Blood Threads: The Star Seamstress Book One Read online

  The young man's face fell when I didn't answer instantly. "I'm sorry, you don't know what I'm talking about, right? Damn, I wasn't thinking." He shook his head. "You just look so much like her and..."

  I'd always been a pretty crap liar, and it would just make me look like an utter asshole if he found out my real name was Veda. "No," I said quietly, "I am. I'm just keeping it from my coworkers. I haven't told them, and I don't want them to go looking me up." I was also trying to erase that part of my history, but I wasn't going to tell him that. Nor was I going to mention that I'd not shut down my social media accounts so as not to attract attention by deleting them all. My hope was they would all just die a natural death, and when people stopped asking 'where'd you go?' by the dozens each day, I could just make them all disappear.

  That would also allow me to delete the messages from friends wondering when I'd give them my new contact info, which hit me the hardest.

  I used to be proud of having over 250,000 followers for dressing up as video game, movie, and anime characters in costumes I made myself, but now it was just a pain in the ass. Whatever had prompted me to chase minor-level fame for so many years? Oh, yeah: vanity and youthful pride.

  "You are, I just knew it!" He clapped in delight. "I was so surprised, and at first I thought I must be wrong, but you have that really unique tilt to your nose and your cool wide mouth. I'd recognize it anywhere!"

  If I didn't feel so on the spot I would have giggled at how cute he was, since he managed to make the breakdown of my features complimentary and utterly uncreepy. I could tell he was a sweet kid, and it was hard for me to get mad at someone for offering me the sort of praise I used to live for. "Yeah, well, it's always the mouth. Gets me in trouble in more ways than one."

  He laughed. "But your humor is so awesome. You're one of my favorite cosplayers, I'm serious! Those steampunk Disney princess pictures you did were insanely cool. And your makeup is flippin' amazing! I wish you had done more than just a few tutorials, but the ones you have I've watched a dozen times!"

  "Thanks. Those were a lot of fun to make." I was speaking low and hoping he would follow suit. Amari was looking at us curiously so I maneuvered us around to the end of the aisle so we were blocked from view by the art papers rack.

  "I believe it! I love how you laugh at yourself and show where most people make mistakes. My eyeliner is so much more on point now!" That made my heart swell since it had taken me absolutely forever to master eyeliner, and I was pleased others had enjoyed my many trips and tricks. "Wait, you live in Maywen now? I thought you were based in LA!"

  "I was." I looked away from him and shoved my hands in my pocket. "I just needed something new and decided to move here. It seemed cool."

  "You left LA for Maywen?" He blinked in surprise. "There's not much happening here, although my cosplay group is pretty big. But there are no close cons and we mostly just do it for each other."

  "I'm taking a break for a while." I smiled. "The scene in LA is pretty intense, and I needed to get away from it all."

  He nodded vigorously. "I'm so glad you're alive. We were worried you were kidnapped or something."

  "Only by myself."

  He was delighted again, biting his lip with a smile. "Man, you're even more beautiful in person without makeup than I thought you'd be! This is so cool."

  Amari, having finished up with the other students, had placed himself in the main aisle so he could stare at us, and I cleared my throat, wanting to escape this flattering but uncomfortable conversation. "Thanks! I have to get back to work, but what's your name?"

  "Sun Ji! I'm so sorry for taking so much of your time, this is just the best to find out you're in my town. Can I ask your real name?"

  "I'm still Veda, just with an 'e' instead of an 'i'."

  He laughed. "That's wonderful, I love that that's your real name. And your handle is so great!"

  I smiled, unable to resist this kid's infectious warmth. "Yeah? I always thought it sounded like a drag queen name, but that is one of the reasons I chose it."

  "It kinda does!" he said in wonder. "That makes it so much better." He shuffled his feet. "Hey, you should come sometime and meet with the rest of my group. They'd be so excited to see you, since we've never had like, a real big deal cosplayer talk to us. It'd be really major."

