by Mac Flynn
“Huh? Oh, um, kind of, but why is it so rubbery?” I asked her.
The woman looked me up and down, and smiled. “You must be a new one.”
I shrugged. “Pretty new.”
She stepped up beside me and draped the cloth over her palm. “These new clothes are the hit of the city. They’re specially made to survive the transformation. Once you change back they should still fit you. Unless you change completely, and then you can slip out and carry the cloth with you.”
“That’s really neat.” I looked at the price tag. Suddenly they weren’t so really neat. “Um, do you have this with fewer numbers in front of the decimal point?” I joked.
Stacy came over and looked at the tag. “We’ll take five pairs in these sizes.” She handed over a slip where she’d written all the sizes for the men and ourselves.
The employee bowed her head. “Very well, Miss Stacy. Would you like them delivered to your apartment or your father’s home?”
“Neither. We’ll carry them off as soon as you can have them ready.”
“Very well, Miss Stacy. I’ll get right on it.” The saleswoman scurried off to fill the order.
I glanced at Stacy. “Shouldn’t we be somewhere where you wouldn’t be noticed?” I asked her.
Stacy shrugged. “I’m afraid I get around in all levels of society so I’d be recognized even in the dingier places.”
Luke came up to us and looked around. “Do you usually receive this many stares?”
Stacy didn’t look around, but she shook her head. “Not usually. People mind their own business and the salespeople are trained not to stare.”
Luke nodded at a pair of employees who stood along the wall in the back close to the counter. They whispered between themselves and cast furtive glimpses at us. “Their training is faltering,” he commented.
Stacy glanced to me. “Becky, could you be a dear and find out what they’re talking about?”
The color drained from my face. “Me?” I squeaked. “Why me?”
“Because between the three of us you’re the least recognizable, and you’re so clumsy no one would suspect you’re a werewolf and can overhear their conversation,” she pointed out.
My shoulders slumped and I frowned. “I’m not that bad at being a werewolf,” I muttered.
“No, but right now being a good one isn’t what we need. We just need you to be invisible,” she persisted.
“But they’re just going to smell me,” I argued.
“Not if you hide in the clothes. Those things are so full of scents from everyone touching them that you could hide a party in there and no one would smell it.” She grasped my shoulders turned me at an angle toward the pair, and gave me a push. “Now go find something to look at,” she whispered.
I stumbled forward, shot a glare at her over my shoulder, and shuffled over to the wall against which they stood. My shoulder brushed up against one of the racks, and a delicious idea hit me. I whipped my head around and, seeing no one watching me except my mate and Stacy, I slipped into the rack. I slunk through the hanging clothes and popped my head out the other side while a James Bond soundtrack played in my head. The coast was clear so I jumped into the next rack.
I winced when I hit the center post and the whole thing shook a little. I could just imagine Luke shaking his head and Stacy smiling. Once the clothes stilled I peeked between some shirts and found myself right next to the employees. Fortunately they still cast furtive glances at my companions who were no doubt knowingly playing the part of the decoy. Now I was close enough to hear what they were whispering about.
“I heard they got kicked out of the Hair because they refused to pay their bill,” the taller one commented. “You know those rich types. They think the world owes them everything so they can get richer.”
“I heard they were dragged off and beaten up because of some fight at Sanctuary,” the other countered.
Her friend scoffed. “Do they look like they’ve been beaten up?” she pointed out. “Besides, the patrol guys don’t usually rough people up. They like to try to get them through psychological means.”
“But why’d they want to do that to the lord’s daughter?” the second one wondered.
The taller one shrugged. “I don’t know, but did you get a look at that dog-faced woman with her and that other girl?” She shuddered. “I’ve never seen such a face.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty bad, but what I’d like to know is why the patrol wanted her bad enough to get her from the Hair and then toss her back out so she can flaunt her money again.”
“Maybe those rumors about the traitors are true,” the tall one suggested.
“What rumors?”
