Dark shadowy specters surround her. They look like tailors too, and they’re all so gaunt. Once I manage to lock eyes on one, they all turn their heads to me.
Stella looks back at her companions then to me. “Can you see them? I’m sorry. They’re supposed to be hidden.” She snaps her fingers, causing the figures to glimmer but not disappear.
“I couldn’t see them, Stella,” Vincenza says.
“Oh. Interesting. Well, they’re gone now.” Stella hops around the counter with arms open. “Now give me a hug!”
“No.”
“Well… fine. But I am going to want to know what brought you here!” Stella’s cheerful, like she’s meeting an old friend.
“My apprentice here needs some refined measurements before I commission you for the rest of her dresses. I apologize for not bringing her in your bespoke dress… It’s in the wash.”
“Then get here, girl! Same corner. Hurry up.” Stella snaps her fingers, specters sprung into following me.
They indiscriminately measure my features, phasing through the material limits set by my clothes.
“I see why you keep them hidden,” I say.
Stella frowns, putting down the measuring tape in her hand. “Most people pay more if there’s a show… No point in it anymore then. You’re both free to go. Vincenza, how many more dresses do you request?”
“Nine. Check’s already written out.” Vincenza hands over an envelope.
“Then I wish you two a good day. And perhaps I’ll meet your lovely paramour next time, Vincenza.”
Vincenza gives no dignity to the provocation and simply leaves.
I follow. “Bye, Stella! I hope to see you at the bar.”
“I’ll be there. Maybe Vincenza’s new favorite can be too.”
I’d join in teasing Vincenza, but she looks hurt. As the outside light grates our eyes, I whisper, “sorry.”
“You’re not at fault for her.” Vincenza surveys the block. “Now, I understand you had rye bread last time you were here?”
“Yes, I’ll show you!” I take her across the block to find the bread shop.
Line’s short this early, with the vampire crowd waning and the human crowd slowly crawling in. The smell of the bakery’s new batches fills the air with… unique aromas. Some born vampires have a trulytrulyunique taste for garlic that I do not share.
Vincenza kneels before the glass, searching the limited ingredients list for each bread.
“Hello. I can take you.” The clerk beckons us.
“I’m allergic to dairy and eggs. Do you have any bread without either?” Vincenza asks. “I’m not concerned with cross contamination.”
The clerk turns their head and clicks their tongue as they look around the display. “Wasko, do we have anything without milk powder?”
“If you give me thirty minutes, we can,” a worker yells from the back.
“If you can wait thirty minutes,” the clerk repeats to Vincenza.
She sighs and hands me a crescent. “Wanna get your rye and go?”
“I can wait—We’ll wait. What bread is it?” I ask.
The clerk shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s Wasko.”
We take seats to wait. Besides a radio in the corner relaying the news of some murder spree in south Avenale, there’s nothing to focus our minds on but conversation.
