Shaded Vision (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #11)

Shaded Vision (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #11) Page 14

Tim grabbed it out of my hands and unfurled a measuring tape. “You need a bra fitting, my girl. I doubt if you’ve ever been properly fitted.”

I stared at him. “What’s to fit? You find one that holds your boobs and bingo…”

“No bingo. Now raise your arms, out to the side.” He measured me around the bra band and then around the breasts. “What size do you usually buy?”

Frowning, I tried to remember. “I think a thirty-six B.”

“You take a thirty-four C.” He flipped through the leopard-print bras and brought one out. “Go try this on. Meanwhile, I’ll get Iris’s present out of the back for you.”

I slipped back to the dressing room and tried on the bra. Damned if Tim wasn’t right. Suddenly my breasts looked more upright and curvy. And the bra fit a lot better. Heading back into the main room, I saw Camille holding up a gorgeous cornflower blue peignoir. It was perfect for Iris.

“That’s gorgeous,” I whispered. The lace was hand-stitched, and it was made of sheer silk. “Iris will love it. So will Bruce, for that matter.”

Tim nodded. “I’ll gift wrap it. Did that bra work out for you?”

“Yeah. In fact, I’ll take a few more in this size.” While he took the lingerie in back to wrap for the wedding, Camille showed me the garnet and black bustier she’d found for herself. She added it to my pile, along with four pair of black cotton panties. By the time Tim returned, I’d found four more bras and a jungle green chemise. I didn’t normally like sleeping in anything but sleep shirts, but it was too pretty to pass up.

“Are you and Jason coming to the wedding?”

Tim laughed as Camille pulled out her wallet to pay for everything. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’ll be there with bells on. Or something equally appropriate.”

“During the reception, let’s try to carve out a few minutes to talk about when to hold the Supe Community meeting. I guess we’d better do so as soon as possible.”

“I was thinking about the evening of the seventeenth? And Vampires Anonymous has volunteered their meeting hall, with protection included. We can use the phone tree to let people know. What do you say about eight p.m.? I can start the wheels going this afternoon.”

Camille gave me a long look. I inclined my head. “The vampires to the rescue. Sounds good. Go ahead. Meanwhile, we have a couple more stops to make, so we’d better get going.”

As we left the shop, Tim was already deep into calling the leaders of our phone tree. There would be a lot of buzzing lines this afternoon.

Second stop: a little out-of-the-way boutique that sold the most gorgeous crystal I’d ever seen. We’d ordered a set of cut cobalt crystal dinnerware, for when Bruce and Iris had their own house. Once we were sure it was all intact, we waited while the shopkeeper wrapped the boxes in gorgeous linen paper with an elegant ribbon. After we carried them out to our car, we were off to pick up Iris’s wedding cake.

As we pulled into a corner parking spot three shops down from the Ambrosia Bakery, I had a sixth sense—an uneasy feeling. I paused, getting out of the car, to look around.

A glance up and down the street showed nothing out of the ordinary. Groups of passersby shopping, huddling against the chill of the rain and damp as they hurried by. A cluster of guys in tight jeans and thick jackets loitered on the corner against one of the poles that stretched over the road, holding the streetlights. But the looks they gave us were the same we got anywhere. We had quit masking our glamour most of the time, now that people were used to us, and Camille’s outfits and my height always drew notice.

Camille looked at me, questioningly. I shook my head. “Must just be my nerves.” I motioned to her and we hustled past the Thai restaurant on the corner, then past a small consignment shop to the bakery next door.

As we pushed through the door, a bell rang and the clerk waved. We’d come in with Iris when she put in the order, after she and Bruce had discussed what they wanted.

They had opted for a three-tiered wonder in white, with elegant roses of blue and silver cascading down the sides. The bottom and top layers were chocolate, with the middle layer vanilla. The frosting was a smooth fondant over vanilla butter cream, and the filling between layers was a chocolate framboise ganache. The smell that filled the bakery set my stomach to rumbling.

“We’re parked three spots down; I’m not sure I trust myself with carrying that to the car,” I said.

