Wordlessly, Peter, Daisy, and I slowly descended into the madness, the dog’s bushy tail swishing with each step. The place smelled of leather and cologne, and the frantic techno beats echoing through the space were only augmented by shouting voices, the clatter of sewing machines, and footsteps.
I shivered and rubbed my goose pimpled arms. Despite the warm, humid air outside, the place was downright chilly. They must’ve had a small staff just to cast the cooling spell alone.
Peter reached out and grabbed the shoulder of a man pushing a rolling cart of glittering dresses past.
The guy whirled to face him, his dreads flying, and shot him a wide-eyed look. “Yes?”
Peter licked his lips. “Where can I find whoever’s in charge here?”
The guy’s eyes flicked to the gold badge on the officer’s chest, and his expression softened. “Ah. You’re looking for Aileen Shen.” He pointed a long arm toward a glass-enclosed office at the back. “There.”
Peter opened his mouth to speak, but the man was off in an instant, barely avoiding a collision with a woman pushing another rack in the other direction. Was it always like this in here?
We threaded through the throng of people. A petite woman in a pencil skirt and an asymmetrical pixie spotted Daisy and bent over, patting her thighs.
“Aw. What a cute doggie.”
Daisy’s ears pricked up.
An older woman slid in front of us, her eyes wide with horror. “Does it shed? My sands, get it off the floor this instant!” She turned to the small woman and shouted, “Get me a lint roller! It could have ruined all of the new line!”
Yeep. The three of us hurried on until we reached the glass office the man had directed us to. Daisy tucked her tail, her eyes wide, clearly perplexed by the interaction.
I leaned over and whined. They’re concerned about you shedding.
She blinked up at me and huffed. Not like I can help it.
I gave her a tight-lipped smile and let out a quiet grunt. Don’t worry. Peter said he’d just have you shaved.
He rapped on the clear door before stepping inside, and I darted in behind him before Daisy could react.
SPIDER SILK
A petite young woman with a chin-length black bob stood behind a wide desk littered with swatches and sketches. She looked up and blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Can I help— Oh.” Her eyes scanned Peter and his uniform, and her face fell. “I already told the other officers everything I saw tonight.”
Her shoulders slumped and I frowned as I took in how wrung out she looked. She lifted her rounded, fashionable glasses and rubbed roughly at her bloodshot eyes. Dark bags hung below them, and her clothing, while stylish, was strangely in a condition I could relate to. Her silk blouse was crumpled and fraying at the hem, and scuffs marred her stilettos.
I lifted a brow, surprised that someone so high up in the fashion world would look so disheveled. Then again, with her boss dying earlier that night during their show, I supposed that could take a toll on anyone. I glanced down at my ratty outfit. And was I really one to judge?
Peter stepped forward, Daisy glued to his side. “I’m sorry—I realize this is a stressful time.”
She heaved a big sigh and waved it off. “No. I apologize.” Her voice was so small, and she looked so young, it was hard to imagine her being taken seriously in this tough field.
“I’m just overwhelmed. It’s been absolute chaos for the last week. Not only were we getting ready for the show last night—debuting a new line of clothes and handbags, no less— but then there was the scandal over the knockoffs, then the feud with Ferdinand D’Lin, and now—Bel’s gone.” She threw her small hands up. “And to top it all off, I haven’t slept in days.” Her narrow shoulders slumped.
Peter cleared his throat, his voice gentle. “Understandable. We’re actually here to speak to you specifically about the knockoffs you mentioned… and a possible connection to Bel Hahn’s death.”
Aileen looked up, eyes grew wide. “You think they’re… connected?”
“A sweatshop, formerly run by a woman named Li Fan, is claiming they were commissioned by someone at the House of Hahn to make the bags that you say were knockoffs.” Peter tilted his head. “They say they were perfectly legal.”
Aileen scoffed. “Why would anyone at the House of Hahn do that? It would undercut our brand to have a bunch of poor-quality lookalikes out there.”
Daisy growled.
Peter glanced down at her, then back up at Aileen. “Why does my truth sniffing dog here think that might not be the whole truth?”
Twin pink spots burned on her cheeks, and she shifted on her feet. “Probably because that’s what I would have expected to happen but… in reality, it didn’t. It made the brand more popular than ever.”
I lifted a finger. “And to speak to your earlier point—the knockoffs didn’t look like poor quality to me. They looked indistinguishable from the real deal.” I arched a brow. “You’re sure your boss didn’t switch to using the sweatshop for production?”
Aileen shook her head. “No way. We manufacture everything in house. Look.” She swept her arm toward two handbags sitting on her desk. With their U-shaped leather handles, gold double H’s, and gold feet, they looked identical to me.
“One is real, one’s a fake.” She shrugged. “But I don’t blame you for being unable to tell them apart. I can barely do it, myself. There’s extra magical technology on them that makes them resistant to reveal spells.” She grinned at me. “Go ahead and try.”
I gulped, my stomach clenching. The reveal spell would show the truth of something hidden by an illusion spell, so it made sense to use it… unless you’d lost your magical powers and needed to keep your so tragic truth from everyone. If Peter found out, I’d have to tell him about the curse and—it’d be a whole thing that would probably lose me my gig as a police
