“I said shut up.”
He grinned. Dang it, he won, and he knew it too. Mickey had annoyed himself into…maybe not forgiveness, but back to, well, friendly hostilities. How Mickey-like of him.
By the time we were done with Seelies, I had a cart full of clothing.
“Um…” I looked down at the cart dubiously. “I’m not sure….”
But Mickey was already piling the clothes onto the checkout counter.
Stuart was scanning the tags like he was playing a game, a wide grin on his face and amusement dancing in his eyes. The sticker shock was staggering.
“Um, I’m pretty sure that’s a bit… too much.”
Mickey crooked a smile at me and grabbed the envelope out of my hands. He rifled through it a bit and pulled out a small stack of 100 dollar bills. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped.
“Um, Mickey? I’m sure Maeve doesn’t want me spending that much on clothes.”
“Maeve wants you to fit in, and this” —he gestured to Stuart bagging the clothes— “is how you fit in.”
“But—”
Mickey held the cash out to Stuart, who waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Eh, let this one be on the house, Mickey.”
“Stuart…” Mickey ground out, and then dramatically lightened his tone. “Yeah, your dad would love that,” he said, laughing as if it were a joke between them. Stuart laughed too, but it was a confused, I’m-going-along-with-you-but-I-don’t-really-get-it kind of laugh.
“Yeah, heh, heh. Me dad, heh heh.” He took the cash and carefully placed it in the register without even checking the bills. He shut it and then gasped.
“Ach, Mickey! I forgo’ about the change.”
“No worries, Stew, just…” He trailed off as Stuart started hitting random buttons, trying to get the register to open, all the while muttering under his breath.
I looked over at Mickey, two parts confused and one part—well, the third part was confused, too. Mickey took in a deep breath and held it even as the cash box popped open with a ching.
Stuart let out a breath and absently said, “Thank ye, Mickey.”
I looked at Mickey, but he only shrugged.
We left the store with—my count was five—big bags in tow.
“How did Stuart do that?”
“Do what?”
“It was like everything he picked up fit me perfectly. That never happens.”
Mickey shrugged. “Stuart has a talent for things like that.”
“Huh. That’s cool, I guess,” I said as Mickey steered us directly to the store kitty corner to Seelies. “But still, I’ve never—wait, what’s that store?”
I tried to pause to check out Pix Fix, which was right next to the store Mickey was tugging me toward, but Mickey kept pulling me along, and I was too bag-heavy to put up much of a protest.
Mickey all but pushed me into Curly Toes. Aside from the cheerful ding that sounded when we entered, no one greeted us. There were very few shoes. Instead, there were counters full of leathers from the deepest purple to the brightest yellow. Skins from snakes and lizards and many more that I couldn’t identify. Threads that varied in thickness and color.
After a couple minutes, an elderly man entered through the employee-only door in the back of the store. His smooth gait gave the impression that he was floating toward us. His heavily-lined facial features created folds that seemed to buckle in one on top of the other. Uncombed hair stuck up on one side and varied in shades of green, as if he’d taken far too many showers with really, really old copper pipes. Huge gray, watery eyes stood out from his thin, tall frame, staring at us with an almost alien look.
“How may I help you?” His voice was gravelly, yet oddly lyrical at the same time.
I looked to Mickey, perplexed. Honestly, I didn’t think he could help us. He looked like he needed to be checked into a care facility, because he certainly wasn’t doing a very good job at taking care of himself.
“We need shoes for these outfits,” Mickey held out four of the bags. My jaw went slack. He couldn’t seriously expect this emaciated man—he seriously looked like a skeleton with stretched skin bubbling around him—to lift anything heavier than a pair of shoes.
Before I could react, he grabbed the three bags from Mickey with a startling spryness, rifled through them, and impatiently gestured for me to hand my bags over to him as well.
Shocked, I immediately complied.
“Hmm,” was all he said, eyeing the shelves around the store. Once he started moving, he didn’t stop. Not until he had a stack of leathers and skins, soles, and heels, along with a variety of threads balanced on top. It was like watching a circus act, except I really did expect everything to come tumbling down with each new addition and with every step he made. Nothing—not even a spool of thread—dared drop to the floor. I was in awe as he moved through the door to the employees only part of the store.
“That was interesting.”
Mickey made a non-committal sound.
“He kind of looks like a creature from the—” The employees-only door swung wide open, interrupting me. The salesman sailed through the door with shoeboxes piled high over his head, making me wonder how he even knew where he was going. He stopped right in front of us and dropped them in a tidy pile at our feet.
“That will be all?” He was looking at me but obviously waiting for Mickey to reply.
“Yes, sir.”
The salesman gave a sharp nod and turned away, sweeping back into the employees-only room.
I stood there for a few moments, nonplussed. “Um, what just happened?”
Mickey busied himself with shoving the boxes of shoes into several large white bags.
“He gave you shoes that would match your outfits.”
“Don’t I need to, I don’t know, try them on first?”
“Why? He already had your foot measurements.”
I stared at Mickey.
“That’s not usually how it works.”
“Well, that’s how Curly Toes does it. Perhaps a bit unconventional, but no one’s ever complained about the results.”
“And…what about all the samples?”
“Probably picked a few things out
