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“Yes.” She was beaming, her eyes as bright as her smile. “This is Sarah. Sarah, this is Damon.”
“A pleasure,” said Damon.
“Ditto,” I agreed. “Your store is amazing. I’ve been in a lot of stores in my life, but this one blows them all away.”
“That is very kind of you to say. I must say, I’m surprised you brought a friend with you today, Alicia.”
“I had hoped you wouldn’t mind,” Alicia replied. “Sarah is Thierry de Bennicoeur’s wife.”
“Thierry de Bennicoeur,” Damon repeated, and I’d only heard Thierry’s name pronounced so perfectly when Thierry said it himself. “That is a name I haven’t heard for a very long time.”
“He’s working with the Ring again,” she told him. “As a consultant.”
“Yes, I’d heard that through the grapevine.” Damon nodded. “It’s a fitting role for him. I remember Thierry being very much the problem solver.”
Slight plot twist, front and center. “You know Thierry?” I asked, stating what clearly was the obvious.
“I did. A long time ago.”
“You were friends?”
“I…wouldn’t say that.” Damon smiled. “Come, Sarah, let me give you the tour of the inner workings of my little shop.”
I held onto my smile, but my gut instinct was telling me to walk right out of Rags to Riches right now in my shiny new shoes and find the nearest payphone so I could call Thierry.
But tucking tail and scramming didn’t exactly solve any cases, did they? And the more cases I helped solve, the sooner the Ring might willingly loosen their ties on my husband.
It was a theory.
“Sounds great,” I agreed as coolly as I could.
The wealthy pirate and Miss Moulin Rouge led me off the main floor of the populated shop, through an ornate glass door, to the workshop. Which actually matched the image in my mind more than I’d expected. There were a dozen workstations with staff busily sewing and hammering and stitching up patterns, making shoes and bags and accessories to replenish the stock out front.
It smelled like leather and wood, but luckily not so much of sweat and cheap champagne. Damon acted like a perfect tour guide, explaining how the shop had been around for nearly a century when he’d opened it up with a partner, who’d died thirty years ago.
So pirate-boy was more than a hundred years old but looked thirty. Add in the magic, and it seemed to me that there was no doubt that this was a warlock I was dealing with. One who made shoes touched with a trace of magic.
Which explained why it felt like I was currently walking on clouds. Happy, fluffy, massage clouds.
So far, I think I liked this kind of magic—apart from the jarring and unexpected trip here, of course. It was much better than being cursed, that was for sure.
The tour ended, and nothing strange had happened. I’d really expected something strange to happen. But maybe I was just paranoid. Maybe this was just an affair—an unhappily married vampire and a magic-shoe-making warlock. A tale as old as time. Practically a Disney movie, really.
We returned to the main store, and I couldn’t help feeling on edge. I guess you could say I was waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Sarah.” Damon nodded. “Please, give my regards to Thierry.”
“Sure thing,” I managed.
“And now you…” Damon turned to Alicia. “May we have a private moment before you return to America?”
“I’d like that,” she said enthusiastically. “Sarah, I’ll be back soon. Well, maybe not too soon.”
I didn’t need a translator. They were going to be making a French Connection, and I had to linger around here until they were done.
“Sure thing,” I said. “I’ll just be…browsing. And trying not to max out my credit card.”
“I’m sure Thierry can afford whatever you like,” Damon said.
