wore and reached down to slide it off her foot. “Thank you for letting me wear them.”
His chin quivered. “Don’t you like wearing the shoes?”
Cindi froze. “They’re very nice, I’m sure.”
“Don’t listen to him,” I whispered, reaching for Cindi’s hand. “You don’t know what those shoes are.”
Uncle clutched his chest and fell to the side. His eyes slid closed. “Take me to bed, please.” He groped blindly at the air.
I suspected a farce, so I didn’t move.
But Cindi dove to his side. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine. Only tired. Principe, bring my pills, and take me to bed.
Cindi wedged herself beneath one of his arms and tried to help him. She shot me a dirty look. “Aren’t you going to help him?”
I bit back a sigh but moved to help, hooking my arms beneath Uncle. I pulled him to his feet.
As we propped him between us, he gestured weakly. “Wait. Wait. Put the shoes away.”
Cindi slipped out from beneath his arm.
I didn’t want her to touch them. I could. The shoes didn’t want me. “I can do that later.”
Instead, Cindi slipped out from beneath Uncle’s other arm.
“No, Cindi, don’t—” I said.
She scooped the pair off the floor where they’d fallen and rushed them to the case. She deposited them inside and slammed the case closed.
“Thank you,” Uncle whispered.
“Now let’s get you to bed,” Cindi said. “Where do we take him?”
“Go, Cindi,” I said. “He’ll be fine. I’ll help him to bed.”
She had to get out of there.
But she lifted her chin in defiance. “I don’t think so.”
“Go.”
“I can help, and I will.” She scanned the place. “Where is his room?”
My shoulders sagged. I wouldn’t be able to talk her out of it. “Upstairs,” I said.
Between us, we hefted Uncle up the stairs and into his bed. Cindi tucked and re-tucked him in, fussing over the sheets and covers.
“I didn’t mean to do that to him,” she said.
“You didn’t.”
“Are you sure he’ll be alright?”
“He’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow to check on him.”
“Please don’t,” I said. Don’t come back, Cindi. Don’t. “He doesn’t like it when people see him this way.”
Uncle waved at the air and opened his eyes.
“No, please come. I won’t ask you to wear the shoes again. No matter how much I would like to see you in them.”
Cindi sighed, chewing her lip as she considered him. “I’ll come back tomorrow, and I’ll try them both on.”
Then she slipped away without another word, and I fled down the stairs after her. I had my chance to escape. The bells chimed as she exited, and I darted toward the front door and placed my hand on the knob.
A thought stayed my escape, and my hand wouldn’t turn. If I left then, Cindi would still come back. I laid my forehead against the stained-glass window in the center of the door, right behind the gilded shop number that had been painted on the outside.
Cindi would return as she promised, and then she would slip into both shoes. Her fate would be assured. I dragged a shuddering breath in through my mouth.
I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t let her be the next sacrifice. She wouldn’t be like Uncle’s wife and his stepdaughters and all the others.
I occupied a twisted world. Cindi wouldn’t suffer the same fate. I released the doorknob and squared my shoulders. I had to try.
I dashed toward the shoes and tried to throw open the top. I wedged a ruler beneath the edge and pried. No matter how I pulled, the cover wouldn’t budge.
Come on. Come on. Open.
The creak of the boards gave him away.
“Uncle,” I sighed.
He appeared as a shadowy reflection in the glass that covered the glass slippers. “Principe,” he growled. “You have been bad, Principe. You must be punished.”
Uncle raised his fist.
I braced myself for the blow.
Down the Block
Cindi
“Shoes are the finishing touch on any outfit,
and it is important to complete a look with the perfect pair.”
– Tracy Reese
The shoes held a special kind of magic. The kind that arrested attention on runways around the globe.
I stepped out of Once Upon a Ballgown, wearing my favorite dress. I shoved the stack of outgoing mail deeper into my pocket. I wore the only outfit I had that might look alright with the sparkle of the high heels next door.
Mémère had asked me to drop everything in the mailbox at the end of the block before the daily pickup time and then she wished me luck in exploring and reminded me that I would begin work the next week. I waited to leave until I thought The Godfather’s Closet opened.
Promise Forever: Fairy Tales with a Modern Twist Page 4
