The Piper's Price

by Audrey Greathouse

  “So tell me everything—what’s he like?”

  She proceeded to explain the menagerie of interests and traits that made Jay the wonderful and attractive person he was. Dawn was full of questions, but the nature of her questions revealed the startlingly shallow nature of her interest. It didn’t matter to her that he was a gamer or a wonderful art student, but she was thrilled to hear he was homecoming king, and eager to know what position he played on the football team. There was a melancholy satisfaction to sharing her excitement about Jay with someone who had a functioning understanding of high school and boys—as opposed to dear Lasiandra—but Gwen had to wonder how much of what she was telling Dawn was really registering.

  Dawn’s planned community was not far from Franklin Square, the biggest shopping complex in the area. Gwen had spent plenty of long afternoons milling through the myriad shops in the commercial mall with Claire, Katie, and other peers. Those memories were all a silly blur of bra purchases, fur-lined boots, the occasional movie, and caffeinated beverages. Most of the things Gwen had bought at the mall were token investments in sociality. Bikinis and statement jewelry migrated to the back of her dresser drawers, never to be worn.

  They pulled into the parking garage, but Gwen made the mistake of trying to get out of the car once they parked.

  “Wait!” Dawn objected, adjusting the rear-view mirror. “I need to fix my makeup.”

  Gwen pretended to be patient.

  Once Dawn’s lips were an even shade of Coral Perfection, she grabbed the letterman jacket from the back and they headed into the mall. She led with a powerful stride, gripping her sagging black purse to her side and seeming to derive satisfaction just from hearing her uncomfortable high heels click against the tile of the floor. On a Saturday morning this close to Christmas, the mall was hopping. A potpourri of greasy, salty smells radiated from the food court, and seasonal music blasted over the speakers only to be drowned out by the chatter and clamor of the shoppers.

  “I’m not sure I should be here,” Gwen told Dawn, trying to keep pace with the woman who was plowing her way through the crowds. “What if someone recognizes me?”

  “Don’t worry, you’re with me.” They narrowly dodged a frantic mother driving her stroller forward like it was a cow catcher. “Nobody sees what they aren’t expecting to see. The MRP makes sure of that. Hold onto this if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

  She reached into her purse—almost elbowing a man heading in the other direction—and pulled out her keys. She dropped them into Gwen’s hands for inspection. The key chain was incredibly heavy. A glossy, black metal disk the size of a half-dollar hung on the keys and read: MRP Anomaly Reduction Device, issued to Dawn Charleston 1.16.97 certified by the Department of Anomalous Activity.

  “I don’t get it,” Gwen replied, turning it over and trying to make sense of it. “How does this thing keep people from seeing us?” It felt like a painfully ordinary trinket.

  “It’s an intensely magical object that focuses all its magic into appearing non-magical and preventing anomalous activity.”

  “So it attracts any magic nearby…”

  “And sucks it up like a black hole,” she finished. “Everyone can still see you, but if anyone who would think it was really weird to see you pass by, they won’t notice.”

  Testing the odd device, Gwen tried to fly an inch off the ground as they passed a pretzel shop and a stand selling a dizzying array of cell phone cases. She couldn’t even manage that much while she held the metal disk. “So you just carry this thing around all the time?”

  “Yep. Part of the deal with the Magic Relocation Program.”

  Gwen looked at the key chain, and then handed it to Dawn. “You can have it back.”

  The tailor operated out of a tiny shop wedged between a department store and a service corridor. Gwen wasn’t sure she’d ever noticed the shop before; she’d never needed to get anything altered or adjusted. The store’s name, A Stitch in Time, hung in simple, blocky letters over the storefront. The left window was covered in a similar font, listing out all the services the shop provided: zippers replaced, pants hemmed, clothes adjusted, darts added, tears mended, girdles made, embroidery stitched… The list encompassed everything Gwen could think of doing to clothes.

