The chimes at the front entrance tinkled, followed by the sound of stomping boots. Marietta Corbin?
Lucy and Milo peeked round the bookshelf.
“It’s that guy from your dad’s band,” Milo whispered.
Lucy’s stomach did jumping jacks. Scruffy Steve. He was one of them. Why was he here? It couldn’t be a coincidence. Pretenders of a feather flock together.
“Heya, Kenzo.” Steve removed his soggy raincoat and hung it by the door. “You’re looking as grim as the storm out there.”
“I’ve seen brighter days, as have we all,” replied Kenzo. He set the vase on the tarot table and gave the flowers a fluff. “But the skies will soon clear, if all goes according to plan.”
Plan? What plan? Is this Kenzo dude one of them too?
“Has anyone else arrived for the meeting?” asked Steve. “I was told there would be cookies.” He rubbed his belly.
“You’re the first to arrive, my friend,” said Kenzo. “Though there are a couple of customers lurking about.”
Steve stood on his toes and peered across the room. “Is that purple hair I see?” He ambled over. “Lucy Goosie!”
He patted her on the back so hard she dropped her notebook to the floor with a FTONK. It flopped open to a page filled with scribbled names and hand-drawn pictures of the Pretenders in their various forms.
Criminy peatmoss! Lucy quickly kicked the book behind her.
“H-hi, Steve,” she stammered. “What are you doing here?”
“Little a’ this, little a’ that.” Steve side-stepped the question. “Hey!” He pointed a couple of finger guns. “If it isn’t Milo Fisher, the Kayak Kid.”
“Hi, Mr Kozlowski.” Milo stooped to pick up Lucy’s notebook.
“No!” Lucy smacked the book out of his hands.
Milo scowled. “What’s the matter with you?” He picked it up. The book lay open in his hands.
Crud! Crudcrudcrudcrud… “Please don’t read that,” she urged.
“I wasn’t planning to.” Milo shot her a scathing look.
“Are you guys here for the secret meeting?” Steve scratched his scraggly beard. “Seems a bit premature…”
Secret meeting? “Uh, we were just here to, to…” Lucy searched for a lie, any lie…
The chimes on the door jingled once more.
“Anybody home?” called a gruff female voice. “I wasn’t sure what to bake, so I’ve brought gingerbread people of various persuasions.” The Other Mrs Stricks set her picnic basket on the table next to the black roses. “Sladan?” she said, spotting Lucy. “What’s she doing here? And why has she brought the boy?”
Lucy gulped. The place was filling up with Pretenders, all meeting here for some unknown purpose. She was starting to feel like she and Milo had accidentally stumbled into a beehive.
Mrs Stricks came into view, shaking off her umbrella. “Lucy?” She glared at Steve. “Did you tell her about this?”
“I thought you two invited her.”
“And why would we do that?” said Mrs Stricks.
“I dunno.” Steve scratched his head. “Nobody told me what the plan was.”
“Shhhh!” hissed the Other Mrs Stricks. “Not in front of the boy!”
“We were just leaving,” Lucy cut in.
She turned to Milo, whose eyes were glued to her open notebook. He looked green.
With a yelp Lucy snatched the book from his hands. “I told you not to read that!”
Milo took one look around the place, clocked the faces in the room, then bolted towards the door, knocking over the dreamcatcher stand on the way out.
“Be careful,” the Other Mrs Stricks warned. “You wouldn’t want to bring the whole place down, would you?”
Milo slammed the door behind him with a jangle. Lucy hurried after him.
Mrs Stricks looked concerned. “Lucita,” she said. “What’s the matter with Milo?”
“Oh, nothing.” Lucy slid past the older ladies as politely as she could. “He’s just, uh, allergic to sage.”
“I told you we should hold the meeting at our house,” said the Other Mrs Stricks as Lucy scurried past.
“And I suppose you’d have done the dishes, dear?” Mrs Stricks scoffed.
Lucy quickly exited the store. Outside, the rain was falling harder than ever and the road was beginning to flood, the storm drains clogged with autumn leaves. Lucy splashed across the street, her glasses smeared with water. Milo was hunched over by the lamp post, struggling to unlock his bike.
“Fish,” Lucy called.
The bike came unlatched and Milo hopped on. Lucy grabbed the handlebars.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“What are those people?” Milo demanded.
Lucy was standing in the gutter, ankle-deep in water. She hesitated. “What do you mean? They’re my neighbours.”
“Stop lying.” Milo wiped his wet nose with his sleeve. “I was right, wasn’t I? There are more shapeshifters like Thingus, and they look just like us.”
Lucy stared at the water flowing over her boots. “I wanted to tell you,” she said. “But I couldn’t. You have to understand—”
“I don’t have to understand anything,” said Milo. “You lied to me. Again. After I told you everything.” He velcroed the front flap of his hood over his chin. “I stole from my father because you asked me to. I shared Thingus with you. You had a million chances to tell me the truth, and you lied.”
“It’s complicated,” Lucy insisted. “I had to lie to protect them.”
“Protect them?” Milo laughed. “From what?”
“From Nu Co.,” said Lucy. “From your dad!”
“Why is everyone so fixated on my father?” Milo shouted. “I wouldn’t have told him, anyway! You could have trusted me.”
“You wouldn’t talk to me!”
“Yeah,” sniffed Milo. “For good reason.” He pulled his bike out of her grip.
“Fish, wait,” said Lucy.
He stopped and glared at her. Lucy tried to think of something to say, but she was at a loss.
“We’re done, Lucita. Goodbye.” Milo took off, splashing her as he went.
“How am I supposed to get home?” Lucy called.
“Figure it out for yourself,” said Milo, disappearing round the bend.
Lucy kicked the puddle at her feet. Everything was ruined, once again.
“Are you okay, little one?” said a voice from across the street.
Lucy turned to look. A woman was walking her bicycle in front of The Woo Woo Store. Curly red hair poked out from under her hood.
Marietta Corbin. Lucy shook her head. The hot tears on
