Cindi-Ella

by Bokerah Brumley

  Once the shop opened, I’d come back up to tidy up. Dishes don’t do themselves.

  An hour later, I followed Mémère downstairs to the shop. She settled a set of glasses over her nose and tugged a long, dainty chain out from the collar of her dress. At the end, a brass key glinted in the mid-morning light. She squinted at the lock, shoved the key inside, and pushed against the door, all trace of her earlier behavior gone.

  She used her foot to push a ceramic pumpkin in front of the door. “Doorstop,” she said. “Come in. Come in.”

  The whole space was draped in multi-colored silks. A large button held the long strips to the ceiling. It was as though we’d strolled into an opulent fabric box. Sitting areas were arranged in each corner. Dresses of all kinds, from all eras adorned a dozen racks and feathered hats hung from hooks along the walls.

  I spun slowly in the room. “How do you have enough business to stay open?”

  She checked the clock on her broach. “We’re a specialty shop. We get business from Dallas, Fort Worth, and all of the bigger cities. For those that don’t want to drive here, we have an online storefront. It’s all very next-gen.”

  Labeled boxes had been stacked next to a set of double desks. Order sheets covered the surface of one. A computer and printer rested on the other. “Really?”

  She moved around the room, switching on lights and lamps. “Naturally. My busiest in-person time is the months leading up to prom, but the majority of our business is conducted online.”

  I rolled up my sleeves. “What should we do first?”

  She tsked at me. “No work for you today. Today is your first holiday in Paris. You can begin Monday of next week. I’ll have plenty for you to do then. I have a large shipment coming in.”

  “What will you do today?”

  “I’ll work. You can explore the town.”

  “Where should I go?”

  “Downtown is particularly lovely. We also have a miniature Eiffel tower.” She made a face. “Why? I’ll never know. It doesn’t compare to the real thing. They put a garish red cowboy hat on it. Did you know that? They have no style.”

  Her flabbergasted expression made me laugh. “I’ll save that for the weekend.” Though, I though the red cowboy hat was a cute Texas twist to the tiny tower, I wasn’t about to argue with my grandmother. I paused. “What else is there to do?”

  She flipped through a ledger, intent on the pages. “Visit the fountain. I have an enchanted penny you can toss in. The trolls might let you in.”

  “What?”

  But Mémère didn’t respond or look up. She flipped several more pages, made notes in the margins, and compared receipts.

  I slipped out, determined to check on the dishes upstairs. As I went in, the sound of plates banging against each other greeted me. I grinned. Gus had probably decided to make a nuisance of himself in the kitchen.

  I jogged toward the kitchen. “Gus, are you on the counters again?”

  I called again, prepared to scoop my fur baby up into my arms, but came to a halt on the threshold. The counters held no Gus... or dirty dishes.

  They’d been done. In fact, the whole place smelled freshly cleaned. Mémère must have a housekeeper. I scowled. A housekeeper that worked faster than anybody else on the planet.

  Something else would have to occupy my time. I crossed to the window.

  I tapped my chin, and a tingle rolled through me. I could visit the shoes. Perhaps the owner would let me look at them. I would love to hold them.

  Were they plastic? Crystal? Diamond?

  I couldn’t get the fancy shoes out of my head. There had to be an amazing story behind them, and I wanted to hear it.

  Before I could blink, I found myself standing in front of The Godfather’s Closet. The bright red door had been poorly painted. Drips dried in rivulets down the front. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it resembled blood.

  I smirked at my overactive imagination and went inside. A bell jangled as I closed the door behind me. I paused to give my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. The shop smelled of leather and pipe smoke.

  “Ah, I wondered when we would get to meet you,” a gruff voice announced, his voice a low rumble.

  I blinked to clear my vision. “Here I am.”

  A large figure stepped out of the shadows, and I recognized the older man from the day before. “Here you are,” he agreed. “As though you were meant to be.”

  An inky black flashed in his eyes, and I stepped back, fighting the urge to gag.

