by Sarah Kuhn
I reached out with my mental feathers and wrapped them around him, gently pulling him back toward us and pinning him to the wall.
“Let. Me. Go!” he howled, writhing around ineffectually.
“Calm down!” Evie said, patting him on the shoulder. “Aveda won’t hurt you. Much,” she added as he raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“We did everything they asked,” Franz spat out. “Everything. I was just picking up the last of Marcus’s silk ribbon supply. Those ribbons were imported from Paris, they were very expensive, and they are a key component of Marcus’s current inspiration board, so it was absolutely necessary—”
“Stop talking!” I snapped.
Franz glowered at us. But his eyes sparked with something more raw underneath all that ribbon-related bravado. He was afraid. And as irritated as I currently was, I didn’t think he was reacting to me. I softened my telekinetic hold, but kept him pinned to the wall and gave Evie a subtle nod, trying to convey: You are inherently more comforting than I am. So go for it.
“Franz,” Evie said, making her tone casual and conversational. “Aveda and I are looking into the shop closure. It happened abruptly and it might be connected to an important supernatural matter we’re investigating. But we’re totally lost here, so can you back it up for us? Who’s the ‘they’ asking you to do things? And what were you asked to do?”
“I don’t know who it was,” he said, his eyes darting back and forth.
I snapped my fingers at him. “Focus, please,” I said, making my voice as authoritative as possible. “Like Evie said, we’re not here to hurt you. We’re, like, the good guys.”
Evie giggled.
“What?” I spat out. “We so are!”
“I know,” she said, grinning at me. “But you saying ‘we’re, like, the good guys’ in your most bossypants Aveda Jupiter voice is pretty funny.”
“I can be funny,” I said, making a face at her.
“Sure, just maybe not on purpose—”
“Uh . . .” Franz said.
“Sorry,” I said, turning back to him. “We need to focus, too.”
“Right,” Evie said. “So again, who was asking you to do things?”
“We started getting these notes,” Franz said, panic rising in his voice. “Demanding that Marcus recreate that infamous abomination gown—the one with the hideous red flowers. I guess a lot of people saw you wearing it.” He cast a disdainful look at Evie. “But I don’t know how they learned it was a Marcus dress. At first we ignored them. But then—” He shut his eyes, as if reliving the terror all over again. “The notes made mention of an, ah, unfortunate incident in Marcus’s past.”
“Which was?” Evie said.
Franz clamped his lips together and glared at us defiantly. Now Evie gave me a subtle nod, as if to say: You are inherently more scary than I am. So now you go for it.
I put on my best imperious face, matching his glare. He squirmed in my telekinetic hold, and I made it a fraction tighter. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I also didn’t want him wriggling free and making a break for it.
“You know,” I said, injecting just the right amount of growl into my voice, “there’s a whole posse of brides out front who would probably love to question you.” Okay, maybe not exactly true, but he didn’t need to know that. “They seem pretty mad,” I continued. “Maybe you want to answer their questions instead of ours, but I can assure you that I am much, much more pleasant—”
“Okay, okay,” Franz whined, giving me a peevish look. “So maybe, possibly, perhaps there was a moment a few years ago where Marcus was making some samples and ran out of the fabric he wanted and had to use . . .” He closed his eyes, his lower lip trembling, as if he was about to burst into tears. “ . . . polyester.”
“Uh. What?” Evie said.
“It was only one sample and it was destroyed immediately and he never did it again,” Franz said, his words spilling out in a rush. “But Marcus takes pride in only using the finest of materials and his reputation has been built on that, and this person, this blackmailer, was threatening to go to all the news outlets.”
“And if that got out, it would contradict everything Marcus stands for. It would be a disaster,” I said. “I get it.”
I actually sort of did. I had, after all, gone to great lengths to not admit I was injured when I’d hurt my ankle. The thought of people believing Aveda Jupiter was anything less than a total badass was displeasing.
