Blood Threads: The Star Seamstress Book One Page 6

  "My doom? How the fuck would I be doomed, other than the whole being utterly broke thing?" We were walking now, and as much as I tried to outpace him, he was always right behind me. Dude was creepy, just like Maywen.

  "That's not my place to tell you; you wouldn't believe me if I did."

  "That's probably true."

  "Veda." The way he said this was a command, and damn me, I stopped and turned on him. Was it just me, my exhaustion and frustration, or was there a slight glow to his eyes? His expression was solemn. "People are afraid to reveal too much, and thus they are failing you. To survive, you must use that wanton, brazenly stupid recklessness of yours—"

  "Excuse me?" I was deeply offended. I wasn't a genius, but I didn't appreciate being called stupid.

  Adin ignored me. "—to push forward and find your gift. No one will hand it to you."

  "And what the hell is my gift? Where will I find it?"

  "You already have it; now it must be reclaimed, and developed into a higher craft."

  I was silent, having no idea what to say. Who was this man? The more time I spent with this odd, charismatic Adin, the more I suspected he was crazy. One minute, he said shit like "told you so", and the next, he spoke like he was some sort of ancient oracle. Maybe that's why I was supposed to stay away from him, because he was certified nuts. I wondered what he did for a day job; probably something underground or illegal. Hell, I could see him as a kinky dom or high-end drug dealer.

  The more I thought about it, the more that last one made sense. No wonder Erica didn't want to talk about him. He was probably her hookup, not only physically, but for illegal substances. The smart regular drug users I'd known in LA didn't discuss their sources either.

  In short, he was most likely a brand of sexy and intense pothead on some sort of acid trip, and like everyone else in this town, batshit. "Sure, dude, sure." I smiled at him comfortingly. "Whatever you think is best. I'll go search for my lost gift and everything will be hunky-dory."

  He lifted an eyebrow. "And yet you were so incensed when Metzger condescended to you."

  "Good point. Now I understand him better. He just wanted me to go away, and I want the same with you." We were standing very close to each other and I got a whiff of that scent again, the leather and the clean earth. He smelled awfully good for a pothead, I had to say.

  "If only I could. Unfortunately, this town needs you."

  What the fuck did that mean? "Creep."

  "You have no idea." Somehow, he managed to make that a silky promise, a strange, unsettling caress. "Sleep well, Veda Geroux. I know you won't, but I wish slumber for you regardless. Consider your gifts."

  He turned and was gone with that unnatural fluidity of his, and after gawking after him, I turned and rushed home, needing light and warmth and something familiar. I still hadn't asked him about his costume, damn it. Why did that still matter after the odd interactions we'd had?

  "Maybe I should do more hard drugs," I muttered to myself. I wasn't a fan, but honestly, Maywen could drive me to substance abuse in a heartbeat. Hell, maybe Adin could be my terrifying dealer!

  Lost and confused, I took a very fast shower and collapsed on my bed in nothing but my underwear, ready for more crazy ass-dreams.

  5

  My dreams didn't disappoint. I had another restless night full of stars, lovely dresses, and chanting people in hoods who I knew instinctively were not my friends. Adin stood next to me, wearing his splendid red coat.

  What was different this round was Adin wasn't the only one in a beautiful, glimmering outfit—I was as well, wearing a resplendent turquoise ball gown that shimmered like starlight and seemed to adjust itself as it moved. This dress had a corset top, something I had more than a passing fondness for, and I was wearing full-length turquoise gloves.

  As my dream self twirled, I saw there was a glint of silver thread twirling and moving within the fabric itself, and I admired the exquisite tailoring of each piece.

  This dream me was proud and preening in a way I hadn't been in months, hair shiny and expertly pinned in an expert updo, and my pink and gold makeup so on point it was something beyond.

  Someone was assisting dream me, moving around and fluffing the skirt, and helping me put on a wonderful silver jacket with embroidered black embellishments on the cuff.

  This shadowy figure came around, and I started when I saw it was me as well, except I was wearing tight black dress pants, a white shirt and a trim waist coat that skimmed my curves just right. This me was also beautiful, but my hair was pulled back and makeup simple, and I was efficient and focused and professional.

