Read Chapter 6

Chapter 7. An Enemy Who Looks Like a Friend

The dreams-cape took pride of place at the front of the Elysian fashion stall, adorning a zombie-quin mounted atop a pedestal ringed with tea candles.

Scarlet shambled closer, forgetting to breathe.

The cape shone like liquid silver, billowing gently on the faint drafts swirling through the market, whispering to Scarlet of things grown up and graceful.

But when she bent to peer at the price tag, she felt as she would decompose on the spot. “A hundred bones,” she moaned. She opened her coin purse and counted out the coins. She had twenty, the five her parents had given her plus fifteen for the haggis.

“It’s just your size,” purred a voice over her shoulder. Scarlet turned, looking into the face of the impossibly elegant shopkeeper.

Dame Lurk approached her, the picture of undead refinement. Tall and thin, she didn’t so much lurch as glide, and as she did, her evening gown rippled softly in her wake. She placed one immaculately buffed arm over Scarlet’s shoulders and drew a picture in the air with her free hand.

“I can see you now. The pride of your school. The belle of the ball. The girl of grace. Yes,” the shopkeeper cooed, “you were unearthed for this cape.”

“But it’s a hundred,” said Scarlet. “And I only have 20.”

Dame Lurk removed her arm and stood. She smiled sympathetically at Scarlet and clasped her hands. “It is a pity, but perhaps,” Dame Lurk nodded at Scarlet’s bag, “you have accessories to sell?”

Scarlet slapped her forehead. “Of course!” She opened her bag and held it out. Pokey was nestled in the cloak. He seemed to be sleeping. “The cloak is really durable,” Scarlet explained. “And Pokey, he’s a good strong arm.”

“Indeed,” said Dame Lurk grimacing at the cloak. Her tone became businesslike. “Pawn shop. Back of the market.”

Scarlet nodded and scuttled off, completely forgetting her parents’ warning about the strange strangers at the back of the market.

In the end, Scarlet couldn’t do it.

As she’d waited in the pawn-shop line, she’d calculated how much she could get for Pokey and the cloak. And maybe the shoulder bag, if she needed to toss it into the deal. She’d told herself to bargain with confidence. She’s banished the voices nibbling at her conscience.

When she finally got to the front of the line and unzipped her bag, though, she couldn’t part with any of it. Not the cloak (what would her parents say?) or Pokey (to whom she was starting to feel attached) and not the bag (which she’d need to carry everthing, including, she now realized, the haggis).

So Scarlet had wandered, lost in swirling thoughts, until her sequin-sneakered took her to the shop that would change her life: “Barnaby B’s Boas. Imported Organic Necksessories.”

The stall was narrow and gloriously overstuffed with feather boas of every bird imaginable. And some UN-imaginable.

Scarlet scanned the labels. There were feathers from birds she knew, like crows and vultures, some from birds she’d heard of, like egrets and eidolons, and some from birds thought to be extinct, like archeopteryxes and quintilidons.

It wasn’t just the feathers, though, it was the craft. The feathers were woven together so tightly it seemed there still might be a bird underneath them. A formal-dress boa constructed of peacock feathers. A foul-weather boa of duck feathers. Bower bird boas bedecked in charms and trinkets. Pigeon-feather boas for exercise.

If she couldn’t buy the dreams-cape, maybe Scarlet could afford a boa. *After all, it IS my unearthday. She trailed her fingers along the boas spilling out of the sale rack at the front of the stall.

“Now here’s a neck in need of feathering if ever I saw one,” said a buttery smooth voice. Scarlet turned and beheld the shopkeeper, tall and sinewy. Dark eyes, a massive nose, a tidy goatee. His head was wrapped in a paisley silk scarf studded with bright gems. He didn’t so much walk toward Scarlet as glide, his peacock-feather boa fluttering as he moved. He was captivating. He was disorienting.

“Well, now. Aren’t you the rara avis,” he purred.

“The what?” Scarlet stammered.

“The rare bird. The rarest of all, in fact: a woman a la mode.”

Scarlet smiled, blushing. “A woman?”

“Of fashion,” said the shopkeeper.

“Well … I guess I am today,” said Scarlet. “It’s my unearthday.”

The shopkeeper bowed. “Felicitations in excelsis.”

“What?” She thought his words were as glittery as his boas.

“Congratulations to the utmost. It is no common thing, becoming a grownup.”

“Nobody else seems to be noticing,” said Scarlet, glowing.

“Most zombies don’t see anything but themselves.” The shopkeeper paused. “How rude of me. Introductions.” He bowed once more. “Behold, before you stands Barnaby B. Wolf. My feet are fashionably booted. My suit is perfectly suited. Fashion’s my modus operandi. Note the bowler, the vest. The many ruffles on my chest.” He gestured with gloved hands as he spoke. “I twirl my cane in the air and I move without care.”

Scarlet grinned. Barnaby B. Wolf grinned back.

What big teeth he had.

“So, my dear … ”

“… Scarlet.”

“So, my dear Scarlet. I daresay a boa would complement your satin jacket perfectly.” His eyes flicked, down-up. “Tear or no.”

His eyes were kind.

What big eyes he had.

“Actually, there’s more. Worse-more.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“My parents want me to wear … ” Scarlet opened her bag and pulled out a corner of the nasty cloak. “… this.” Pokey tried to climb out. Scarlet shoved him down, stuffed the cloak in, and rezipped it.

Barnaby wrinkled his nose, aghast.

What a big nose he had.

“It seems a squirrel got to that thing,” said Barnaby, “whatever it is.”

“It’s a cloak,” said Scarlet. She lowered her voice. “A hand-me-down.”

“Ghastly!”

“I know!” Scarlet stuffed the cloak back in her bag and zipped it closed. “Some unearthday, huh?”

“Well, maybe we can make it a bit better, starting now.” Barnaby steered Scarlet to a rack of medium-priced boas.

“I don’t know,” said Scarlet. “I mean they’re beautiful, but I don’t think I can afford them.”

“What’s your budget, Dear.”

“I have to buy a haggis. That’s another thing! Why am I doing chores on my unearthday?”

“The injustice flabbergasts me,” he agreed.

“I only have five extra bones.”

“Well, I think we can make that work. Why don’t you take your pick. Any boa in the store. Yours for five.”

Scarlet was stunned. “Really?” She rushed to hug Barnaby and on an impulse she said something to him, “Would you like to come to my unearthday party?”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it,” he said, licking his lips. “I do so love zombies.”

“What?” asked Scarlet.

“I love the *company* of zombies. Just tell me where the festivities are taking place and I shall be there.”

She gave Barnaby her grandmother’s address and in moments she’d chosen a cardinal-and-swan-feather boa. Red and white in equal meaure.

As she left the shop, she flung the boa over her shoulder with a flourish. So fashionable. So grown-up. She walked to the front of the market, hoping Jeminy and the Threadheads would see her now.

If she had looked back, she would have noticed that Barnaby was closing up shop early.