“So Marcus caved and made the dress,” Evie said.
“Yes. Luckily we still had some remnants of that awful scarlet frock we got from the vintage peddler,” Franz said. “Although even that was one hundred percent silk, I assure you. The blackmailer sent further instructions: make not one, but two, of these dresses. Display one in the window and leave the other in the back.”
“And I don’t suppose it’s still in the back?” I said.
“It’s gone,” Franz said. “I didn’t see hide nor hair of it when I packed up the silk ribbons just now. Whoever wanted it must have taken it.”
“Do you have any idea about the identity of the mysterious blackmailer?” Evie said.
“None,” Franz said, drawing his lips into a thin line. “But even after we’d done everything they asked with the dresses, they sent one final order—close up shop and leave town. Or word of Marcus’s polyester misstep would go out wide. The last note referred to Marcus as . . .” He paused, his lower lip quivering again. “ . . . ‘a gentrifying scourge of New San Francisco’ who had to go.”
“Huh,” I said, not even sure where to begin with that.
“So can I leave now?” Franz begged. “Marcus is in LA, scouting for space. We’ve already had numerous Hollywood brides express interest in his work.”
“All right,” I said, doing my best to sound stern. “But make sure we know how to find you if we have more questions. And definitely alert us if you hear from these blackmailers again.”
I released Franz and he gave me a resentful nod, then pressed a tattered business card into Evie’s hand.
“Contact number’s on there,” he said. “Farewell.”
With that, he turned and flounced down the alleyway.
“Well,” Evie said, toying with the business card, “that was weird.”
“The puppy demon used that dress last night, no question,” I said. “And this blackmail thing has to be connected.”
“Maybe its human helper sent the notes,” Evie said. “But why did it need that specific dress reconstructed?”
Before we could ponder this further, Evie’s phone buzzed. “It’s a text from Nate,” she said, scanning the screen. “And . . .” Her brow crinkled.
“And . . . what?” I said impatiently, peering over her shoulder.
“And . . . we got it!” she crowed, her face lighting up. She held the phone aloft, waving it back and forth in triumph. “It’s there! There’s something trapped in the dress.” She grinned at me. “We’re supposed to meet the team at Pussy Queen—time to nip this puppy drama in the goddamn bud.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“FINALLY, YOU’RE HERE!” I cried, bouncing to my feet as Scott, Bea, Nate, and Lucy marched into Pussy Queen. Evie and I had booked it over as soon as we’d gotten Nate’s text. My excitement at the possibility of ending this puppy demon business had mounted while we waited for the rest of the crew to arrive. Shruti was absent from the shop again, but Maisy was flitting around, rearranging various displays, and Dave was parked behind his coffee counter. I’d spent fifteen minutes pacing the entire length of the store, only stopping when I realized the room was so warm, sweat was beading my brow. Dave must still be having temperature control issues.
By the time the team arrived, my blood was spiking with adrenaline and I felt about to burst with anticipation. Until I noticed who was with them, that is.
“M-mom?” I
sputtered.
“She stopped by as we were on our way out the door,” Scott said. “I tried to tell her to make herself comfortable while the rest of us ran our little, ah, errand, but—”
“But I explained that it made much more sense for me to come along,” my mother interrupted.
“And on the way here, I told her about last night,” Scott added. “How the whole fake engagement was part of a, uh, not-great party prank. That I came up with. All by myself. As my own idea.”
“Oh, hush, Scott, no one is buying your very generous attempts to save my daughter from herself,” my mother sniffed.
“Actually, I think it’s to save her from you,” Bea muttered. Evie nudged her in the arm.
“Mrs. Chang—” Evie tried to cut in.
“Anne,” my mother continued, fixing me with her piercing stare. “Really. I know you like attention, but last night’s party was supposed to be about Evie—”
“And Evie totally enjoyed it once the whole prank thing was explained to her,” Evie said, plastering a bright smile on her face.