  "Well—"

  He understood I was turning him down and his face fell. "Oh, that's too bad." He looked so disappointed, and I felt like such an asshole. I felt myself crack. How could I say no?

  "You know, maybe it'll be kind of fun. I'll do it."

  His eyes widened and his smile returned. "Yay!" He clapped happily. "That would be so awesome!"

  How could I say no to those dimples? After chatting a bit longer, I steered Sun Ji to Kristen at the register. "Sounds like a plan, and I'm looking forward to it."

  "See you soon!" he said happily and I exhaled in relief when he left. Amari watched me thoughtfully through narrowed eyes.

  As I walked home after finishing my shift, I fretted about the promise to Sun Ji but told myself to let it go; I'd made a promise and I had to follow through.

  More concerning was what the hell was going on in my new town. I wanted to call the cops again and insist they look into the fate of the guy from the night before.

  "Maywen Police Department," a monotone voice answered and I swore silently as I recognized the voice of the same laconic, uncaring officer I'd already talked to. Was she always on duty or something?

  "This is Veda Geroux, from last night. If you remember, I called you about witnessing the young man being taken away by hooded figures. I wanted to see if you had a chance to look into that?"

  There was a moment of silence. "As I told you then, ma'am, we're still pretty sure it was a fraternity prank."

  "Really?" My voice dripped contempt and sarcasm. "Two young men have already been kidnapped in the last two weeks, and you're treating this like a joke and won't even take my statement? What the hell is wrong with you?"

  She hung up on me.

  "Really professional, jerk!" I said to my uncaring phone.

  I stomped home and up the stairs, and ate my dinner while simmering and reading articles about what to do when the cops wouldn't take you seriously.

  The number one advice was to contact the media and throw the news out on the internet. I'd prefer not to put myself out there like that, but decided if I wasn't taken seriously in person, I'd go the public route.

  After playing my favorite mobile games for too long, I fell into a deep, disturbing sleep, filled with the crazy dreams that had plagued me since I'd arrived in Maywen.

  The usual suspects were there, taunting me. In the background, there was chanting, insidious and repetitive, and it ebbed and flowed in intensity as I struggled against the walls of my dreamstate prison. There was also a starry sky, twinkling lights in a velvet field of blues and purples, that was distant and infinite until it started to converge upon me.

  I cried out as the galactic darkness and I merged, and it was as if this starry infinity was both inside and yet chasing me at the same time.

  These images were depressingly familiar, but now I was ringed by menacing figures wearing hooded robes who stepped out of the shadows and watched me silently as I ran down a black marble hall with menacing red symbols. The chanting appeared to be coming from them, and they were louder now, more insistent.

  Had they always been there, and I simply hadn't seen them? I reached out to them, begging for release, but they were unyielding.

  Luckily, they faded away and I entered my favorite part. There were swirling people, wearing ball gowns and dresses and clothing from all different eras, beautiful and detailed and shimmering in the candlelight.

  As I gazed at the stars and the candlelight merged until they were all melded into one, my mind kept trying to find the balance between how close these lights seemed and how far away they actually were.

  I watched them, transfixed, until I became aware of a movement behind
me and whirled.

  There was the tall, striking man who I'd been warned away from like he was a villain in a television show. Something about his appearance and his feral, red-eyed gaze gave me a thrill of anticipation that was at utter odds with the fear I also felt.

  Interestingly, his features were crystal clear, which as I'd never seen his full face straight on in good light must have been me filling in the blanks with my vivid imagination. His eyes, almond shaped and unblinking, were perfectly framed by arched black eyebrows and cutting cheekbones. His mouth was wide and generous, but his smile wasn't warm, or tender—it was cold and sarcastic.

  Our gazes met, and I blinked.

  "Oh!" I cried out as I saw he was no longer yards away but directly in front of me, right in front of my face, and before I could say anything he latched his teeth onto my neck and I screamed, weeping.

  3

  I woke up crying out, shocked at how vivid all the images had been, and oddly turned on. I fell back on my cheapo futon mattress and exhaled, my heart pounding in my chest. "What the hell?!"