  This was a me that had been actualized when I'd been a personal assistant whose job was to keep the lives of overbusy celebrities straight. I'd had to keep dozens of balls in the air without breaking a sweat, at least not in front of the clients, and I'd been amazing at it.

  I'd been proud of that me, as she'd made good money, enough to fund a lavish cosplaying lifestyle, and was able to successfully manage several lackeys.

  As I watched these two women, these old mes, I felt a burst of intense sadness and envy for who I'd been.

  Veda Geroux in LA had been admired, and depended upon, and was considered unique and successful. Both versions, the costume queen and the professional, had been bold and creative, and proud to have overcome a background with little money, scant opportunity, and nothing more than a high school education.

  I'd been a star, in my own little subculture way.

  And then a superstar had suggested to his equally famous wife, my boss, that we were having an affair, and that world had imploded so spectacularly it had taken down my romantic and cosplay life as well.

  Both professional, supportive me and splendid, colorful me turned and looked at me, and their expressions became sad.

  "I'm sorry," I mouthed at them, but I could tell it wasn't enough, wouldn't be enough. Turquoise me shook her head, and the dress started to crumble, to wither and fade and become nothing more than dust swirling around my naked body. My body began to follow, slowly turning to into the same matter that made up the ever-swirling sky.

  Dream me began to weep.

  And then the hooded figures were back, chanting and laughing and generally acting like my slow, cosmic fade-out was some sort of high entertainment, a show for their amusement.

  When I blinked, fading me was no longer a different person; I had rejoined that body, and my fate was sealed.

  I turned to Adin, holding out a pleading hand, and he watched me with his red eyes, unmoved. He said something, and while I couldn't hear, I knew what it was. "Gifts."

  "Oh shit!" I breathed, gasping for air as I burst out of my dream. Tears were streaming down my face and I felt like my chest was heavy and full of the same dust I'd become.

  I fell back on my futon and stared at the peeling, white-painted ceiling, letting the morning air give me goosebumps and trying to sort through what the hell I'd just seen.

  Why was Mr. Sexy-Face Creeper there again? Who were those hooded assholes?

  I'd always had very intense dreams, ever since I was a kid, but the intensity had always been in bursts of colors, in visions of clothing and costumes and personas I wanted to become. My dreams had become my creations and costumes and makeup, and before Maywen I'd seen them as my friends.

  Now my dreams threw my failures and flaws in my face. My chest hurt and I was still tired, like I hadn't slept at all.

  And yet, somewhere in my stomach was a flame of an idea.

  This was the burn of creativity, the need to put my hands on something and bring art forth, ideally wearable. There was a hint of passion, a desire I hadn't felt in weeks.

  God, I wanted to do nothing more than to luxuriate in that feeling, to start figuring something out to make, sketch ideas or spend two hours on my makeup or stare at the internet for hours as I jotted down thoughts and what inspired me.

  This idea train stopped dead in its tracks as soon as I looked at my phone and saw I only
had an hour to get to Barnes' for my shift, and since it took fifteen minutes to walk there, that meant my butt needed to find its gear.

  I heard sounds outside my door and figured Breanna had a late start today and was in the kitchen. Maybe, if the caffeine gods were on my side, she'd have made enough coffee for the both of us.

  Throwing on a shirt, I wandered out into the main area of the apartment. "Good morning," I said, rubbing my eyes. "You wouldn't happen to have any caffeine on tap, would you?"

  There was silence, and when my vision cleared I saw the person at the kitchen table wasn't Breanna. Instead, I was facing a young black man with short hair, a Maywen U Hockey T-shirt, and a startled expression. His shock confused me, and then I remembered I was braless, in a tight T-shirt, and only wearing underwear.

  Our eyes met, and he looked away, clearly embarrassed. "I'm so sorry," he said.

  "Oh, no no, don't be; totally my fault!" I fled back into my room, abashed I'd just been half naked in front of the cute guy my roommate was probably hooking up with, and threw on my work clothes before heading back out.