My mother ignored her again and stepped toward me, placing a hand on my arm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nate, Bea, and Lucy lugging the trap to the dark portal, talking amongst themselves. I was desperate to hear what they were saying, but my mother seemed determined to go into great detail about what a fuck-up I was. Evie and Scott stayed next to me, flanking me on either side. I felt a rush of warmth at their refusal to abandon me for what was surely more scintillating discussion of the newest wrinkle in the puppy demon predicament.
“Anne,” my mother said very seriously. Her eyes searched my face. “I am concerned about you. Your behavior has always been erratic, but this is something else. On a whole other level.”
Even though I was still fixated on whatever Bea and Co. were doing with the trap on the other side of the room, I felt a hot rush of frustration, my mother’s words burrowing under my skin and making me prickly all over.
“Did you even think about how such an ill-conceived prank would look?” my mother continued. “How faking something as important as an engagement would make our family look? How—”
“No,” I snapped, the prickly feeling getting the better of me. “No, I didn’t think about that, Mom, because as far as most people are concerned—I don’t have a family.”
I pulled away from her and stomped off, the blood roaring in my ears. I may be starting to accept Annie Chang into my mental fold, but my mother always made me feel like the most helpless, hapless version of myself, and I couldn’t take her poking at me when we might, in fact, be on the verge of finally solving our puppy demon problem. I came to a halt next to Dave’s coffee corner, resting a hand on the bar, trying to get a hold of myself and re-center my thoughts around the mission at hand. Dave looked up, his eyes sleepy.
I braced myself for the usual fortune cookie aphorisms. Something about seasons or small frogs.
“Where we come from is not the only thing that makes us who we are,” he said solemnly. “But journeying to our true identity is often littered with . . .” He glanced over at my mother, who was talking to Scott and Evie. “. . . many stones along the path.”
I goggled at him. Was that . . . had he just said something that sort of made sense and was actually relevant to my situation? Was he actually trying to help me? Huh. Well. Annie Chang kind of wanted to let him.
“That’s very true,” I said hesitantly, meeting his eyes. “The harder I try to figure out who I am, the more, er, stones I seem to encounter.”
He nodded. “But in every stone there is a lesson.” He looked down at the chipped Sunny Side mug in front of him, frowning into its depths. “Often a sad one.”
“Well . . . sure.” I looked back over at my mother, who was now being guided out—and apparently soothed—by Scott and Evie and felt another rush of warmth. “But I think those lessons are necessary to help us figure out who we are.”
Dave met my eyes again and his face was so wrenchingly sad—as if he was experiencing a sudden moment of pure, unstoned clarity—I winced. “I am lost on the path. The stones are too great.”
I found myself reaching over the coffee bar and giving him an awkward pat on the arm. I couldn’t help but feel a sudden stab of sympathy for this poor, broken man. Oh, who was I kidding—I related way too much to every single thing that was coming out of his mouth.
“That’s how I’ve felt recently, too,” I said to him. “But you know what? Even the greatest stone can be overcome. It just might be a little harder than you imagined. And . . . I’m so sorry about your café closing.”
He frowned again into his mug, his expression going stormy. “Someday I will take it back.”
“That’s the spirit,” I said, trying to sound encouraging. “You know, Maisy—for all her faults—is actually a whiz at this small business thing. Maybe she could give you some tips, help you find a new space?”
He looked up and stared at me for a long moment. Then leaned forward, eyes darting back and forth like he was about to share some especially deep pearl of wisdom. I found myself leaning in as well, wondering what he was going to say.
“Running in circles gets your shoes worn down on one side.”
So we were back to fortune cookies.
“Hey,” Evie said, coming up behind me. Scott was with her. “We, ah, saw your mom out.”
“Thank you,” I said, turning away from Dave. “Thank you for helping me deal with her. I don’t know why I let her get to me that way. And I know I shouldn’t have snapped at her, but . . .” I let out a long gust of a breath.