  I was so over these dreams; I wish they would get over me. And obviously, telling me to stay away from Mr. Velvet had the opposite effect, because now the red-eyed snack was showing up in my dreams.

  Muttering to myself, I turned over and looked at the clock to see it was already 7 a.m. With a curse I scrambled out of bed, not wanting to be late for my meeting with the lawyer who was handling my trust.

  The idea that I'd be receiving money that I could live off of, or at least let me work just one job, was invigorating enough that I had a spring in my step as I got dressed and ate breakfast.

  Hell, when I'd talked to the lawyer on the phone he'd assured me it was a 'very healthy amount', which might even mean I could turn in my ancient car. That would be absolutely amazing! Man, this was exciting; no one had ever left me money before. Maybe I'd be able to pay Breanna all the money I owed her! That was the most exciting prospect of all.

  I strolled into the office full of energy, beamed at the secretary, and shook the lawyer's hand vigorously.

  Once he started explaining my trust to me, however, reality reared its ugly head to bite me once again.

  "What?" I said, stunned at the ridiculous thing he'd just told me. "Wait, that makes no sense. You're telling me I can't use the money for anything practical?"

  Mr. Vholes, the middle-aged, blank-faced lawyer who was even less expressive in person than he'd been on the phone, nodded, his hands clasped in front of him. His wood-paneled, faded office had a slight smell of socks and ash in the air, and judging by his teeth, he was a smoker. He had a black and white "World's Best Mother" mug on his desk as well, which was throwing me for a loop.

  "Indeed. The stipulation is that, one moment," he adjusted his glasses and looked down at the documents in front of him, "these funds are only to be utilized in the pursuit of arts creative and expressive, and may not be used expressly for the purpose of food, lodgings, or any other day-to-day or practical matters as listed in attachment B."

  He handed me attachment B and I scanned it, finding that pretty much anything a regular person would want to use money for on the day-to-day basis was listed, including car repair, haircuts, taxes, medical care, and pedicures.

  What type of monster would leave me a large sum of money and not let me spend it on basic nail care?

  I couldn't think straight, I was so stunned. My hands were shaking as I handed the sheet of paper back to him. "Is this really legal? Can you really put these kind of stipulations on a trust?"

  "Oh yes, yes you can. This person certainly has."

  "So what the hell's included under," I wrinkled my nose, "'creative and arts endeavors'?"

  "It appears to be when you make things with your hands or related machines that are aesthetically pleasing and would, by most definitions, constitute art."

  I took a deep breath. Okay, maybe I could work with that. My mind was racing.

  Maybe it was time to get back into sewing. I could make costumes and sell them. Honestly, that was rather exciting: I could make it my full-time job!

  As if sensing my new hope, Mr. Vholes continued. "Also be aware, this expressly states that you may not use this trust money to craft items that will be sold for money, and you must keep all creations for a minimum of two years from their inception unless gifted to others without expectation of remuneration. Also, you may not use your art or craft as display pieces, and 'social media enhancement' with the end goal of being paid and gaining sponsorship is forbidden."

  "Social media enhancement is forbidden," I repeated, flabbergasted. So no rebooting my cosplay career with the money. This was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard. What sort of shitty, cruel joke was this, prompting me to move to Maywen and then tricking me with a useless trust? "There's no way around it?"

  "No, actually," he said, with a warmth that I first thought was a twinkle of empathy. "The agreement is quite ironclad. Alice Witherthal, who unfortunately passed on three years past, wrote it, and she was a master of unbreakable contracts. A veritable genius!" Ah, that warmth definitely wasn't empathy, then, simply admiration for a colleague. "For example, you must purchase items at fair market value, so no using money to buy things at a higher rate than their worth and getting the rest of the funds back for personal use."

  "Who will be checking?"

  "I will, unfortunately." He gave me a smile so blandly insincere I could tell he found it anything but unfortunate. "You see, another aspect of the trust is that you must submit all expenses for me to review and reimburse."