  He smiled and offered his hand. “My name is Reginald Berkner. Please call me Reggie.”

  I dipped my chin. “Reggie. Lovely to meet you.”

  “What’s your name?”

  I stared into his face before taking his hand. His eyes weren’t black at all. They were a golden brown. “My name is Cindi Ella Lass.”

  “Miss Lass...”

  “Call me Cindi.”

  “Very well,” he said drawing me closer. “Cindi... “ He spoke my name like an incantation, and I fought a shudder.

  “How did you happen upon my fine establishment?” he asked.

  “I saw it on my way next door. I am Mémère’s granddaughter. I will be helping her grow her business.”

  He laid a hand over his heart. “Oh? I had no idea she had any family left.”

  “It’s been some time since I’ve been here. She gave me the day to explore. I begin work next week.”

  He raised a finger. “Ah ha, then, you’ve come to see my shoes.”

  Though, I knew what shoes he meant, I didn’t want him to know I knew. The men’s shoes weren’t remarkable in a men’s clothing shop. I turned slightly, and light cascaded over the glass box that housed the crystal pumps.

  “Your shoes?” I repeated.

  He chuckled. “Of course. The lady’s shoes on the counter.”

  “Oh, yes, I noticed those yesterday.” I picked up a catalogue and pretended to look through it, avoiding eye contact with the shoes, as odd as that felt. “Do they have an interesting story?”

  He crossed to a pair of red leather wingback chairs and settled into one of them. “Indeed, they do,” he said. “Do you have time to listen?” He patted the seat of the other chair beside him, but the bells on the entrance chimed. A man in a brown uniform strolled in.

  Reginald stood. “Please take a seat, but excuse me. I must sign for this shipment.”

  I smiled and took a seat.

  Behind the counter, a young man moved from one side of the shop to the other, carrying trays of food and placing them in the dumbwaiter. He wore an expression of disgust, and he did not stop to say hello.

  Finally, after his fifth pass, he turned to glare at me. “What is it?”

  I shifted in the seat. “Is something wrong?”

  He shook his head and returned to his task.

  A moment later, Reginald returned. “I apologize.” He waved me to the counter. “Come. I have an afternoon appointment.”

  I hurried to the other side of the room and stopped in front of the square box that rested over them, afraid to breathe on the shoes. “What are they made of?”

  Reginald smiled, tugged on his mustache, and then lifted the protective covering. “They’re chiseled of a durable crystal excavated from a hidden mine, hidden deep in the mountains of Greece. First, they had to find a sample large enough to fashion shoes. The shoes had magical healing qualities, and they made many. To date, this is the only known surviving pair.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “Lights, Principe,” he said.

  A moment later, a spotlight illuminated the shoes and their resting place. The bows on the toes caught fire in an icy light. My breath caught. I’d never seen anything so lovely. Or anything that I wanted to put on my foot so badly.

  I swallowed and gestured toward the nearest bow. “Are those diamonds?”

  “Indeed. The diamond bows were added much later, in France, as the shoes made their way through royal hands. ”
Many carats’ worth.”

  The facets of the clear high heels glittered in the light. Each one had been set with a small bow made of pave diamonds. “They’re gorgeous.”

  “Indeed.”

  I reached for them, then, drawn as though the shoes called me.

  He guided my hand across the front of the box. “They are not for touching, Miss Lass. They are for wearing.”

  I gasped and batted at his hand. An image of me scratching out his eyes flashed in my mind. Blood dribbled down his cheeks, dripping from his chin to ruin his snow-white dress shirt in rolling red rivulets. So much like the front door.

  My pulse pounded in my eardrums. I could. He deserved it. He shouldn’t have moved my hand away. I had every right to stroke the shoes. I had what they needed.

  The shoes want me. They belong to me and I to them.

  The ludicrous thought echoed in a hundred voices I did not recognize, pinging around my brain. I took a step backward, placing a hand over my mouth. Shoes didn’t want anyone or anything. They were inanimate. The time zone change must be impacting me more than I realized.

