“I see nothing’s changed. How . . . reliable.”
Patience’s expression suggested she meant “How boring.” So much for the self-chiding.
“Not at all,” I replied. “The inventory changes constantly. Only the layout is the same.”
“As long as I’m here, I suppose I should look for something to wear,” Patience said in a tone that suggested she was doing us a grand favor. “Assuming you’re really going to go through with this ridiculous farce.”
“For the Magical Match Tea, or the wedding?” asked Bronwyn, who was either ignoring or missing my gestures to keep quiet about the tea.
“The ‘Magical Match Tea’?” Patience repeated, looking up from a collection of beaded flapper dresses. “What on earth is a Magical Match Tea?”
“I doubt you’d be interested—,” I began, belatedly realizing that anything I didn’t want Patience to do, she would be bound and determined to do. Had I been smarter, I would have invited her already and made sure she knew that I would personally benefit from the attention the tea would bring to Aunt Cora’s Closet. She likely would have refused to attend just to spite me.
“It’s a fund-raiser for a very good cause,” interrupted Bronwyn, handing her the little flyer designed by Amy, aka Wind Spirit. It included an illustration: a tiered plate of cupcakes that put me in mind of Renee. “The Haight Street women’s shelter.”
Patience fixed me with an accusatory look. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want to support something like that?”
“It’s not that. . . .” I trailed off.
“It says here, ‘Wear matching outfits,’” Patience said. “Who am I supposed to match?”
“Perhaps you have a young friend,” explained Bronwyn, “and the two of you could find matching dresses here in the shop.”
“Lily and I are wearing these,” Selena said excitedly, showing off the polka-dot dresses that had sparked this whole idea. She held hers up against herself and rocked back and forth, making the full skirts swish gracefully.
It made my heart swell to see Selena smiling—something she very rarely did—and excited about the dresses. Not to mention she seemed pleased, maybe even proud, to be going as my match.
“How adorable. Tell me, does it have to be a younger friend?” Patience asked. “Or could I be the younger one?”
“All are welcome, no matter the age!” Bronwyn said gaily.
Patience smiled. “I’ll invite Renna.”
I blanched. Patience Blix and Sailor’s aunt Renna? At the Magical Match Tea? The tea that Graciela’s coven might be attending? What could possibly go wrong?
“You two will make a cute couple,” I said with an inward sigh. San Francisco was my home now, and that meant navigating the byzantine machinations of the magical community, as much as everything else.
“Lily, you should try on the wedding gown Wind Spirit brought you,” Selena urged. “Wind Spirit’s cool. She gave me a charm, see?” She held up her wrist to show me a small silver bell on her charm bracelet.
“Nice charm. But I don’t know about the dress. . . .” I hesitated. “It’s not quite right for me.”
“I think it’s adorable,” said Bronwyn. “But Wind Spirit said it would never fit her. In fact, when she came in to find a dress for the tea a couple of weeks ago, I helped her try on a few. I always thought she was chubby, but it turns out she’s extremely muscular!”
“Selena and I were just talking about different body types,” I said, hoping they’d drop the subject of the wedding dress. It was making me jumpy.
“Lily said I’m fat,” said Selena.
Bronwyn gaped at me.
“I said no such thing!” I started to defend myself, then saw a ghost of a smile on Selena’s face.
“Does Wind Spirit lift weights?” asked Maya. “My cousin got buff quickly when she started training.”
“No, she told me her father was a martial arts instructor; apparently she practically grew up in the studio and achieved expert status when she was just a teenager,” Bronwyn said. “Anyway, whether it’s plumpness or sheer muscles, I fear it’s hard to find true vintage to fit her. I sent her next door to Lucille’s.”
“Mom will fix her up,” said Maya with a nod. Maya didn’t always see eye to eye with her mother, but she was proud of Lucille’s success—and with good reason. Not only was Lucille making a go of a small business in competitive San Francisco; she was also employing several women from the shelter, training them and giving them an opportunity to get on their feet.
“Are you going to try it on, or not?” Selena demanded, thrusting the wedding dress in my direction. Yards of white silk billowed toward me. “You’re not chicken, are you?”
“Yeah, you’re not chicken, are you?” repeated Patience. “Go for it, princess.”
“It’s . . . It needs alteration,” I hedged. It was a nice enough gown on its own merits: yards of silk and satin topped by lace. The skirts were too poufy for my taste, and it would need to be altered to my dimensions, but Lucille could easily make those changes. Still, the vibrations didn’t quite suit me. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but one of my talents was knowing when something fit someone, both physically and psychically, and this dress did not fit me.
Or maybe there was nothing supernatural about my jitters—after all, brides were famous for searching for the perfect dress, and for being eternally dissatisfied, right? Maya informed me there was a whole TV show about it.
I had been scouring my usual sources of inventory, and had gone so far as to see what other vintage clothing stores carried, and still hadn’t found a wedding gown I liked better. If I didn’t find something soon, I would be in trouble. Hopefully this afternoon’s estate sale might have something for me.
On top of everything else, Susan Rogers from the Examiner wanted to do a photo layout of the wedding party, as a sort of follow-up to the piece she had written about her niece’s wedding—which I’d wound up attending stag, when I alienated my former boyfriend, Max. I had outfitted the niece’s wedding party not long after Aunt Cora’s Closet had opened, and the article had, in good part, made our reputation when it came out.
“Pleeeeaasse?” said Selena. Like any self-respecting teenager, Selena knew just what buttons to push. It was hard for me to refuse her when she found something that would make her happy. I let her lead me into the large communal dressing room, the poufy dress over her arm. Awkwardly, Selena helped me pull frothy yards of pure white satin over my head. I stood back and looked at myself in the full-length mirror. The shoulders were too wide and the shawl collar—clearly made for a better-endowed woman than I—flopped.
Selena flung the curtain open. “See? She does look like a princess!”
“More like a Baked Alaska,” Patience muttered.
Selena laughed, and light glinted off the metal dream catchers in the window and landed on her face. For a brief moment, despite my other worries, I reveled in the pure sound of her teenage joy. Selena had once been so severe that every smile—much less full-blown laugh—now felt like a gift.
The back of my neck tingled. I turned to look out the front window. Conrad was talking with someone on the sidewalk, and eating what looked like a brightly frosted cupcake.
A moment later, a man named Jamie strode into the store, carrying a huge pink box.
Jamie was one of Renee-the-cupcake-lady’s minions. He was small and slender, with dark hair and eyes and sharp features. “Weaselly” was the adjective that came to mind anytime I saw him.
“Well, lookee here,” Jamie said. “Don’t you look just like a princess, pretty lady?”
“See?” said Selena. “Told you so.”
Oscar had run up to greet Jamie the instant he spotted the pink bakery box.
Instinctively, I reached out to stop him. Renee wouldn’t use cupcakes to cast a spell over us, would she? What was I thinking? Of course she would. But surely she would know I would anticipate such an obvious ploy.
Surely.