Page 56 of Mending Mayhem
“I need…” Mayhem started, practicing his accent.
“You need cowboy boots.” George’s gaze dropped to the combat-style boots he currently wore. “Size twelve? I’ve got just what you need.”
We followed him to the boot section, and he gestured for us to sit in the plush chairs across from the display. “You look like an ostrich man. Do you have a particular color in mind? Black. I’ll be right back.”
Mayhem frowned as George disappeared into a back room. “He asks questions but does not wait for answers.”
“He’s good at his job.” I patted his thigh, and he inhaled sharply before taking my hand and kissing it.
“Perhaps I wanted brown snakeskin.” His warm breath danced across my fingers.
“Did you?” I tugged from his grasp and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.
“No, he was correct. I wonder if he’s full human or something other.”
Before I could explain how retail workers developed a sense for what their customers needed, without using magic, George returned with two boxes. He sat on a stool and reached for Mayhem’s foot. My demon allowed the man to remove his boot and put the new one on, which was weird as all get out at first.
Then I remembered he was a prince. Lesser demons probably did his bidding on the daily back home.
The boot George had chosen had a brown heel, square toe, and a red flame pattern on the upper part. Hmm. Maybe this guy did have a little “something other” running through his veins.
Mayhem walked the length of the carpet and returned to his seat. “These will do.”
George smiled triumphantly and rested his hand on the other unopened box. “I knew those were the ones. I’ll put these back in a minute, but first, you’ll need some bootcut jeans.”
He tilted his head, eying Mayhem’s belt and t-shirt. “If you’re trying to get back to your roots, you’ll need a belt and shirt too. Or do you already have clothes at home?”
“I—” Mayhem began.
“You haven’t lived in New England long, and your wife has been dressing you. Meet me at the fitting room, and I’ll gather what you need.” George tucked the box beneath his arm and strode toward the men’s clothing.
I wasn’t keen on the wife part, but yeah, I had been dressing my demon. “Definitely something other.”
We waited outside the dressing room, and George returned with starched black jeans, a black leather belt with a huge silver buckle, and a black button-up. Mayhem put them on, and everything fit perfectly.
I focused on George’s aura, trying to sense any type of magic he might possess, but he seemed as mundane as Chief Higgins. If he was a magical being, the power was either multi-generationally diluted or he’d cast one helluva shrouding spell to hide it.
George gathered Mayhem’s old clothes and boots and put them in a bag before ringing up our purchase. “That’ll be nine hundred fifty-three dollars and seventy-six cents, please. Cash or card? Card.”
I choked on my own spit. A thousand dollars for one outfit? Damn, cowboying was expensive. “Maybe we should see the other pair of boots? Do you have anything less pricey?”
George’s brow furrowed, his nostrils flaring slightly as a tiny bit of the something other sparkled in his aura. “This is what he needs. Your choice of clothing for yourself will be fine, but he must wear this.”
The magic dissipated as quickly as it had formed, and I dug my credit card out of my wallet. Whatever kind of being George was, he was magically adamant my Prince of Hell had to wear this exact outfit. Who was I to question someone else’s ability?
George’s smile returned, and he tapped my card against the reader before handing it back to me. The register made a duh-dun sound, and he frowned. “I’m afraid your card has been declined. Do you have another payment method? Not with you. In your car, perhaps? Yes. The gentleman will wait with me while you call your friends on the phone. Off you go by the window. We have terrible reception in here.” He had the audacity to make a shooing motion with his hand.
My teeth clicked audibly, my hands curling into fists. “What are you?”
He tapped his nametag. “I’m George. This is my shop. If you try to leave, I’ll tell you to stop.”
My lips pursed, sharp pain shooting from my jaw to my temple, thanks to how hard I ground my teeth. His rhyming cadence made it sound like he’d cast a spell, but the wording was off. What a weirdo.
If we weren’t pressed for time, I would rip into this guy and make him reveal his identity. But time was the one thing we didn’t have, so I turned on my heel and marched toward the window, fuming as I opened a video call with my sister.
“Uh oh.” Ash held the phone in front of her so I could see everyone in the van. “What happened?”
“A thousand dollars,” I whisper shouted. “A grand for one stupid cowboy outfit, and my card was declined. You didn’t mention how expensive this costume would be.”