  As they walked in, the door detected their presence and responded with a perky chime. While they waited for someone to come out of the back, Gwen ogled the purses and dresses hung up on the walls of the tiny shop. The whole room wasn’t much bigger than her bedroom. She was staring at a rack of thread and sewing kits when a short man came to the counter.

  He had an impossibly bushy mustache and hair almost long enough to be pulled into a ponytail. His hair was a darker brown than his muddy eyes, which Gwen could easily see since he was almost exactly her height.

  “Ah, Mrs. Charleston!” he exclaimed, setting aside a piece of jam-covered toast and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His mouth disappeared under his mustache when he was not actively talking. “How are you?”

  “Doing well, Mr. Schneider.”

  “How are you sleeping these days?”

  “Not as well as I used to,” Dawn admitted.

  “Ah, who does at our age?” He had a kind smile, and a vest embroidered with leaves and vines that fit him snuggly. “I’m afraid I haven’t finished the adjustment work on your gown yet… I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

  “That’s alright. I’ve come with a more pressing project.”

  “Is your husband’s jacket tearing?” he inquired.

  “No, no,” she answered. “It just needs some… special attention.”

  The shopkeeper had a tape measure draped around his neck, giving him the quaint look of an old tailor. He raised a bushy eyebrow and glanced at Gwen before asking, “How special?”

  “I need the fencing patch removed and replaced.” She laid the jacket on the counter like a wounded animal. Mr. Schneider put on a tiny pair of square, rimless glasses and examined it as though he were a vet dealing with a critical patient.

  “The patch is in good shape.” Mr. Schneider mused. “I take it you have other plans for this?”

  “Yes. My friend here has been looking for a patch, and we think this might be what she needs.”

  Mr. Schneider folded his glasses up and stared at Gwen with an almost frightening intensity in his eyes, like a mad scientist. “That would depend greatly on what purpose this patch is for.”

  Dawn looked to Gwen, signaling her to explain.

  She coughed, realizing her throat was dry only as she went to speak. She had no idea who this man was or how magical he might be. “I need a very nice patch—one fit for a prince. It’s going to be part of a gift, of sorts.”

  He nodded along with this explanation. “For a prince?”

  “For someone who does a lot of patching,” Dawn cut in.

  Mr. Schneider did not look happy about this. “Am I right in assuming this project of yours is of such an unusual nature that anyone found assisting you in it would face rather unfortunate repercussions?”

  “It’s possible,” Dawn announced, aggressively apathetic. “But I don’t know what my friend wants to do with this patch, and you don’t know who my friend is, so certainly it isn’t unreasonable to expect a tailor to take a patch off for an old client without asking questions.”

  His smile turned mischievous as he told her, “I’ve known you to touch a needle but once in your life—who would I be to question that you are bringing me such a simple sewing job?” He turned the jacket inside out and felt the patch, shaped like swords crossing. “I can take it off without hurting the patch and get an identical one on… it will take at least two hours, however. As I’m sure you’re aware, we are not dealing with an ordinary patch.”

  “That’s fine. We can run some errands while you work.”

  “Good, good,” he replied, putting his glasses back on and bundling up the jacket in the other hand. He reached for his jam toast, but thought better
of it. “I’ll see you this afternoon then, Mrs. Charleston.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Schneider,” Gwen announced.

  He looked back over his shoulder, his bushy eyebrows raised. “Ah, miss… do not thank me now. This will buy you so much less than you want, and so much more than you have bargained for.”

  When Mr. Schneider announced they would have two hours to kill in the mall before he finished with the patch, Gwen braced herself for a boring afternoon with an unlikable woman twice her age. She was not prepared for Dawn’s giddy excitement and unlimited, consumerist imagination.

  She took Gwen to the pretzel shop, where they had a light lunch of fluffy, salty pretzels, and some complicated drink from Dawn’s favorite coffee stand. Gwen was expecting more from the drink after hearing how many special instructions were given during ordering. It turned out to be sugared milk with coffee flavor, whipped into a strange consistency.

  “We should go to the salon,” Dawn announced, looking dainty but sounding obnoxious as she slurped her latte. “I didn’t want to be rude and say anything about your hair, but as long as we’re here, we really should get it fixed.”

