He didn’t take it. “Muriel will put your belongings away. Followher.”
“I’ll wait out here,” Tristanpromised.
I was about to tell him he didn’t need to wait but thought better of getting rid of this man who seemed part of Jarod’s innercircle.
Muriel ushered me through the burgundy velvet curtains and into what looked like a shop of oddities had exploded inside an old Britishparlor.
She pulled open a deep drawer. “You can leave your bag and clothes inhere.”
I dropped my bagin.
She looked me up and down. “You’rewhat?”
“Excuseme?”
“Your clothingsize.”
“Oh. Aneight.”
She went toward a rack of clothes packed with women’s clothing and pulled out a dress made of black leather andlace.
“Um.” I cleared my throat. “Do you have anything . . . with morefabric?”
Muriel smiled, revealing a gap between her front teeth. “This is the most conservative one I haveavailable.”
“What sort of party is this?” I blurtedout.
She lowered the hanger, smile waning. “Ma chérie, if you don’t know what’s happening inside, why in the world are youhere?”
“Because I need to talk with MonsieurAdler.”
She contemplated me almost a full minute before hooking the dress back on the rack and selecting a more modest one. The slit in the skirt would still hit mid-thigh, but at least, this dress wasn’t made of leather—it was, unfortunately, the color of my eyes. In other words, very green. Where I didn’t mind my irises being that shade, I minded my body being thatshade.
“You don’t have anything . . . else?” Something that wouldn’t make me look like ahouseplant.
Muriel shook herhead.
Ugh.“Is there a changingroom?”
Muriel turnedaround.
I guessednot.
“I won’t look,” shesaid.
She must’ve looked though, because she pushed my fumbling fingers off the zipper that ran the length of the dress’s back, tugging it up before circling me to adjust the cap sleeves that fell off myshoulders.
Whose dress was I wearing? “Where do all these clothes comefrom?”
“Various boutiques. I’m in charge of buying them for Jarod’s parties when his guests’ attire don’t meet his expectations.” Her heavy black makeup had run into the wrinkles edging her ocean-coloredeyes.
What sort of person cared so greatly about what otherswore?
“It looks like it was made for you.” Muriel gathered my hair and tucked it over my shoulder where it unraveled like spun copper, then glanced down at my feet. “Prettyshoes.”
“Thank you.” I smoothed the satin that felt spray-painted onto my skin. “Is he as horrible as everyone says he is?” When Muriel raised an eyebrow, I added, “Jarod Adler. I heard he wasn’t verynice.”
“I’ve been at his service for twenty-fiveyears.”