  Behind him, the young man glared at the back of Reginald’s head. The young man wore a murderous expression. Hateful eyes cut to me, and I started.

  A moment later, the look disappeared and the young man went back to sweeping as though nothing had happened.

  What was going on in the shop? What happened behind the scenes? Who were these men? My skin crawled, but still... I wished to slip my naked feet into those crystal shoes.

  Reginald frowned. “What is it?”

  I dropped my hand, crossed my arms, and offered an apologetic smile. “I beg your pardon. A shadow frightened me.” The stuttering words left my lips.

  He bowed and lowered the protective case back over the shoes. “No matter, miss. Please come back any time to see them.”

  I chewed my bottom lip. “Thank you.”

  My pulse still raced, and my hands trembled. Yet my legs weakened, and I crossed to the chairs, collapsing in one.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” What had gotten into me?

  “Perhaps a refreshment for your constitution?” At my nod, he called, “Principe?”

  The young man appeared with no hint of the malice he wore. “Yes, Uncle?”

  “Please bring tea.”

  Principe squared his shoulders. “Yes, Uncle.” He hurried away.

  I moved to the window, and Reginald came to stand behind me. Time slowed.

  My whole body had been wound tight. It was as though I stood on the edge of an enormous ravine, waiting for a fateful push. I should have moved away, but I waited. A fly drawn into the sticky well of a pitcher plant.

  I shuddered.

  “Now, now,” Reginald murmured.

  A flash of orange fur streaked across the sidewalk, shattering the trance I had slipped into. Relief flooded me.

  “Gus,” I yelled, but the cat didn’t stop. How had he gotten out?

  Ignoring the yell of Reginald, begging me to return, I dashed out the front door and after my Gus. A coiled spring loosed. The moment I crossed the threshold, the sluggishness dissipated.

  I could breathe again, but I didn’t have time to process what had happened. Instead, I bolted after my savior feline.

  Tires squealed as a passerby slammed on his brakes to avoid Gus. I waved but didn’t stop. I had to catch him.

  The feline zigzagged over the concrete, his floof of a tail stretched out behind him. Each time I nearly caught him, he juked out of the reach of my hand. We careened around the corner into the alley.

  He jerked to the side to avoid a dumpster, and my fingers grazed his fur. Scooping him into my arms, I drew him to my chest. “You bad cat.”

  He clawed and hissed until my hold on him loosened. He leapt from my arms and disappeared back the way we came. I took a step, but narrowly missed a small rodent that quaked with fear at my feet.

  It did not run. It sat back on its hind legs.

  I moved closer.

  It did not cower. Instead, it shifted miniscule glasses that rested on its furry nose and a felt bow tie at its throat.

  I must be dreaming. The errant thought came from some rational part of me that had disappeared the moment I stepped into my grandmother’s world.

  I reached for the furry, bespectacled gentleman then, expecting it to flee.

  It seemed to smile.

  As I crouched and lowered my hand to the ground beside it, it toddled closer. Enraptured by the brave creature, I let it climb into my palm and stood, bringing my hand to eye level. What a strangeness surrounded me.

  We stared at one another like that for a time. How long, I didn’t know.

  “Why, I believe you aren’t frightened of me, little mouse,” I finally whispered.

  “Of course. Why would I be?” it cheeky-squeaked.

  The world shrank to the mouse in my hand.

  Neither of us blinked.

  I swallowed. “Did you speak to me?”

  Its whiskers twitched. “Naturally. You spoke to me.”

  “You’re a rat.”

  “A mouse, actually.”

  “You-you-you...”

  It raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  I raised my hand, drawing it back like a bowstring.

  “No, wait,” a deep voice bellowed. “Don’t—”

  I screamed and threw the mouse across the sidewalk. Its spectacles skittered one way, and it sailed toward a storm drain.

  Principe dashed from the back of the shop, leapt in front of the rolling body, caught it in the palm of his hand.

  “What are you doing? It’s just a mouse.”