  "It's a reimbursement system?"

  "It is, and I take my duties very seriously." He straightened his weedy frame in his chair. "We were paid a very generous retainer to oversee this trust for the next twenty years."

  I could barely breathe, I was so angry and disappointed. "And you won't tell me who left me this cruel joke of an inheritance?"

  "I cannot, as I don't know. Only Alice did, and as I mentioned, she is quite dead."

  "Then what triggered you to call me?"

  "I received a mysterious letter noting that the trust was now active, and to reach out to you and inform you of the provision of needing to live in Maywen to collect the moneys."

  "But you didn't tell me anything else!"

  He shrugged, unconcerned. "I was not allowed to until we were in the same room, as we are now. Also, you were left several specific items, but I may not give them to you until you've resided in Maywen for three months."

  I counted to ten. "Would I be correct in assuming I can't sell those things, either?"

  "Indeed not."

  I really wanted to start screaming, possibly send his "World's Best Mother" mug flying towards his head, and rip up the papers that codified this stupid, useless, bizarre trust. I'd uprooted my life in LA, sold everything I had, and used the money left to buy a very crappy car to get me across the country. I'd done all that because I thought that not only I had a new life, but I had a means to live it, as the letter I'd received suggested.

  I started to cry, unable to hold back the tears.

  For the first time, I saw something like sympathy on Vholes' face, although it might have just been discomfort and a desire to get me out of his office. "I will admit, Miss Geroux, that this is indeed one of the most byzantine and unique trusts I have ever encountered. I wish I could help you, but I cannot. We take our ability to be trusted with complicated and sensitive matters here at Turner, Boot, & Vholes very seriously, and that ties my hands quite a bit."

  I nodded and sniffled, and he handed me a tissue and a card. "Call me anytime, day or night, when you're ready to access the funds; I will make sure you get it right away once I approve the purchases. Please note that 'right away' could take up to two weeks."

  I left Vholes in a daze, panicked and miserable.

  How the hell was I going to pay my rent on my current pay? I mean, I could, technically, if I didn't eat for a month, but that wasn't an option. I had to work
something out with Breanna, see if she would give me a bit more time while I figured out what to do next. Maybe it was time to get a good, old-fashioned desk job.

  But I also despised assistant and administrative work with every fiber of my being, and had no desire to go back to that life.

  I could ask some of my old friends for money, true. There were those that would probably forgive me for cutting and running like I did. but that hurt my pride even more than talking to Breanna about my problems, as I'd thoroughly splintered my LA cosplay group with my personal and professional drama.

  No, this was my burden to bear, and I would just have to find creative ways to make more money. If that meant stripping—and I was aware it might mean stripping, despite the fact I was only an okay dancer, only comfortable being an exhibitionist when wearing costumes and not a fan of strangers touching my naked flesh—well, I'd live. I didn't judge the profession, and if I had to get over my personal discomfort, then so be it. I'd ride that pole like a damn horse jockey about to win a derby if I had to.

  That depressing thought was on my mind as I entered Barnes' Arts and Crafts supplies with a cloud over my head, head hanging low and feet shuffling. Amari and Kristen looked at me with concern but thankfully didn't pry.

  Frank wasn't in that day, and due to a steady stream of customers, I didn't have time to dwell on my newly underscored poverty.

  When I did talk to Amari and Kristen I kept the topic on them. I learned more about Leslie, and how Kristen sometimes worked in the evening over at the Insane Sage, when they had performers and open mic night in the tea room.

  That seemed like a good time to bring up the woman who kept glaring at me in the New Age shop. "What's up with the woman over there at the Sage, by the way? The statuesque one with the hair?" I asked in a quiet moment, the three of us at the counter.

  "Oh, you mean the owner? Thalia? She's not so bad. Really interesting, actually. She just has a lot of responsibilities." Kristen grinned and I could tell there was something she couldn't tell me. Girl was a natural gossip, and she was bursting at the seams.