  “My hair?” Gwen asked. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Darling, I don’t know what you did with it—and I’m sure I don’t want to—but it looks like you lit it on fire.”

  Gwen had forgotten about the bolt of baby lightning that had lashed out at her and sizzled half her hair in the storm with Peter. The damage wasn’t so obvious when she had it pulled back in a ponytail, but Dawn’s critical eyes had seen the split ends and frazzled strands tucked away among the healthy bulk of her hair.

  Before she was even done with her low-fat vanilla, something-something latte, Dawn dragged her to the other side of the mall, promising she’d take care of Gwen’s hair.

  The trendy salon was busy and bustling with half a dozen women in chairs that faced a long, silvery mirror. The lights were colorful, and the shop played a strange style of upbeat techno music that Gwen couldn’t place. A woman with streaks of blue and pink in her white-blonde bob cut was overjoyed to see Dawn, and somehow got Gwen seated at once, even though she didn’t have an appointment.

  Dawn paged through magazines and talked to Rochelle, the hairdresser. They swapped tidbits of celebrity gossip like trading cards and discussed the wide variety of hair products for sale in the salon. Gwen listened to it like it was white noise in the background, grateful she didn’t have to make small talk with the hairdresser. She only had to answer the intermittent barrage of questions about what she wanted. Dye? Perm? Blowout? Highlights?

  The answer to all was no. Gwen’s experience with haircuts was eighty percent her mother trimming a few inches off and twenty percent going to the same barber shop the rest of her family did.

  However, Rochelle gave Dawn a terrifying veto power over Gwen’s instincts. Consequently, her hair was shampooed, blow-dried, and layered by the time they were done. Rochelle also gave Gwen her first asymmetrical haircut.

  Although skeptical at first, Gwen was pleasantly surprised with the end result. Rochelle had cut off all the burned hair, but rather than lop off the majority of Gwen’s long hair, she cut down at an angle. On her right, the hair barely passed her shoulder, but it ran fluidly down, increasing back to its original length on her left side. With layers too, Gwen felt like her freshly washed and dried hair was a stream trickling down her back. When Rochelle finally asked about the burned hair, she told her it was due to a freak accident with an old straightener.

  Dawn was clearly satisfied as they left. Her smile broadened, stretching her Coral Perfection lips to happy lengths, even as her eyes remained inexpressive, almost sad.

  “Your hair looks absolutely wonderful,” Dawn gushed. “Rochelle is a genius.” Her smile started to falter as she took in the whole picture. As she looked at the Native American bear shirt and long jeans, it at last occurred to her, “Are you… wearing Lily’s clothes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, that’s a relief. I didn’t want to be rude and tell you how drab those clothes are. I’m glad they’re not yours.”

  Gwen suppressed the urge to bite back at her shallowness for the umpteenth time that day. “I just got here from Neverland. I didn’t have a chance to pack normal clothes.”

  “Oh, well, we have to get you some new clothes then!” The thought made Dawn so happy Gwen was loath to question it. Still, she felt awkward with this stranger spending so much money on her. She didn’t know what her haircut had cost, but she was certain the stylish salon was expensive.

  “That’s really not necessary. I appreciate lunch and the haircut. You’ve done so much for me today. You really shouldn’t take me shopping too.”

  “Nonsense,” Dawn was now beelining for the nearest clothing store. “George doesn’t work all day so I can worry about a few dollars here and there.”

  “What does your husband do?”

  “He owns a landscaping company. Now come on, let’s find you some cute clothes!”

  It was apparent to Gwen that Dawn was doing this not out of some benevolent impulse, but for her own satisfaction. They visited three different stores, and in each one, Dawn went through the racks all but foaming at the mouth in her enthusiasm. Gwen stood by and held onto the clothes she pulled out, then marched off to the dressing room to model them and give minimal input.