“It’s okay,” Evie said, grinning. “Despite all your insistence to the contrary, you’re human.”
“And we’re here for you,” Scott added, taking my hand.
“Aw!” Evie exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Look at that!”
“Look at what?” I said. “Scott touching my hand?”
“Scott holding your hand!” she said, getting a bit misty. “It’s so cute and couple-y and . . . and . . .”
“And Scott is standing right here, yet getting talked about like he isn’t,” Scott said, quirking an eyebrow.
“And you need to stop,” I said to Evie, laughing. I felt the tension from my mother’s visit slowly easing away as I soaked in the warmth of them standing next to me, helping me deal with my mother, us teasing each other like we were back in junior high. And I realized I could see, at least a little bit, what Evie had been trying to tell me about Clark Kent. Knowing they were there for me actually did make me feel stronger.
I squeezed Scott’s hand and released it. “Thank you for being here for me. Now let’s please, please go deal with this puppy issue once and for all.”
“So what’ve we got?” I said, nodding at the trap. We were all gathered around the portal. Even though the trap was nothing more than a plain, unassuming gray box, I felt like it was projecting an aura of muted indignation. Like it was somehow giving us the finger.
“Is it the puppy, trapped in that Marcus Wong original?” I continued. “Or I guess not so original, since it was the second version? Oh, and speaking of that, apparently there’s a third version floating around out there.”
Evie and I exchanged a glance, and I quickly filled the others in on our encounter with Franz.
“Fascinating,” Nate said. “Blackmail would seem to add a new level of complexity to whatever plan the puppy and its human helper have been concocting.”
“Why is it obsessed with that particular Marcus Wong?” Evie said.
“Everyone loves custom tailoring,” Lucy quipped.
“We still don’t know how that piece fits in and we’re going to get Mercedes to follow up with Marcus—and we should probably scan his shop and the surrounding area,” I said. “But back to what we have here . . .”
“It’s the puppy,” Bea said. “It�
��s not just an echo, like the energy the scanner picked up in Pussy Queen before. But there’s something off about it.”
“Off?” I repeated.
“Our tests indicate it’s in a weakened state,” Bea said. “But we’re not sure why or what that ultimately means.”
“We’ve done every test we can,” Nate said, running a hand through his unruly hair and making it stand on end. “The resulting data isn’t giving us anything more to work with. But Scott managed to get some additional information.” Nate motioned for Scott to pick up the thread.
“I was finally able to use my spell to forge a stable connection with the puppy,” Scott said.
“He totes mind-melded!” Bea crowed.
“Well, sort of,” Scott said, giving her an indulgent half-smile. “Like before, it was angry, frustrated—and at this point, I’d definitely characterize it as sentient. Its thought patterns seem to increase in complexity every time I connect with it. I couldn’t pull it out of the dress; it’s bonded too tightly. And when I tried to ask it questions, it shut down. Finally, it told me it would give me more answers if I brought it here.”
“To Pussy Queen?” Evie said.
“To the portal,” Bea clarified.
“And we’re just doing what it says?” I said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“Yeah, what if that’s part of its evil plan, and it’s going to use the portal to really fuck our shit up?” Evie said.
“The trap has it well contained,” Nate said. “That combined with its weakened state means it shouldn’t be able to do much right now.”
“So now that we’re here, now that we’ve granted that request, I’m going to try the spell again and see if it will tell me anything,” Scott said, kneeling next to the trap.
He placed his hand on it, his brow furrowing and his breathing deepening as he concentrated on putting the spell in motion. We all watched, the silence in the room turning thick and weighted with meaning. It felt like we were collectively holding our breath, hoping for answers. I reminded myself to exhale.
“All right,” Scott finally said, his voice low and even. “I’m connected to it. It’s calmer now. I’m not getting that pulse of constant rage, but . . .” He frowned. “It’s still in distress. It’s . . . scared.”
