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Two women brushed past—one carrying a textured faux leather shoulder bag.
“Wow,” I breathed, heeding its siren call. “Look at the buckles on that.”
Sienna towed me back. “Down, girl. The shop is that way.”
Brocade sat in the middle of the street, sandwiched between Louis Vuitton and Fendi. Stepping inside was coming home. The shop was an explosion of color—fabrics in every type and hue, sat neat and folded on their shelves. On the shop floor, the tools of my trade—buttons, clasps, buckles, and thread were artfully arranged on the tables.
A woman emerged from the back room. Her black-and-white trench gown’s skirt came out before her, trumpeting her entrance like a slender leg in high heels slips out of the limo first. I put her at early forties, and the twisted lips at disapproving.
She raked us up and down. “Can I help you?”
It’s impressive the ability some have to say “can I help you?” and make it come out like “what the hell are you doing here?”
I stepped forward. “Yes, I’m sewing a leather jacket. I need five yards of leather, a yard and a half of lining, a separating zipper, pins...” I rattled off the list, noting her expression change.
“Hmm.” Her skirts whispered together as she came around the counter. “And just how are you planning to pay for all of that?”
I showed her my teeth. “I was planning to pay with money. Why? Do you take something else?”
To my surprise, she chuckled. “Feisty little thing,” she said, “in hideous clothes. The first makes me like you. The second makes me pray no one sees you walking out of my shop and believes you got that cotton-blend nightmare here.” She clapped. “But if you’ve come to me, you’re ready to convert. Look no further, Isla is your savior.”
She spun away, descending on the wall of fabric. “You’ll need more than a jacket, darling. What are the two of you going to do? Share?” She laughed at her own joke. “I’ll start you off with six yards of buhp, buhp, buhp—this.” A chiffon wave floated to the cutting table. “And two yards of— Don’t just stand there. Get some lace. It’s in the back.”
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” I rushed out as she picked up the scissors. “I’m only here for the leather. I’m making a gift for a friend.”
“Sweetie, anyone who has the talent to create the jacket you’re about to undertake and the money to buy their materials here, has no business walking around in that mess.”
I tugged on the peasant blouse. “It’s just jeans and a top,” I muttered. “Did I sound like that when I worked for Caddell House?” I asked Sienna.
“No,” she whispered back. “You were nice and kept your judgment in your eyes. Where everyone can see it but you could deny it if they called you out.”
I flicked her forehead, making her run off laughing to the lace. “Swimming with the rich playboys now,” she called over her shoulder.
“What’s it going to be?” Isla asked.
Torn, I gazed at the unicorn jacket sketch, recalling our plan to hit my old friend’s boutique in North Quay, where the prices didn’t make you cry.
“Maybe— Maybe just a couple more yards of the chiffon,” I said. “And two yards of that gray satin. It’s practically begging to come home with me.”
I bought out half the woman’s shop. I couldn’t help it. I’d glimpse a yard of fabric and all the outfits I could create out of it—dresses, skirts, blazers, purses, hair bows. The next thing I knew, Isla was ringing it up. I comforted myself with the promise that I’d create outfits for Sunny, Liam, Fuller, and everyone who’d been kind to me the last few days while I hissed and spat to get away like a feral cat.
Isla rang me up with a huge smile. It transformed her face. “What’s your address, Kenzie? I offer next-day delivery.”
“I just moved into a new place.” The doorbell chimed. “Give me a sec to check if the doorman accepts delivery.”
I went behind a wool display, ringing up Thatcher.
“Is it okay for me to give the Fairfield’s address?”
“No,” he confirmed. “Delivery man is a favored role for assassins. Packages are sent to 528 Spruce Lane where they are screened and then sent on after they’re cleared.”
“528 Spruce Lane it is. Thanks.” Ending the call, I stuffed the phone in the pocket.
“—Phenomenal Five. My submissions must be perfect, and perfect is what you provide, Isla.”
“This is true.”
Dread curdled my insides. No. No, no, no. A brush with death last night wasn’t enough, Universe? You had to ruin this day too.
“What’s this? You’re that girl,” said the unmistakable Lyla. “Her sister... Sierra or something. What do you think you’re doing here?”
I shot out, whirling Lyla’s attention on me, and ignored her.
“The address is 528 Spruce Lane,” I told Isla. Lyla’s clique—Madison, Naomi, Skylar, and Brielle—didn’t get a glance from me either. “Thanks for everything.”