“Oh, just something spread around by the red bands,” her friend offhandedly commented.
The shorter one frowned. “Out with it,” she growled.
The taller one held up her hands. “All right, don’t be pushy. Besides, I don’t know if I believe what they’re saying any more than what I hear from the green bands.”
“But what’d they have to say?” her friend persisted.
“They said something about the High Lord looking for traitors in the regions. He’s been sending out Protectors, and I heard one of them didn’t report back. That one went to Spatia.”
The shorter one snorted. “That would be the problem. He probably got eaten by the hillbilly werewolves up there and they’re snacking on his bones right now.”
The taller one shuddered. “That’s absolutely disgusting.”
“No, what’s disgusting is you two standing around here while customers wait for help,” a voice spoke up. I ducked down when the speaker, a middle-aged woman, stomped toward them. Nothing was more frightening than an angry manager. “Now get back to work or you’re both fired.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they replied. The pair scattered to assist customers, and I slunk back to my companions on the far side of the store.
“Well? Anything juicy?” Stacy wondered.
“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s good news,” I replied. “Those two were talking about a lot of rumors about us getting kicked out of the Hair restaurant, and they talked about that dead Protector we found in Baker’s barn.” I turned to Luke. “And they called you dog-faced.”
Stacy laughed, but Luke frowned. “This must be what Cranston was referring to when he spoke about defacing our character,” he mused.
Stacy got control of herself and sighed. “So that’s their plan. Humiliating us in public and spreading rumors to back up the public image. That’s low.”
“But politically wise,” Luke argued. “They hardly need to make an effort, and the rumor mills do the rest of the work.”
“So what do we do? Tell everyone it’s all a bunch of lies?” I asked them.
Luke shook his head. “It won’t work. You can’t fight rumors with the truth unless you have strong evidence to the contrary. After all, who will they believe more? Our word or the word of a trusted friend or neighbor?”
“So we just stand by and watch Cranston and Lance win the war of words?” I wondered.
“I’m more worried about a real war than one fought by word of mouth,” he told me.
“Perhaps this conversation should wait until we get back to the apartment,” Stacy spoke up. “We don’t want to start any bad rumors about ourselves.”
Our elastic clothes were delivered to us, and Stacy guided us outside and back toward the apartment. I looked at the boxes Luke and I carried, and frowned. “What about our costumes for the ball?” I asked Stacy.
“We’re getting to that. I know a little place on a side street that will work just fine,” she replied.
“How fine?” Luke wondered.
“It’s an out-of-the-way place where you won’t be stared at and rumors can’t fly about us. We might also get some information on Callean’s whereabouts,” she told him.
19
We entered the dingier part of the city, and Stacy turned into a narrow alley. Tall brick
buildings stood on either side of us and created a cavern the full depth of the dark, shadowed block. On the left was a set of stairs with a thin metal railing that led into the basement of one of those tall buildings. A small, weathered wooden sign hung above the top step. Madam Leonor’s Antiques and Pickled Frogs.
Stacy strolled down the stairs with Luke close behind, but I paused and looked over the railing. At the bottom of the stairs was a square block of concrete that was the doorstep to a dilapidated wooden door. A small light glowed above the door, and strange smells wafted up from the crack beneath the entrance. Luke glanced up and nodded his head. “Come on, I’m sure this Leonor won’t bite.”
Stacy chuckled. “That’s what you think,” she teased.
Luke whipped his head to her. “Should I ask if she has rabies?” he half-jokingly asked her.
She shrugged. “Probably not, but I guess I should warn you she’s a little overly dramatic.”
“Why’s that?” I wondered.
“She used to be an actress and some habits die hard,” Stacy replied.
“An actress? Like a movie actress or something?” I guessed.
She smiled and shook her head. “Not quite. She wasn’t that-well, refined. Most of her shows took place in rooms with red lights inside and outside the building.”
“A male entertainer?” Luke spoke up.
