Something pale and shiny gleamed from between the hangers. Ha, finally. A Princess Leia costume, complete with twisty space buns.
I could probably even make it look cool with the right makeup.
I grabbed it from the rail before I realized—it was designed to fit a twelve-year-old.
Sexy RebelPrincess.
Of course it was.
I moved down the rows. A sad-looking Padmé, a pile of stormtrooper helmets with missing visors, and a bin of plastic lightsabers labeled£5 OR TWO FOR £8.
Everything good was gone.
“Hey, what about this?” The larger of the two guys was holding up what had to be the most full-coverage costume in the shop. “It’s fucking perfect.”
“You’re joking, aren’t you?” He glanced away. “That’s for a chick. A tiny one at that.”
A chick?
“Excuse me.” I slid up to him. “Are you having that?”
I looked at the label.
Deluxe edition. Screen-accurate. Voice modulatorincluded.
Two hundred quid.
I didn’t hesitate.
I went up to the counter and paid.
Chapter 55
Andrea
The queue ranalong the riverside outside Battersea Power Station, fenced off with black hoarding. We stood in a narrow file, plastic armor knocking against blaster pistols. It was past eight, but the air was still warm, and sweat was starting to pool at the base of my spine.
Ahead, security was moving people forward in bursts.
I’d got there later than I’d planned, of course. The stupid costume had been a fraction too tight and a nightmare to get on. People fiddled with their outfits around me, several stormtroopers, a blubbery Jabba the Hutt, and a very fat Darth Vader. Nobody looked like they’d stopped at a fancy dress shop on the way.
Then it was me. “Pre-reg,” said a woman in all black holding an iPad.
I fumbled with my gloves, pulled one off, and showed her the screen. Her colleague circled me slowly, inspecting the stitching.
“Screen-accurate,” someone behind me muttered approvingly.
The man straightened. “Turn, please,” he said.
On the other side of the barriers, a flash went off. Thank God nobody could see my face. I was a grown woman dressed like a floor-length carpet sample, about to be humiliated in public.
“Is that some sort of… Ewok?” another voice behind me whispered. “Why is it so… short?”
“Don’t be stupid,” someone scoffed. “Not related. Not even the same planet.”
“Lanyard for the Bonsai Wookiee,” the man inspecting me called to the desk.
Thirty heads turned.
