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STEP FOUR: Give me about 3–4 weeks. I’m pretty slow at getting mail out, but I do get to it. I send email confirmations once they go.
Thank you for continuing to read my insane books. I can’t do this without you wild, crazy readers!
WITH LOVE,
Mimi
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to all the hardworking professionals who help turn my books from Sad Man to Super Man! Haha! LD, Kylie, Jaycee, Kelli, Pauline, and Paul. You’re all Ultra Mega Amazing.
To my family: Oh, stop. You know how I feel.
Giant Hugs!
Mimi
LOOKING FOR MORE SNARKY FANTASY?
Check outThe Immortal Tailor
CHAPTER ONE
“Come on. Hug me. Just one little squeeze?”
Damien Greystone set his fabric shears on the table and glared at the white furball with golden eyes. “No. And stop begging. I fed you last week.”
Damien returned to cutting out what would become the sleeve of a classic gray tweed coat, made by hand. Thecorrectway. As his father and his grandfather had done before him. Being a tailor wasn’t merely a family trade, it was an art, and this workshop was his sanctuary.
Along the walls, handmade oak drawers—some shallow, some deep—were filled with reams of fine fabrics and every color thread imaginable. An adjustable mannequin stood in the corner between towering piles of boxes he lacked space for in the overflowing stockroom next door.
In some ways, his store was a reflection of himself. Organized yet chaotic.
“Damien, come on,” whined the tiny beast, twitching his white whiskers. “I’m huungry. Sooo hungry.”
Damien growled with frustration, knowing exactly how this argument would end: Him getting annoyed to death and losing another day’s worth of work. “If I do this, Bonbon, you must promise to leave me alone the rest of the week. I have three suits to finish on top of this coat. And no more wetting the goddamned floor or leaving your ‘little treasures’ in the fitting room.”
The small beast jumped up on its hind legs, dancing in a circle. “Yes! Yes! Deal!”
“Fine.” Damien removed his black apron so as not to cover it with white fluffy fur. He set it on the sewing table and opened his arms. “Come on then, Bonbon.”
Bonbon jumped into Damien’s arms and slumped against his chest, groaning with delight. “Hmmm…delicious. Now stroke my ears, you dirty prick.”
Damien shook his head. “You have a vile mouth.”
“Fuck off. Now rub. A deal’s a deal, buddy.”
Damien massaged the soft little ears between his fingers, loathing every second of it.
“Adorable Chihuahua,” said a female voice.
Damien swiveled toward the doorway leading from his workshop to the storefront. Standing there was none other than Cimil, the Goddess of the Underworld. Today she had her flaming red hair neatly braided back, and she wore an unflattering camo outfit with army boots. Entirely suspicious. Cimil generally dressed in wild, sparkly outfits meant to annoy or distract her enemies.
“Cimil, welcome back to Greystone and Sons. Always a pleasure. I assume you are here to be fitted for your new winter solstice tutu?” A bizarresummertradition for the insane deity.
Damien set down Bonbon, his love-sucking demon, playing it cool. By order of the gods, demons had been banished back to their realm. They were known troublemakers. But Bonbon had saved his life once, and it felt wrong to rat him out. While the demon realm was supposedly a fun and lively place, it lacked a steady food source for Bonbon’s particular subspecies, who fed off affection. In fact, to Damien’s knowledge, love-sucking demons were practically extinct. Yes, Bonbon was one of the last. And yes, he was a bottomless pit of need, always begging for attention. Not so dissimilar to a real Chihuahua.
Bonbon gave Cimil a growl as he trotted past her to seek refuge in his little bed at the front of the store. Damien had hand sewed it from a tuxedo shirt, even adding a little bowtie on the corner.
