Page 33 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

Gurlien strides, like he knows where to go, into a smallershop full of neatly pressed men’s clothing, all arranged in perfectly sharp lines and neutral-colored stacks.

The cloth muffles some of the outside noise, as if the open door provided a barrier, leaving only a small chiming music and a few gossipy store clerks.

It’s far better.

Ambra immediately heads to the obvious bench, sitting down before her legs start to shake, and a clerk swoops over to Gurlien, thankfully speaking to him instead of her, giving her mind a chance to wander once more.

He sets the backpack down at her feet with a significant glance, and she tucks it closer to her legs. Humans value money, this is important to keep safe for him.

Even if she could easily replace it with just another thought.

There are mirrors everywhere, and the body’s face is sunken, her eyes ringed with dark circles. The one side of her hair is frizzy, unkempt, and looking in the mirror she can tell that the oversized soft red sweater clashes badly with the olive-green pants she picked out this morning.

Quite frankly, in terms of human behavior and human appearances, she looks like shit.

Vanity is not necessarily a demon’s vice, what with the constantly switching out of bodies, but still, Ambra’s…uncomfortable with the appearance. It’s one thing when the vast majority of beings couldn’t perceive her, it’s an entire other when everyone can.

Idly, she lets her hand drape on a close rack of clothing, and the fabric is stiff to her touch, surprisingly thick. There’s a thin strand of magic flowing through the store, barely more than a thread, and she watches it for a few seconds, watching the ebbs and flows.

“Do you want to try something on?” Another clerk isalmost immediately next to her and she startles. “Oh, it’s okay, anyone can.” The clerk’s hair is dark, but a garish streak of yellow frames the front of his face, stylish and purposeful. He’s wearing one of the suits, crisp and clean, with small connecting details in the pocket and of the tie.

Long story short, he’s put together.

“Uh,” Ambra starts, and this might be the first person outside of any magical order or the College to actually speak to her, so she swallows. “I’m okay.”

It’s a wholly inadequate statement.

“Okay, no problem!” he answers cheerfully, and there’s even a gold chain connecting his tie to the pristine white shirt. “Let me know if there’s anything that catches your fancy, we have no problems with girls in suits.”

The fabric is way too rough for her to want to put it next to her skin, but the thought is nice.

“Or if there’s any colors we should put on your boyfriend,” the man continues, nodding over to where Gurlien’s strongly conversing with the other clerk. “He strikes me as an aggressively neutral color palette.”

The back of her neck prickles at the word boyfriend, as she knows that’s weighty for humans, but it’s easier than correcting him. “Try light blue,” Ambra says, when the clerk waits expectantly for an answer. “For his shirt, he looks good in light blue.”

She has no idea if it’s true, but the clerk bundles himself away, thankfully leaving her alone.

She practices letting her shoulders unwind, letting the leg muscles relax. The body did a thing called meditation, where the entire physical body felt loose and soft, but Ambra never got the hang of it.

Sure enough, the clerk takes a sky-blue shirt over toGurlien, and he furrows his eyebrows at her like she’s the mystery, but takes it anyway.

Ambra waits as he tries on some of the clothes, then as he pays for them with the stolen cash, and his face loses some of the tightness. Like wearing the same clothes and the pajama pants had caused him some strange stress as well.

It’s an odd thought.

“Are you ready?” Gurlien asks, after another group of people filter in the store and all her work at relaxing her muscles immediately goes to waste. He’s carrying two bags, each full, but the clean lines of the paper don’t buckle out.

Unbidden, the thought that this must be a nice store pops into her mind.

“Sure,” she says, and her legs shake a bit to stand, so he offers her an arm to help with a suspicious glance to the clerk.

Her ears pop the moment they leave the store, all the noise flooding in again.

“Just how much pain are you in?” Gurlien murmurs to her, watching her blink through the startle.

“Yes,” she mumbles back, and his face draws up. “I’ll be ok, I’ve done worse.”

“Great,” he sighs, before striding off to another store. “I miscalculated.”

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