all of about thirty seconds. If I had any hope of actually getting my hands on the Codex, I had to be better prepared. I just hoped Augustine could do what I had in mind.
Françoise had paused in front of the two large plate-glass windows that displayed selections from the ready-to-wear line. She eyed a slim flute of a dress with golden bubbles rising upwards from the hem, like champagne, but passed on without comment. Inside, a large chandelier took up most of the ceiling, its crystals formed by icicles charmed not to melt despite the candles scattered among its many tiers. Françoise immediately began browsing, although what she planned to use for money I had no idea. I'd offered to take her shopping, since she'd ended up here sans family, friends and wardrobe. But my bank account didn't run so much to pricey boutiques.
I decided to explain things if and when she found something, and walked past the staff into the small workroom in back. Nobody tried to stop me. I was back in Elvira mode, wearing a black wig and an official-looking name badge. I'd discovered that it avoided a lot of questions if I looked like an employee, although it wasn't doing my arches any good.
The workroom was so crowded with racks of garments and bolts of fabric that I couldn't even see Augustine, but I heard someone muttering in a far corner. It turned out to be the great man himself, wrestling with a piece of golden fur that appeared to be trying to eat him. He threw it off and slapped a chair down on it, then started digging in the pile of papers on a nearby desk and muttering more.
I approached with caution, because the fabric was bucking and making a valiant attempt to throw off the chair. "Uh, hello?"
"It's no use complaining," he told me quickly. "There was no show, so nobody gets paid. Including me."
"I'm not here about that."
The fur gave a heave and almost dumped him onto the floor. He pretended not to notice, but he surreptitiously slid the edge of the heavy desk over to join the chair. "Then I'm at your disposal."
"I'm thinking about a dress. Something French."
"You can't mean that complete hack Edouard," he said, sounding appalled. "Darling, please. I can design you something better with my eyes closed. Hell, I could design you something better dead!"
"I don't mean I want a French designer," I tried to explain. "Just something that looks—"
"Forget Paris. Paris is done," he told me airily. "Now, at what occasion are you planning to showcase my work?"
"I need an outfit that would fit into the late eighteenth century."
"Oh, a costume party. I don't do costumes." Considering that Augustine's personal style was a cross between Galliano and Liberace, I thought that was debatable. At the moment he was wearing a saffron yellow tunic with puffy sleeves over a pair of purple harem pants. A gold sash tied around his waist pirate style held not a saber but a pair of scissors, a measuring tape and a tomato-shaped pincushion.
"I don't think you understand," I told him patiently. "It's kind of important."
"Ah, you want to dress to impress," Augustine said archly. "Well, in that case, you've come to the right place." He pulled me over to a dressmaker's form in one of the few open spaces in the room. With a mumbled word, it took on a very familiar, very detailed shape. I had a sudden urge to throw a towel over it. "Any special orders I need to know about?" he demanded. "Some of those can affect the design."
"No. I just—"
"Because I don't want you coming to me at the last minute saying you need a charm to make you dance better or hold your liquor or be a scintillating conversationalist and just forgot to mention it—"
"You can do that with a dress?"
"Darling, I can do anything with a dress. Anything legal, that is. So don't go asking for a love potion or some nonsense, because I'm not about to lose my license."
"What else can you do?" My mind was racing with the possibilities.
"What do you want?" A bolt of blank white fabric began draping itself around the form.
"Can you make me invisible?"
Augustine sighed and flipped the edge of my wig with a finger. "A bad outfit and worse hair can do that."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Then what about spell-proofing? Can you make it so if someone slings something nasty at me it bounces