Overture - Skye Warren Page 0,47
that sleep in the dusty trays, shooting a dirty look if you try to shift the vinyl around them.
A whimsical toy shop that sells an action figure of Jane Austen.
Our goal is a large vintage clothing shop that takes up three stories. It’s the kind of place where you have to look through a hundred racks of clothing to find one thing to buy. The smell of mothballs and incense fills the air. I didn’t really feel like shopping, but poor Laney needs the distraction. Her mother has been gone a long time, and even for the daughter of a mercenary, someone used to absences, she must be getting nervous.
And maybe I’ll find something special to wear on the tour.
Laney holds up a bright purple dress with puffy sleeves that could only have come from the eighties. “What do you think? It would be like that girl from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, except instead of a giant blueberry I could be a giant grape.”
“Knowing you, you’d probably bring the style back.”
She shudders in mock agreement and shoves the dress back onto the rack. “You’re probably right.” After a short pause of moving hangers, she sighs. “I wish I could actually see the clothes that are right in front of me, but my mind keeps wandering. Next thing I know I’m looking at a lace cocktail dress in army green.”
“Oh, that sounds nice actually,” I say, peering around the thick rack of clothes. She swats me away, determined as ever to make me wear something that will actually attract attention instead of hide me. “Did you talk to Liam about it?”
“Yes,” she says glumly. “He says they’re safe and sound in Germany, resting before they come back. That’s what he said—resting. Like what, are they taking a nap or something?”
“I’m sure they have a good reason,” I say, keeping my voice free of the worry twisting my stomach. I’m not sure how she’s managed to stay as calm and cool, but then again, she’s had plenty of practice.
“Of course they have a good reason,” she says. “Like the fact that they’re not safe and sound. How do we feel about plaid? I mean in a short skirt—obviously yes. But what about this beret?”
I give her a dubious look. “Where would you wear a beret?”
“In Paris, when I have a torrid love affair with a moody musician. Oh by the way, I’m going to need you to introduce me to some moody musicians.”
“Okay, well, first I’ll have to meet some myself.”
“You’ll meet plenty on the tour. Starting with Harry March.”
I make a face. “He’s probably not even going to talk to me. I’ll be like the stagehand, except less important, because I won’t know where his microphone is.”
“Whatever. You’re going to wear something fabulous and you’re going to play that way you do where everyone starts crying, and then he’s going to fall madly in love with you.”
“Speaking of madly in love, how is Cody?”
“Why would that be speaking of madly in love?”
Because he’s been in love with Laney since they were children. “No reason.”
She sighs. “He’s glad that Coach Price is gone, obviously. But he didn’t exactly bounce back from the experience. The school counselor tried to talk to him, but he shut her down.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, squeezing her hand. “He’ll work through it in his own time.”
“But my timeline is so much faster,” she says, plaintive.
My hands pause in their path through the clothes. I pull out the black dress, a flush warming me. The fabric hangs awkwardly on the hanger, but there’s something about it…
I wander over to one of the standing mirrors and hold the gown against me. It’s an asymmetrical line, sloping down across my body. Ruffles of black silk line the top. It’s simple and dramatic all at once, and the way it’s cut will emphasize the violin I’ll hold. It falls to the floor, approximating the more formal gown that a classical musician would wear, but with a high slit, befitting a popular music stage.
“Perfect,” Laney breathes. “You have to get it.”
“For the tour, right?”
“Well, sure, but you should wear it where Liam can see you. Maybe tomorrow.”
Tomorrow is my birthday. Which means that at midnight Liam North will cease to be my court-ordered guardian. I make a face, trying to act like it’s no big deal. “We don’t have any big plans.”
There’s a pang in my chest, because we usually do something for my birthday. A nice dinner at the country club