“It won’t be by us,” Edie quickly interjected.
The other woman let her weapon settle back into place. “Excellent.”
“I know!” Doug dropped his chair’s remote and pointed at Edie and Max. “You should have dinner with us. We can make sushi!”
Belinda stared at him. “Really? We’re feeding our intruders now?”
Doug’s mustache drooped. “What’s the point of making counterfeit money if we can’t spend it on our friends?”
“Fine, fine. Get the sticky rice going.” Austin waved a hand, then directed his attention to Max and Edie. “I assume you’ll stay for dinner?”
The exact cause of Max’s faintly disgruntled look wasn’t clear to Edie. Maybe he’d reached his socialization limit. Maybe he’d rather not have to eat human food and continue pretending he wasn’t, in fact, a super-old, superstrong vampire and thus a salient threat to the counterfeiters. Maybe he simply didn’t like sushi.
It made no difference. No matter what either of them wanted, there was only one correct response to give to the armed criminal gang surrounding them.
“We’d be delighted,” she answered for them both.
12
Later that night, Max shook out the first item from his bundle of borrowed clothing. Together, he and Edie contemplated a pair of gold lamé pants and the generous amount of fabric ballooning forth in the garment’s thigh region.
Savagely, she bit her lip.
“They gave me MC Hammer pants.” His voice was flat. “Like in my video.”
The light from her phone—which Doug had insisted she charge using the generator’s power—reflected against the shiny surface of the pants and illuminated the far wall. She pointed her face in that direction, quelling the irresistible urge to laugh.
Max sighed. “No wonder Austin looked entirely too pleased with himself.”
Getting herself under control, she turned back. “You should be proud, Max. You’re an influencer, right? And you clearly influenced someone in that gang.” The fabric was slinky and cool under her outstretched fingertip. “It’s very soft. Also very dry, unlike your jeans, and far less precarious than the tablecloth toga you’ve been wearing all afternoon.”
Several counterfeiters had been watching that toga, their hungry gazes willing its folds to part and its knots to unravel. Alas, the tablecloth had proven sturdier than expected. She and Max remained the only people in that mall who’d seen him entirely naked.
To clarify, alas for the counterfeiters. Not her. She was quite pleased to have the viewing of his birthday suit remain a party of two.
“I suppose.” He dug through the rest of the clothing pile, then paused. “Shit.”
“Show me. Come on, Max. Share with the class.”
When he held up a leather tunic with a Mandarin collar and nipple and navel cutouts, she choked on thin air and began coughing and laughing at the same time. He glared at her as he thumped her back.
“I—I’m guessing that’s from your videos too,” she wheezed.
He offered her zero expression. “Possibly.”
“What—” She caught her breath. “What else did they give you?”
To his credit, he didn’t try to dodge the question. “Velour boxers and a clip-on rattail.”
When a strangled sound emerged from her straining lungs and she began cough-laughing again, he deposited their borrowed towel in her hand.
“Let’s take our showers, human.” Only the faintest indentation at the corner of his mouth revealed his own reluctant amusement. “Perhaps you’ll be less gleeful at the misfortune of others once you’re clean.”
“Probably not.” She wouldn’t lie to him. “But you’re sweet to think so.”
According to Belinda, the former employees at the nearby sporting goods store had been urged to bike to work, so one bathroom in the back came equipped with a shower, not merely a sink and a toilet. Her gang used that shower, and they’d given Edie and Max access for the night too.
Together, the two of them walked over, nodding at a sleepy-looking Austin as they passed the Sharper Image. When they reached their destination, their steps echoed across the vast emptiness of the dark sporting goods store, and Edie hastened to the staff area in the rear, where the counterfeiters had rigged up some lighting. In contrast to the huge selling floor, the employee break room would accommodate a half dozen people, max, and the white-tiled bathroom with the shower was slightly claustrophobic. Its surfaces sparkled with surprising cleanliness, however—probably due to the cleaning rotation on the wall, upon which Austin had posted a sticky note reading “THIS MEANS YOU TOO, CODY”—and thank goodness for that. Edie had no desire to contract a fungal infection even as she scrubbed away all traces of moat water.
