Page 21 of Cry for Help

Finally, he parked outside a delipidated storefront. The glass was dusty, and the display ancient. The paint over the doorway was golden and peeling. ‘Seir’s Seams and Stitches.’

It wasn’t Dior, Gucci, or Hermès.

I felt an inch tall for getting my hopes up. I didn’t even know why I’d conjured a scenario in my head, ala Pretty Woman. Most of my clothes had been from Goodwill as a teenager, and even then, I’d worn a prison uniform for a decade.

Anything was better than that.

Dream small, Madeleine. There is no shame in a small life. Too many of our kind don’t even get that.I knew my mother had said the words, but I couldn’t find the memory they belonged to. Regardless, she was right.

Stolas was thoughtful enough to get me clothes, even if Malphas had strongarmed him. Something was better than nothing.

I shot Stolas a grateful smile as he exited the car and circled to the passenger side, opening the door.

Stolas eyed me as if I’d lost my mind. My resting bitch face was just too powerful that when I did smile, I looked vaguely insane.

I’d have made a joke about Seir’s and Seers but I didn’t think it would translate into ASL very well.

Stolas strode forward, the wind whipping the tails of his long jacket like a Victorian Baron. He opened the shop door, and the bell echoed through the empty street as he waited for me to catch up.

My ears popped the moment I crossed the threshold. Every hair on my body lifted, and I smelled the magic in the air, like ozone. The moment before lightning hit. A smell I’d never experienced but somehow knew.

The store belonged to another time. No clothing racks or shelves. Just a single mannequin display wearing an elaborate Hanbok coated in dust.

Stolas closed the door, knitting his fingers together. I looked at him in question, but he didn’t elaborate.

A moment passed, breathing in the scent of stale air and dust.

A single cash register and counter sat at the back of the store. No clothes to be seen.

What kind of storewasthis?

The strange demon appeared out of nowhere, folding out of thin air like paper. They wore a single pair of grey joggers and a matching wife beater. I could not tell the demon’s gender based on appearance alone.

The demon seemed unfazed by the customers in their store. They squinted, studying Stolas with irritation.

“You didn’t make an appointment.” The demon’s eyes were vibrant green, their hair long enough to reach their waist. “It's been a minute, Stolas. You should have called.”

“Seir.” Stolas tipped his head in greeting. “This is Madeleine. She requires clothing.”

Seir rubbed their chin. “That’s the standard issue dress from the Meat Market. I thought you didn’t have two credits to rub together. That’s the rub when you spend a millennia encased in stone.”

Stolas’s face cleared of all expression. “Madeleine requires clothing.” He repeated.

“Hmm.” Seir rocked back on their heels and finally turned their attention to me. Their green eyes lit up as they studied me head to toe. “Preference?”

I rubbed my lips. Wincing with an apology for my silence.

“She cannot speak.” Stolas waved a hand dismissively. He turned to me. “Seir can travel to any part of the world. He can bring any garment from any culture. He can make any item you desire. His services are in great demand.” Stolas explained.

I nodded to show I understood.

Stolas turned to Seir. “Do you have a catalog?”

Seir threw his hands in the air with exasperation. “Acatalog?”

Stolas ignored his outburst. “I trust your judgment.”

Seir’s eyes narrowed. He jabbed a finger in my direction. “Fitting room,now.”

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