Sirenz - By Charlotte Bennardo Page 0,32

the only ones in the room. He looked at us, mouthing, “What are you doing here?” He jerked his head to the side, motioning for us to go away.

Arkady grunted fiercely and jerked his arm from Jeremy’s. Moving slowly and using the cane, he made his way over to the dress. He stood in front of it silently for several seconds. No one said a word. Then he turned around.

“Who is responsible for this?” His voice was grating and broken, thick with a Russian accent, and loud even through his wrappings.

“Oh! Mr. Arkady!” Reynaldo found his high-pitched voice. Of course our humiliation would have to be a soap opera. He pointed violently as us with both hands. “It was them! They did it!”

Arkady slashed a hand through the air for silence. Reynaldo clapped a palm over his mouth and looked ready to cry.

I thought I saw a smile from beneath the silk wrap that covered Arkady’s mouth and nose; it reminded me of a movie I’d seen about a mummy come to life to wreak havoc on everyone.

Then he roared.

“Magnificent!”

Pretty Claws, Pretty Clothes, Pretty Close

It was magnificent? Our third grade art project? I knew fashion, like art, was subject to personal perspective, but he really had to be kidding. It pulled our butts out of the fire, though, so I wasn’t going to complain and neither was Meg. I heard her slowly let out a breath of relief.

Arkady spoke slowly, like he was trying to whisper, but it came out a coarse shout. “Bring them to the show tomorrow. The short stubby one needs updating. Tell the tall one her feet look too big in flats. She should wear heels. Send both out to get cleaned up. Everyone except Reynaldo, leave me.” Arkady held out his arm and Reynaldo rushed forward to guide him to a chair. He pulled a rack of dresses forward, unzipping bags.

“Meg, Sharisse,” said Jeremy, gesturing toward the door with his head. Before we could think to mojo anyone, we were dutifully following him, pausing only when he closed the door behind him. “You guys are on a roll, but the next time you want to show that kind of initiative, please, give me a hint!”

Opportunity lost!

“Of course,” I assured him halfheartedly. “And we would’ve, but … there was no time.”

Meg exhaled slowly.

Jeremy looked at her. “Are you sure you’re okay? I know he can be harsh.”

She smiled and nodded, then squeezed his hand. She was getting way too personal.

“What happens now?” I asked as I moved a tad closer, trying to draw his attention.

Jeremy rubbed a hand over his face. “Mr. Romanov needs to approve the accessories for each ensemble before it can be taken to the Met. He and Reynaldo will be busy for a while. And, since I need to be there, you two can take the rest of the afternoon off.”

He looked at us critically. “You’ll need to wear something more appropriate to the show. Here.” He reached in his pants pocket and, from a gold clip with his initials and the House of Romanov design, slipped out a card and handed it to Meg. “Take the company credit card. Buy a few outfits.” He turned to me. “Look sharp. Be at the Met by seven p.m. And be prepared to work. Hard. You’re not his guests. He’s doing you a great honor. He never lets anyone close to him.” He gave us a rueful smile, although I noticed it lingered longer on Meg.

Okay. Not everyone preferred blondes. My revenge would be a whole makeover—on her.

“Then we need to get going,” I said imperiously. “I need time to work my magic on Meg. Shopping is serious business. See you at seven tomorrow.”

Using Jeremy’s card and dropping a few hints about the show and what could be hot for the summer, we were ushered into the Red Door Salon like pop princesses. Meg complained, but I brushed it all aside.

“They’re known for their discretion. With these hands”—I wiggled my ugly fingers at her, the nails thick and curving—“I need someone who won’t laugh. Or take secret pictures and sell them to the tabloids with the caption Secret Government Cloning Experiment Goes Horribly Wrong.”

We were escorted immediately back to a semi-private room, having chosen to get worked on together. We lay back in the ergonomic red-leather chaises. An icy blonde sporting a surgical mask worked on Meg’s feet, submerging them in a warm footbath. A stunningly beautiful Asian woman, also with surgical mask, held