  Somehow, the process was still enjoyable for her. It was like immersion learning of a language. She started using fashion terms, echoing them without fully understanding. Dawn had a keen eye for trendy pieces, and a sixth sense for how to build cohesive outfits out of disparate garments. Gwen was, for all her childish quirks, still a teenage girl, and couldn’t help but enjoy the novelty of a shopping spree. Two dresses, a jacket, two blouses, a pair of pants, and some colorful leggings later, Gwen was in a happy daze, carrying bags of brand-name clothes and waddling like a baby duck behind Dawn as she sauntered into a cosmetics department.

  By the time the makeup artists were done with her, and Dawn had thrown a fistful of beauty products into their bag, it was time to head back to Mr. Schneider’s shop. When she got there, he didn’t even recognize Gwen at first.

  “Well! You look like a regular princess now.” There was a neutrality to his voice that kept it from sounding like a compliment. He handed the jacket back to Dawn, seemingly unaltered, and then slipped the original patch across the counter so Gwen could tuck it away in her satchel—one practical aspect of her image she hadn’t let Dawn update.

  “Thank you, Mr. Schneider,” Gwen said. This felt like the first real victory toward finding the Piper. Peter probably had found the guilder coin by now and maybe even made sense of “the melody of the lamb and death,” but Gwen was making progress of her own.

  “Be careful with that,” Mr. Schneider warned. “Not that I have any idea what mess you’re trying to get yourself into with it.”

  Dawn looked comfortably happy with the way her day had gone. “Yes, thank you… you’re a brave little tailor to help us with this.”

  His mustache twitched as a smile formed on his obscured lips. “I try,” he answered. “I still try.”

  Dawn drove Gwen home, chattering on about how beautiful all the new clothes were, and what fantastic taste the girl had—as if unaware that she had picked everything out for her, with the exception of one blue party dress that had captured Gwen’s eye.

  In the passenger seat, Gwen fiddled with the patch and waited for a break in Dawn’s conversation to ask, “So what’s so magical about this patch?” It seemed like an ordinary felt patch.

  “Not much, now that we ripped it off, but that pack rat isn’t interested in more magic,” Dawn scoffed, glaring at the road. “He knew it would be hard to get and inconvenience someone, so he demanded it. The Piper isn’t interested in his own gain as much as others’ loss.”

  As they turned back onto the reservation and neared the gravelly road, Gwen attempted one last time to share a serious feeling with Dawn. “Th
ank you so much for helping me today.”

  “Oh, of course—I had fun shopping with you, too.”

  “I mean with the patch,” Gwen clarified. “I understand that it puts you at certain risk, and I’m glad you still believe in magic enough to help Peter and the rest of us.”

  “Now look here,” Dawn announced, bristling in her pudgy skin. “I didn’t do this because I believe in magic or think that somehow having Neverland around makes the world a better place. And I certainly didn’t do it because you deluded me into thinking a bunch of lost boys stand a chance against the black coats.” She stared Gwen in the eye, but only for a second before she put her eyes back on the bumpy road.

  “Then why are you helping us?” She wished Dawn had at some point, just once, given her a reason to like her other than taking an interest in cute high school boys and buying her things.

  “Nostalgia.” She spat the word bitterly. “You’ll know it someday… when all this is over with and the last battle is lost… you’ll find yourself compelled to help doomed causes, just because it looks like something you used to know. Nostalgia, that’s all.”

  Gwen didn’t believe her. She didn’t think she did, until she realized that she was afraid.

  “And speaking of,” Dawn took one hand and half her attention off the steering wheel to dig into her purse, “if anybody catches you with this, you stole it from Irene.”

  It was an empty spool of thread. She dumped it in Gwen’s hands while she was still confused.

  It didn’t feel like a bare spool.

  Gwen ran her fingers over the surface, smooth and wooden to the eye but wound with thick thread to the touch. She felt the invisible end of the thread and found she could unwind it and rewind it with ease. “Tell her I said thank you,” Gwen replied, a little mystified as she wondered how such an object could aid her efforts.

  “No,” Dawn insisted. “You stole it.”