“Let’s look through this section, here.” Leading Selena to the rack marked DRESSY DRESSES, I said, “I think you may need a larger size than before, that’s all.”
Her eyes went huge. “I’m getting fat?”
“No, Selena, not at all. You’re healthy and you’re growing up, that’s all. Women have a different shape than girls. We’re meant to have curves.”
I patted myself on my “curvy” hip.
She didn’t look convinced. Given everything Selena had to deal with already—possessing out-of-control magical talent, being abandoned by her parents, growing up without a lot of economic advantages—I had hoped Selena would be immune to the more common concerns of girls her age. I supposed this could be an indication that she was becoming more conscious of the world and social expectations, which in some ways—given how clueless she had been about the impression she made not so long ago—could be a good thing. As long as she didn’t start doubting herself and her own worth.
Raising children was not for sissies.
We flipped through the many formal dresses on the rack, and I pulled out several that would fit or could be altered. Selena was attracted to the more garish, poufy-skirted prom dresses, though a more streamlined style would have suited her better. Still, I let her grab whatever she wanted and helped her cart the dresses over to one of the private changing alcoves. She shied away from the communal dressing room.
I tried to keep my mind engaged in the dress search with Selena, but it was hard to focus on the here and now. What was my next step in the search for Tristan’s murderer? Should I go speak to Renee? If so, I needed Aidan’s help. I thought with a pang about how I’d left his office last night. When would I learn not to lose my temper around Aidan?
The bell tinkled wildly as a gorgeous woman with flowing black hair and flashing eyes flung open the door and stormed into Aunt Cora’s Closet.
Patience Blix.
This was all I needed.
Chapter 11
“What in the holy hell is going on?” Patience demanded loudly before commencing to swear a blue streak.
The bell over the door rang again as the customer who had been perusing the leather jackets scurried outside. Selena emerged from the dressing room clad in an atrocious lime green prom dress that hung awkwardly from her still-bony shoulders.
“Little pitchers,” I said to Patience, giving her a look while clapping my hands over Selena’s ears.
“I’m not little,” Selena said, ducking out from my grasp and glaring at me. “And I’m not a pitcher. That’s a stupid saying.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “It was a reflex. But my grandmother used to say that to me, so it’s not stupid.”
Selena rolled her eyes.
“Hello?” Patience said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Focus on me, shall we?”
Patience had a lucrative fortune-telling business and was a bit of a local celebrity. Not only was she a powerful psychic, but she had a flair for the dramatic, and played the role of an exotic fortune-teller with gusto, embracing every Hollywood stereotype: long, flowing skirts, colorful scarves, tinkling ankle bracelets adorning her sandal-shod feet. Her big, dark eyes were lined in kohl, and gold coins glinted from the necklace that graced her low-cut peasant blouse. With their dark good looks and striking features, Patience and Sailor could easily have modeled together for the cover of a romance novel.
Patience was, in short, everything I was not. I blew out a breath and stroked my medicine bag for strength. This was all I needed, today of all days.
“What can I do for you, Patience?” I asked.
“What can you do for me? What can you do for me?”
“That’s what the lady said,” Maya said with a wry laugh, earning a glare from Patience. Maya shrugged it off with a smile, in typical Maya fashion.
“May I assume this has to do with Sailor?” I asked. “I spoke with him this morning.”
“I know you spoke with him this morning. Do you know how I know you spoke with him this morning?”
“Because . . . you’re psychic?” I suggested.
“Because I tried to speak with him this morning and they told me he’d already had his one permitted visitor.” She glared at me.
“I didn’t realize he was only allowed one visitor,” I said. “But I am his fiancée, after all.”
Patience rolled her eyes. “Is that still happening?”
“Is what still happening?”
“This so-called ‘wedding’?”
“Of course it’s still happening,” Maya said, an uncharacteristic touch of annoyance in her voice. “In fact, Selena and I are going to be bridesmaids. Aren’t we, Selena?”
Selena nodded but remained mute, apparently a little intimidated by the force of nature that was Patience Blix. I could relate.
“Great heavens above, someone please tell me that child is not going to be wearing that bilious little number?”
“Hey,” I yelled, planting myself between Patience and Selena. “Enough, Patience. Don’t you dare pick on Selena. Your argument isn’t with her—it’s with me. She’s having fun trying on dresses, and she looks adorable in anything she wears. Now, please apologize to her.”
Patience gave me another sour look, then flashed Selena a fake smile. “Sorry. You look super, peaches. You look like you’re ready for a Gypsy wedding. I’ll give you that much.”
I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but figured it was the best we were going to get.
“Anyway, Lily.” Patience turned back to me. “I only came here to tell you that you’d better figure something out and right quick, or you’ll be spellcasting over the warden for conjugal visits.”
“I will not be . . .” I trailed off, realizing I was allowing myself to be baited. I stroked my medicine bag again and concentrated on keeping my temper. Patience could be of use to me—to us. “Of course Sailor won’t be convicted. He’s not even formally charged yet. All we have to do is figure out who