  Breanna was there this time, wearing a loose baby blue dress and making breakfast. She smiled as I came in, but I winced as I saw the edge to her smile.

  "I heard you want coffee." She nodded her blonde head at the coffee pot. "Help yourself." Her eyes were narrowed and her adorable bow mouth was pursed.

  Fuck. I'd somehow near-flashed my way onto the shit list of someone who I genuinely liked and who also had a great deal of power over my financial situation. This needed fixing, and fast.

  "Hi, I'm Veda," I said, holding out my hand to the man and looking sheepish. There was no flirtation in my voice or approach, just guilt and embarrassment. "I'm so sorry for before. I wasn't thinking."

  He gave me a warm smile and took my hand. "No problem; sorry to just gawk at you. That was really rude. I'm Kyle, I study physics at Maywen." Kyle looked like an underclassman, if at least a junior, and I was amused that my roommate liked them young.

  Breanna watched us carefully and I had the sense she found me suitably contrite. "Sit down, have some eggs and bacon—I have enough." In the blink of an eye, she was all sweetness and light again, and I had the revelation that perhaps my roommate wasn't quite as perfect and forgiving as she seemed to be. Her bad side was probably a dangerous place to be.

  "Thanks, I really appreciate it. I'm up a lot later than I wanted to be."

  I sat and had a bite of a perfect piece of bacon, and practically sighed in pleasure. Maybe I needed to eat something before bed when I worked at the Tangerine; perhaps that would help fend off those crappy dreams.

  "Thanks, babe," Kyle said to Breanna as she put orange juice on the table, and his voice was full of adoration. She beamed at him, and I thought they looked adorable together, few years difference be damned.

  After stuffing my face, I said goodbye to the lovebirds—who were making literal goo-goo eyes at each other, I swear—and hauled my butt to work, comforted by the crisp weather and the bustle of students and other residents of Maywen going about their day.

  The reds, yellows, and oranges of fall in the northeast were painting-worthy, and the old-fashioned architecture and charming shops reminded me of my initial excitement at moving to this town. Today was going to be an okay day.

  Sure, Shawn was still missing and the police had gaslighted me to a depressing, unnerving extent. I was still epically broke with nothing but a craft fund to my name. Still, maybe there was some hope to be found in my life.

  I dodged a bunch of sorority girls in matching green pledge shirts and decided it was good to be surrounded by so much youth and enthusiasm.

  I was going to survive and thrive, damn it, just as I had countless times in the past.

  My chin rose and I could feel that I was walking straighter, faster, a sense that maybe my personal muse had returned to me. I had tons of money for arts and crafts only, huh? What was to stop me from getting the fanciest sewing matching I could get my hands on? Could I argue makeup was arts and craft, and not only replace my old collection but have the best damn stash of brand-name and luxury cosmetics north of New York City itself? Maybe I could work with this.

  I'd walked so fast and arrived at work so early that neither Frank nor Amari had arrived to unlock the doors yet, and I looked around to assess my time-killing options. I could go hang out on the commons, but it was currently flooded with students and I didn't want to harsh my happiness with the sight of too many dewy youths reminding me how old I was.

  I noticed that the Insane Sage was open, and with my newfound confidence firmly in place, I decided I could afford a two-dollar tea. Kristen had promised me this Thalia wasn't so bad, and, if I was lucky, she wouldn't even be there this time.

  Sadly, I wasn't lucky, and as soon as I walked through the Sage's door and was announced by the pleasant jingling of many bells, I was faced with the imposing figure of Thalia. She was wearing a long green and yellow dress painted in a watercooler style and a pair of cat-eyed glasses. Once again, she was glaring at me, cheekbones prominent and lips drawn into a tight line.

  The whole effect was of a bohemian librarian, a very stern one, who'd decided I was a degenerate book thief.

  "Good morning." My voice was steady, as I was a paying customer with every right to go up to the tea shop.

  "Is it?"

  I lifted an eyebrow at that, surprised she was choosing to be outright hostile. Wow, Kristen wasn't wrong—the woman was a customer service nightmare. How did this place stay in business? "For some of us, sure, but I can't speak for everyone. Excuse me." I gave a wide smile and tried to walk around her to the stairs.