“She prefers the term companion, but she’s been called that a lot,” Stacy admitted. “But anyway, it’s best to keep on her good side. She’s rough around the edges, but there’s a heart of gold inside that gruff exterior.”
Stacy and Luke stepped inside, and I hurried down the stairs after the pair. I pushed into the room and found myself in a different world than the one above us. The shop was a small, cramped square space with a few cobwebbed bulbs hanging from the ceiling so low even I could knock my head on them. The dry, paint-peeled walls were lined with dusty shelves filled with vials of congealed liquid and strange dried plants. There were three narrow, short aisles created by two bookcases that stood in the center of the room. At the back stood a curved desk, and beyond that was a doorway with beads that hung from the top of the frame.
“I thought these places were only in movies,” I whispered. In a place this creepy speaking in a normal volume wasn’t allowed.
Stacy smiled. “She may not have been in the movies, but she’s a big movie fan and created this shop to match the ones she’d seen in those old movies,” Stacy replied.
I frowned and picked up a jar of floating eyes. “You mean this is all fake?”
She brushed by me and chuckled. “I didn’t say that.” I cringed and quickly put the jar back.
Stacy’s evil playfulness was interrupted by the sound of the beads rustling. A wizened old woman shuffled out of the back room and stood behind the desk. Her back was bent and her hands were gnarled. She had her silver hair pulled back in a braid that stretched past her waist and wore a shawl over a brightly-colored, flowered dress. She peered at us through a pair of glasses so thick they must have been bullet-proof. “You break it you buy it,” she croaked.
Stacy wound her way through the shelves to the desk. “And you’ll charge us an outrageous price for the cleanup,” she teased.
The old woman frowned, leaned across the desk and adjusted her glasses. Her face lit up in a gummy grin. She had no teeth. “Why, if it isn’t little Stazia! Why, I haven’t seen you since you were a little one with your father!”
“I came here two weeks ago for some bath salts,” Stacy reminded her.
The old woman frowned and tapped her chin with a long, pointed fingernail. “Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that. Thank you for reminding me, Stazia.”
Luke and I came and stood behind Stacy. “Stazia?” I wondered.
“A pet name,” Stacy told me.
“And what a fine pet you’ve become! So pretty and elegant, just like your mother!” Leonor applauded.
Stacy smiled. “I’m glad to hear that, Leonor, but we’re not here to talk about her. We need some nice costumes for a ball tomorrow night. Think you can scrounge up a couple of good ones from the costume trunk you used to let me play in?”
“Of course! Of course! Anything for my little Stazia! Come this way.” She half turned, paused, then looked over her shoulder with a wild eye at us. The change from sweet granny to crazy ax-murderer was frighteningly fast. “Who are these two?” she growled.
“Friends of mine. They need some costumes, too,” Stacy explained to her.
Leonor narrowed her eyes and glanced at Luke. She pulled back in fright and her face twisted into disgust. “What’s wrong with her face?” she asked Stacy.
Stacy laughed. “The problem is that that’s not a her, that’s a him,” she told the old woman. “Luke, take off your disguise.” Luke removed his wig and glasses.
Leonor’s face twisted into a grimace. “I see. Stazia did the best she could trying to hide you, but you’re just an ugly girl,” she commented.
“Thanks,” Luke grumbled.
Leonor waved aside his thanks. “No need to thank me. As friends of Stacy you’re welcome here, but you break it you buy it.”
“We’ll be sure not to touch anything,” Luke promised.
“Yeah, no problem,” I chimed in. I didn’t have a ten-foot pole on hand.
“All right, follow me.”
Leonor led us through the bead gateway and into another world. This one was oriental in style and smell. The area behind the beads was a small apartment decked out in long, hanging curtains and enough pillows to start a Guinness Records pillow war. To our right was a small kitchen, to our left were two doors, one leading to the bathroom and another to a small bedroom. There were narrow, grimy windows behind the thick curtains that filtered in some natural light, but most was provided by a few spare bulbs. In front of us stood a short table in the center with a steaming cup of tea on the top. “Would you like any tea?” Leonor wondered.
