Page 34 of Crown of the Fae King

“Clothes first.” Everly pointed to a store front with long thin mannequins that were never expected to mimic real life. Judging from the wild outfits, the clothing couldn’t be taken seriously either. But she walked through the doors like it was the corner barista she patronized every day.

I was confident we wouldn’t be staying long, but I was wrong.

There was a dress highlighted in an alcove that had a metal top attached to a black mermaid skirt. Thankfully, I wasn’t in the market. Or at least I hoped I wasn’t. Everly was greeted by three saleswomen who came at her from different directions. She looked them over for a second or two, then pointed to one. “You.”

The other two slunk off, taking her rejection kind of hard. I stepped close and whispered, “You must smell like money.”

She grinned. Her eyes sparkled. She was in her element. “You will too, sweetheart. Just give me a little time.”

I bit my lips so I didn’t let the truth slip out and ruin her day, but there was no way I’d ever look or smell like she did.

The clothing was borderline disturbing. I’d seen similar flowery frocks in my grandmother’s closet—things so old she’d stopped wearing them, and she’d been dead for fifteen years. In fact, they looked like they were from the same decade as my ugly orange work uniform, only longer.

I looked at the price tag on one particularly homely dress and blinked a few times. 903 Euros.903!For a dress I’d probably seen on a Simplicity pattern in the drawer of my grandma’s old sewing machine. I must have laughed out loud because Everly took it away from me and hissed that I wasn’t allowed to look at prices.

I sighed loudly. “Doesn’t Italy have a Target or something?”

She bit her lips together for a few seconds, trying not to laugh at me, then shook her head. “It does not. Or a Walmart, or a Macy’s. And if we’re going to traipse around Europe and blend in, you’re going to have to trust me.”

I didn’t laugh when she gave me a pair of wide-legged pants from the Alexander McQueen collection, but even the saleswoman was concerned when Everly pointed to a spot on the silk-covered wall, about four feet high, and asked me to kick it.

“Kick the wall,” I repeated, and looked at her like she’d lost her mind.

“If you can’t do karate in them, they’re no use.”

The Italian woman’s eyes widened. She said something liketranslatorand went for help.

“I hate to break it to you,” I said, “but I don’tknowkarate.”

Everly nodded. “I know. But you’ll have to learn some. And you can’t risk getting caught off guard in a tight pair of jeans.” I waited to see if she was joking. She stepped back and pointed to the wall again. “Hurry, before she comes back.”

I retreated a couple steps, then did some combination of a basketball layup and dance move, but I finally got my toes to touch high on the wall. About six inches short, but at least we learned the important fact that I could, indeed, move in those pants.

Everly laughed her ass off, and I relaxed a little. Maybe she had been joking all along. I certainly hoped so, since I’d probably suck at karate.

The saleswoman was back, along with a concerned coworker. They both glanced at the wall and gestured wildly, but had nothing but smiles for Everly, who pointed to the white Alexander McQueen pants with huge blue/grey flowers. “We’ll take these in black. Two pair.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bought two pairs of pants just because I could.

We left the “boutique”with five bags. I wasn’t given so much as a peak at the receipt, but thankfully, two bags were for Everly.

My new wardrobe consisted of a pair of surprisingly soft and flexible leather pants—in black, of course—a loosely woven sweater, and three camisoles of white, black and pale green, which she assured me were not undergarments. Since I didn’t want leather underwear, we would have to shop for regular stuff in Scotland. Apparently, my new cotton panties from Brand Max weren’t going to cut it.

I waited until we were outside before I pointed out that the wide-legged pants were too long and would have to be altered.

“We’ll get the right shoes and they’ll be perfect. But we’ll have to hurry. I’ll allow you to buy underwear in Edinburgh, but Italian shoes are a must.”

I soon found out why.

We metthe men in the alley where we’d started that morning. We’d cut our shopping short, not because we’d finished, but because the shoe store had closed for an afternoon break. I was pretty sure my country would go out of business if we did the same thing.

No one mocked us when they saw the nine bags hanging on our arms. Nor did they complain that we were late. Wickham did give me a funny look, though. “Ye kept yer own clothes, then?”

I looked down and took in the frumpy layers, the jeans, the Nikes. And I realized my “poor as a church mouse” look really did set me apart, even though I wore no loud colors. I shrugged. “I didn’t want to waste the new stuff—”

“You’ll have to wait,” Everly interrupted. “We have more to do in Edinburgh, then we’ll give you a big reveal. But are you sure we’re finished here? If we spent another day or two--”

“Aye.” Her husband leaned down and gave her a brief kiss. “They’ve moved on. Besides, if we give ye another day or two, the six of us couldnae step out with all the baggage we’d need.”

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