  She didn't budge or turn and I ended up running into her shoulder, which barely gave at all. Wincing in pain at the impact, I squeezed by, feeling her eyes on my back.

  The second floor café was made up of warm colors that were the hues of the sky and ocean, shifting shades throughout. There was local art on the walls, colorful mandalas, and all sorts of prayer flags, masks, and glass creations filling up all other open wall space.

  The sound of a sitar played in conjunction with a bubbling brook, and it smelled like incense with a bright, fresh underpinnings.

  This was exactly the sort of ambiance I'd been drawn to in LA, and it was a pleasure to find it here in this midsized town. I wasn't sure if I believed in the power of healing crystals, but I sure as hell liked being surrounded by them.

  "What can I get you?" the barista, a young man with piercings, tired eyes and lots of colorful tattoos asked as I approached, and my eyes ran over the board, which listed well over three dozen teas.

  "Can I get a large genmaicha to go?" Genmaicha, green tea with roasted brown rice in it, was my favorite tea, and the warm, toasty flavor was perfect for the fall season. I liked the nice stuff, and I suspected this place could supply it.

  "Coming up."

  Once tea-equipped, I settled into a chair at the window, which gave me a perfect view of the street down below as well as the front door of Barnes'. I still had twelve minutes before my shift started, and if Frank or Amari showed up before the stroke of ten I could always run down and meet them.

  "We won't help you."

  I started in shock, almost spilling my precious tea and saving it at the last moment, splashing a bit of the piping hot liquid on my arm.

  Looking up, I found Thalia looming over me, the light hitting her face and highlighting her fierce expression.

  "What?"

  "We won't help you," she repeated, speaking very slowly.

  "Help me?" Okay, I needed a lot more caffeine than I thought, because, despite my wakefulness, I was utterly confused. "Do I know you?"

  "No, but you should, arrogant child. I'm aware of why you're here and what you hope to accomplish."

  Now I was curious. "What do I hope to accomplish, other than to save myself from becoming a broke-ass mess and an unwilling stripper?"

  Her eyes widened in rage. "Now you're going to feign
ignorance and mock me? You dare come into my town, throwing off energy and pulling things towards you like an eye of a tornado, and then you attempt to play sweet and innocent? How dare you?"

  I leaned back against the wall, stunned by her vehemence. "Ignorance of what? How in hell am I pulling things towards me?"

  "You are a drama vortex, like all of your kind. Know you this, child," a finger with an intimidatingly long blue-painted nail appeared in front of my face and my eyes crossed momentarily, "I refuse to give credence to your byzantine, unnatural magics, and their high-handed, exclusionary ways. I see that you're going to follow in your predecessor's footsteps and ensure no one gains access to your secrets, but know that they hold no interest to me or my tribes. No matter what he says, I shall not support you, nor grant you access to our supplies."

  I blinked. I wasn't even an hour into my day and already Maywen was hell-bent on reminding me what a cuckoo's nest it was. "Duly noted." Something occurred to me. "Does that include the tea? I really like this tea."

  She sniffed, turned on her heel in a swirl of watercolor fabric and long braid, and glided down the stairs in what I could only describe as fury of righteous indignation.

  "Okay," I said out loud and met the gaze of the barista before he looked away, probably embarrassed to have witnessed our exchange. Glancing out the window, I saw Frank approach the front door of Barnes'. "Oh, thank god."

  Rushing out of there and feeling stupid levels of relief that the front register was empty, I practically threw myself across the street, ignoring the fact I wasn't at a crosswalk. I needed to talk to someone nice and non-frightening, and my supervisor definitely fit the bill.

  "Frank!" I said, waving with far too much enthusiasm just as he was entering the store.

  "Veda!" he answered, his face lighting up. "Good morning." He then saw the cup in my hand and his expression became pensive. "Were you just over at the Sage?" There was a note in his voice that set off warning bells in my mind.

  "I was." I tilted my head at him, eyes narrowed. "You know she doesn't like me, don't you?"