“No problem,” Mariah said. “Let me get Jorge to help you—we’ve got a cart and can make certain you get it to your car intact.”

Jorge came out. He was about twenty, muscled and buff, and looked altogether adorable in his Ambrosia Bakery apron. He grinned at us as Mariah loaded the cake onto the wheeled cart.

“Hold on,” I said. “Give us six of those cupcakes, please.” I glanced at Camille. “Chocolate?”

“Yeah, with the thick frosting.” Her gaze was glued to the window of the case. “They should last us till we get home.”

As Mariah boxed up the cupcakes—each with a thick topping of icing and multicolored sprinkles—Camille handed her the credit card. Once she signed the receipt, Jorge followed us out the door, back to the car, cautiously pushing the cart with the boxed cake inside.

As we neared my Jeep, I slowed. The guys on the street corner were staring at us, as if they were waiting. They made no move, though, so I tried to shake off the feeling that something was about to go down. But as we neared the side of the car, I stopped, a sick sense of shame sweeping over me. Camille let out a little gasp.

Across the passenger’s door, bright red graffiti spelled out Go Home, Faerie Sluts! A wash of embarrassment swept over me—the same shame I’d felt when I was a child and we’d been tormented because of our half-human heritage—but then I slammed it down. I wasn’t that little girl anymore. And I wasn’t taking this lying down.

The smell of the paint was fresh. I glanced at the men on the corner again. One of them gave me a snide grin, and I knew—I knew sure as I knew my own name—that he and his posse were responsible.

Camille followed my gaze. “What should we do? Kick a little ass?” She stood ready to take my lead.

“No, but I am calling Chase. I’m not going to wait here, though. I don’t want a confrontation. Not today. Just avoid brushing against the paint. Jorge, can you please transfer the cake into the back of my Jeep?”

“Those motherfuckers do this to your car?” Jorge sputtered, his expression angry as he loaded the cake and cupcakes into the back of the car.

“Leave it alone, Jorge. I don’t want you hurt.” I didn’t want him involved—didn’t want the Ambrosia Bakery to be a target—so keeping an eye on the men, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Chase’s number.

“It’s not right, miss. Not right at all.”

“No, it isn’t, but right now, the most important thing to me is getting Iris’s cake home safe and sound. So please, Jorge, go back in the bakery. The cops may come to talk to you, but I don’t want you out here. Please?”

“I don’t want to leave you two out here alone.” He scuffed the ground. “You girls going to be okay?”

“We’ll be fine. I’m calling the cops. Now go.” As he headed back toward the store, cart in hand, Chase answered the phone.

“Chase, can you get a car down here to the corner of Vine and Wilder? Someone just tagged our car with hate speech—bright red spray paint. I’m going to send you a couple pictures of who I think did it. And of the Jeep.”

“Stay there—don’t engage them. I have a car on the way.” Chase’s voice took on a worry that I hadn’t heard in a while.

“We won’t, but we have to get home for Iris’s wedding, anyway. We’re running late. And I’m afraid if we stay, we may actually get into a rumble because frankly, if I have to stand here one more minute, I’m going to whale ass on these SOBs.”

I punched the End Call button and held up the phone, taking a clear shot of the jokers on the corner. They shuffled when they saw me taking their picture and began to head the other way. Like all bigots, they were cowards inside. That, and our reputation preceded us, apparently.

I then took pictures of the Jeep and sent all of them to Chase’s cell phone. Afterward, I motioned to Camille. “Get in. We’re leaving.”

But before we could pull out, Shamas came screeching into the spot in front of us. He leaped out of the car. By now, a small crowd had formed as several parties came out of the restaurant and stood around to gape.

Shamas took one look at the car, and his usually pale cheeks flared with color. I pointed out the receding figures who were now a block away.

“You take off, we’ll deal with them,” he said, motioning to the squad car where his partner, Thayus—a man with skin as dark as Trillian’s and hair just as silvery-blue—sat. “Go on. And drive safe.” He held the door open for Camille, so she wouldn’t get tagged by the fresh paint. She gave him a faint smile.