“No thanks,” I replied.
Leonor whipped her head around and glared at me. “I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to Stazia.”
“Leonor, these are my friends,” Stacy reminded her.
Leonor grumbled, but turned away and shambled over to a trunk on the far side of the table. She unlocked the heavy lock and opened it. “Now what exactly were ya wanting?”
“Three male costumes and two females. Also, did you have any masks to go with them?” Stacy asked her.
“I’m sure I can scrounge some up, but why are you needing them?” Leonor wondered.
Stacy smiled and shrugged. “You know me. If there’s a ball I can’t resist attending, and there’s a masked ball coming up tomorrow that I’m dying to attend.”
“I hope that’s not the price of admission,” I murmured.
Leonor paused and glanced over her shoulder with a look of suspicion. “That masked ball? The one my son’s going to?”
“I expect him to be there,” Stacy replied with a sly smile.
Leonor tapped her long nails on the edge of the chest. “This doesn’t have anything to do with your sneaking around in your silly little Underground, does it?”
“It might,” Stacy teased.
Leonor frowned and slammed the lid shut. She locked the trunk and dropped the key into her bra. Nobody would ever want to go scrounging around in there. “I’m not helping you get yourself hurt,” she refused. That’s when things got ugly. Stacy quivered her lower lip and her eyes took on a shine that warned of an oncoming rush of tears. Leonor cringed. “Now don’t go giving me those. I know you’ve got your mother’s and grandmother’s talent for acting, and I won’t believe a single one of those tears is real.”
Stacy stepped toward her and clasped her hands together in front of her. “Please help us with the costumes. We need these costumes to help my father,” she pleaded.
The old woman scoffed and her voice took on a flat, indifferent tone. “What do I care about him? Your mother should have married better.”
Stacy
frowned and put her hands on her hips. “I know you care more about him then you’ll admit, and I know you’ll help us help him.”
“What do I care about him who goes around on his high horse without stepping a foot down and ignores all of us down here. Even my son visits me every now and again,” Leonor argued. “He’s a lout, but he’s a lout I see.”
“Leonor, you know my dad has important duties to attend to and can’t visit you whenever you like,” Stacy shot back.
That ruffled the old goat. “What would I want for him to be visiting me in my old age? When we were such chums as kids and now that he’s all high-and-mighty as a lord he doesn’t have time to even call.”
“Um, if we’re intruding on something then we can leave,” I spoke up. Stacy shot me such a glare that I squeaked and ducked behind Luke.
Stacy looked back to Leonor and folded her arms. “Leonor Luciana, I can’t believe how pigheaded you’re being.”
“You should. I’ve been this pigheaded for longer than you’ve been alive,” Leonor growled. I noticed her gummy mouth now had a few sharp, nasty-looking teeth and her eyes had taken on an orange color. Luke stepped back and took me with him.
Stacy straightened, and I noticed her hands were long and ended in sharp nails. “Don’t be so stubborn, Leonor. We need those costumes to save my father, and I won’t let your strange love-hate for him to get in my way.”
“Perhaps we can talk this over outside,” Luke suggested. The women whipped their heads over to him and both growled. He grinned and held up his hands. “I only wanted to save the place from damage,” he told them.
“Why don’t you mind your own business, you cross-dresser!” Leonor snarled.
Luke spun around, grabbed my shoulders, and marched me into the shop. I pulled out of his grasp and faced him. “What are you doing? They’re going to kill each other over nothing!” I protested.
He shook his head. “I haven’t heard all the details, but I do know some of this Leonor’s past history,” he admitted to me. “She was a great friend of Stacy’s mother, almost like a mother to her. When Stacy’s mother passed away Stacy was raised by Leonor while her father took over his position as lord from his father. The Stevens are a long line of lordly idiots.”