  He cupped the creature to his chest as though it were a precious friend and scooped the miniscule glasses up from the sidewalk, handing them back to the mouse.

  “His name is Mr. Ainsworth,” he said.

  “W-w-what? I think my cat, Gus, tried to eat him.” This wasn’t the world of cubicles and offices and corporate ladders. I couldn’t process what had happened.

  Principe sighed. “He’s my friend, and he’d like to be your friend, too.”

  “Without the cat, mayhap,” Ainsworth squeaked, shaking a fist in the air.

  Backing away with my hands lifted between us, I stuttered, “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know he was your... pet?”

  Principe lifted his chin. “That’s not all he is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Principe peered up and down the alley, his eyebrows twisted in a pained expression. He leaned close to Ainsworth and then straightened. “We can’t tell you here. Come with us. There’s a hidden door on the other side of—”

  “If you think I’m going to follow you anywhere, you’re crazy.” I grimaced. “You both are.”

  Principe pressed his lips into a line so tight that the peach of his lips turned white. “You have to trust me.”

  I shook my head, spun around, and ran from the alley. I stopped on the sidewalk to catch my breath and sagged against the brick of the music store building behind me.

  Something tapped my shoulder, and I screamed and launched myself backwards, nearly tripping on my own feet.

  A blue-uniformed man took a step back.

  “Don’t do that,” I yelled at him.

  The corner of his eye twitched. “Ma’am, is everything alright?”

  Panting, I leaned against the brick. “Fine. Of course. I’m fine. I’m new here. Not used to small towns. I’m from San Francisco.” The town was out to kill me.

  He nodded. “Are you sure, ma’am?”

  “I’m fine.”

  The officer didn’t look like he believed me, and I didn’t have anything else I could add. My thoughts reeled from the incidents of the last twenty minutes.

  I waved him off. “Thank you. Listen. I’m fine. My grandmother owns Once Upon a Ballgown. She needed some help. I’ll just head back there.”

  “Okay.” He drew out the last syllable and crossed his arms. He
tipped his head to the side as though sizing me up.

  I had to get out of there before he arrested me for “my own good.”

  How could I tell him?

  Officer, the shoes want me to wear them and the shop help owns a mouse that talks. I wasn’t about to tell him that the creature had spoken to me. I wasn’t about to give him proof I’d lost my mind.

  No matter what it took, I had to get out of Paris as soon as I could.

  But not before I got my feet into those unforgettable shoes.

  4

  A Taste

  Principe

  “The average woman falls in love seven times a year. Only six are with shoes.”

  – Kenneth Cole

  I PADDED TO THE FRONT of the shop, hoping to avoid detection. Uncle had worked himself into a fit as he conspired to lure the woman back into the shop. He paced in circles in front of the display window.

  Depositing Ainsworth on the small elevator beside the stacks of food, I quietly asked, “Were you able to do it?”

  Ainsworth shook his head, and my heart fell. We had to preempt the shoes, and we may have already run out of time. Once they began their seduction, Cindi would be lost to them.

  “What do we do now?”

  Ainsworth shrugged. “I do not know, Principe. I will consult with the elders of Mouston. Perhaps the long tooth will remember.”

  I nodded. What else could we do?

  Before the gap closed, Ainsworth raised a paw. “Thank you for saving me, dear Principe. We shall prevail.”

  “Eat well, gentle mouse.”

  The mouse raised his paw. “To the resistance.”

  I eased the door closed as quietly as possible.

  “Principe,” Uncle bellowed. He spun around, his eyes alight in a giddy craze.

  I punched the button that sent the contents to the basement. The dumbwaiter had been closed before Uncle looked, surely. He couldn’t have seen the mouse accompanying the extra food, could he?

  If Uncle saw the mouse above stairs, the shop keeper would banish Ainsworth from the premises for breach of contract. The agreement preceded my time; it had been in place since the tribe had taken up residence in the basement. The world of men wasn’t safe for talking mice anymore. The Godfather’s Closet remained their last haven. Banishment would mean death for Ainsworth, and Mouston needed its mayor.