I got behind the wheel, cupcakes all but forgotten, and started the car. “We’re not telling anybody at home yet. I’m not casting a pall over Iris’s day. I’ll just park so they won’t see the door of the Jeep and while everybody’s busy setting up for the wedding, I’ll come out and wash the paint off. If I can.”

Camille nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s best.”

We pulled out of the parking spot and headed for home.

On the way home, Camille unbuckled her seat belt and—just as I was about to yell at her for it—she turned to fumble around in the backseat. After a moment, she plunked herself back in her seat, box of cupcakes in hand, rebuckled the seat belt, and gave me a forlorn smile.

“I don’t want to share these at home. I’m sorry, but we’ve had one hell of a morning, and I want my cupcakes, damn it.”

I snickered. “Me, too. Hand me one, would you?”

“Pull off to the side up there, into the parking lot.” She pointed toward a small park along the way. Brentmeyer Park. It was one of those little neighborhood greenbelts, where there were a few swing sets, a jungle gym, scattered picnic tables, and a couple of grilling stations. The park wasn’t very big, but it had trees and grass and gave the neighborhood kids a place to play.

As I put the car into park and turned off the ignition, Camille opened the door. She swung out, onto the ground, and picked up the box of cupcakes, motioning for me to follow her.

“We need a break.” She led the way over to one of the nearest picnic tables and, brushing the raindrops off the bench, sat down. I followed suit, breathing the crisp scent of impending rain. The sky was dark, the ground wet, and I hoped that Iris’s tents would hold off the downpour. As we sat down at the table and opened the cupcake box, my gaze flickered over to the side of my Jeep. The red lettering had dried, and now it just looked ugly and garish.

“Stop,” she said.

“Stop what?” I wanted to cry. I loved my Jeep and had bonded with it in the same way I had my laptop.

“Feeling sorry for yourself. The cretins who did this are scum. But it’s paint. We can clean it off—or we can get your Jeep repainted. What they did was moronic and rude, but it’s fixable.” She frowned. “Not like the Supe Community Hall—there’s nothing that can bring back the victims.”

“I know…but…it’s the energy behind it. Seattle was so nice to us when we first came here. Now what’s happening?”

“The haters are coming out of the woodwork. They were always there, though. First you hate the blacks and the Jews and Muslims and the gays and the women. When it no longer becomes acceptable to hate them, you find a new target. Anybody different, anybody who makes you realize you aren’t the center of the universe. Even Otherworld isn’t immune. Look at Father and how he reacted to Trillian. Look at the goblins—they hate just about everybody.”

“They’re goblins. What do you expect?” I shook my head. “We need to counter this somehow. We need something to show people that we aren’t the enemy. Maybe…”

“Maybe it’s time to start focusing on an interactive group? The vamps and the Weres and the Fae all have their own support groups now, and that’s a good thing. But maybe it’s time to come together? To form a club that’s inclusive? That opens up to the people of the city?” She blinked and bit into one of the cupcakes, closing her eyes with delight.

I followed suit, thinking about what she said. As the rich, buttery chocolate melted into my mouth, I sank in the sugary comfort. I polished off one cupcake and picked up another, pulling the paper holder away from the cake.

As I took a long lick of the frosting, it occurred to me that Camille had truly hit on a good point. “What do you think about a community picnic? It’s too cold to have it outdoors, but a neighborhood-block-type affair—only have it a citywide event. Come show your support for all the citizens of Seattle?”

“I think that’s a great idea. We could pull people together. And we should be the ones to spearhead it.” She licked her fingers after finishing her third cupcake. “Tomorrow, after Iris is safely off on her honeymoon, let’s get busy and pull peeps together on this. The United Worlds Church would be a good ally to ask for help. In fact…” She pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number.

“Tim? This is Camille. Can you invite representatives from the United Worlds Church to the Supe Community Meeting?…Yes, that’s what I said…Okay, thanks!” She hung up and swung her leg over the table, dusting crumbs off her skirt.