“What? Super Mario is a classic!” Gramps said.
“It’s not Halloween yet. Don’t you think you look a little suspicious?”
Gramps shrugged. “It’s the only outfit in the trunk I haven’t tried yet,” he reasoned. “I really need to visit the costume shop again.”
Maria said nothing. All she could do was shake her head.
Chapter Thirteen
The Walmart greeter was a woman probably not much older than Ignatius—in terms of appearance, that was. Ignatius was much older than his driver’s license stated, which was seventy-six, in case you were wondering.
He had slain scores of Arachnids as easily as if they were the common household spiders found here on Earth, but when it came to sneaking into Walmart, Ignatius was scared shitless.
“Stay cool, Gramps,” Maria said. She walked on the right side of his body, covering most of him. “Well, as cool as someone dressed as a Super Mario Brother can be.”
Sherlock was on Gramps’s left side, and Ignatius had a leash on him. He wished he had thought to throw one of those service dog vests in the back of the Bird; that would’ve made the operation less risky. At least I have this great outfit. If Spencer threw them out, he thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to hit up a bar, pick up some ladies, throw back a couple of drinks…
No, you old fool. Maria would never go for that. The time for fun has passed. We have to save the village. The fun can wait until we do that, can’t it, Iggy?
If you can save the village, you old fool. You’re not as strong as you once were, and the magic on Earth is nothing like the magic of Oriceran. Might be that Malakai has your number. He’s been brought back from the dead. You know what they say about those that don’t stay dead. They’re stubborn. Refuse to lose—
The Walmart greeter stepped forward. Ignatius’s heart did a loop in his chest. He read the name: Mary or May, he wasn’t sure which, since he’d left his glasses in the car. The picture on the costume package didn’t show glasses, and Ignatius wanted to be as authentic as he could, aside from the obvious weight gain he was needing.
“Excuse me, sir,” the greeter said.
Maria stepped forward, shielding Ignatius even more. “Yes?” she said.
“You can’t have your dog inside.” The greeter pointed to a sign right beyond the merchandise tag detectors. It said you couldn’t come in without a shirt or shoes, or if you had a skateboard, bike, or rollerblades, and there were no animals allowed.
Racist, Sherlock accused.
“Cool it,” Maria whispered.
It was time for her to step up. If Gramps opened his mouth, there was a chance the woman would recognize him and call for security. Then they’d be thrown out on their asses. Sure, they could get rubber galoshes somewhere else, but they couldn’t as easily get to the world in between from somewhere else. Gramps knew what he was doing. Maria wasn’t worried.
“You’ll have to leave the dog in the car,” the greeter continued. She frowned pitifully, but her expression was laced with sarcasm. Maria would’ve slapped it off of her if she didn’t glow blue every time she got pissed off. Fucking blue, she groused silently. Always taking the fun away.
“No,” Maria said. “My grandfather here is diabetic, and this is Skip, his service dog.”
Skip? You couldn’t come up with something more badass? God, first Sherlock, and now Skip? You are the worst at naming animals. I feel sorry for your firstborn. Better hope the father has a say in the name.
Maria ignored him.
“Skip here may be a tad overweight, but he’s one of the best service dogs this side of the Cuyahoga.”
The greeter eyed them warily.
“Do you have some sort of identification to prove that, ma’am?”
“Some asshole stole it, along with Skip’s cute red service dog vest. You probably thought he grew out of it because he’s been stress eating so much, but nope. Stolen. Can you believe that? I think someone just wants to sneak their dog into Walmart or something,” Maria said.
You’re the worst, Sherlock said.
“I’m sorry, but without proper identification—”
Suddenly, the alarm wailed. A teenager clutching his stomach power walked through the front doors.
That was enough to distract the old woman. She turned her head up to him and crowed, “Excuse me, sir!?”
When he didn’t answer or stop, she walked after him. Heads of incoming and outgoing customers turned in the direction of the new development.
The kid was long gone, halfway across the parking lot and dropping various stolen items as he got farther away.
Gramps tugged on Maria’s sleeve.
Maria had turned toward the door, ready to chase after the kid. He’d stolen something and needed to be brought to justice. Stealing things wasn’t right, even if it was from a place that probably wouldn’t even realize they’d been stolen from.
“Leave him,” Gramps said. “Our chance is now. Best we don’t lose it.”
The three of them went into the store unnoticed. Ignatius led them back to the shoes, hoping they had a pair of size nine yellow rubber galoshes.
“Security will be here any moment,” Gramps said. He squeezed Maria’s hand tight. “I don’t want to deal with that Spencer fella right at this moment.”
“Don’t blame you,” Maria said. “Anyone named Spencer is probably a total asshat.” She was thinking back to high school. The star quarterback, prom king, and head of the student council was some blonde jerk named Spencer. He’d always called Maria ‘Mosquito Bites’ because of her lack of breasts. The dickhead.
“There!” Gramps pointed. A couple of Walmart employees were standing by the electronics counter, chatting away. They didn’t look like they’d care if there was a dog in the store or not—they’d probably seen much worse—but Maria saw no reason to risk it. They cut through the toy aisle and went the back way to the shoe department.
Suddenly, Sherlock barked. Maria’s heart dropped as she looked back. Sherlock, the big doofus, had found the ball pit: a towering
