The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen - Delia Sherman [51]
“For Artistes and Debs,” I interrupted him. “I know. I don’t want a makeover.” I glanced at Jacaranda and shuddered. “I’m on an official and very important quest.” I pulled out my quest pass. “See?”
The Glamourist examined the pass. “Pretty,” he said. “The beaver’s got style.” He turned to the makeup shelves.
“You can come out, little boy. I’m ready to tell you what you wanted to know now.”
A small figure stepped out from behind the shelves—a pale, skinny figure with a close-clipped fuzz of black hair and slanting black eyes.
Rage boiled up my chest and into my throat. “What—”
The Glamourist, the agent, and Jacaranda leaned forward eagerly. I took a deep breath and counted carefully to ten, then fifteen, just to make sure.
“Hi, Airboy,” I said stiffly.
He nodded. “Neef.”
“I see you two are old friends,” the Glamourist said. “Now listen carefully, because I’m only going to say this once.”
And then he told us how to get to Elizabeth Factor’s Beauty Salon.
Folk can’t understand that everybody else isn’t familiar with their Neighborhoods. The Glamourist’s directions were full of phrases like “turn left where the Button Shop used to be,” and “take a right two blocks before the Knitting Factory.” When he was done, all I knew for certain was that I was going to have to cross Seventh Avenue after all.
“Cool,” I said brightly. “You coming, Airboy?”
Airboy bowed deeply. “Honored sir, you are a master of glamoury and as kind as you are great. I will recommend you to all my friends.”
“Paint me white for shock,” the Glamourist said. “A mortal with manners. Hold on a tick.”
He snapped his fingers and two objects appeared—a small blue jar and a shiny, brightly colored oblong. He plucked them out of the air like fruit and handed them to Airboy.
“Here you are: a map of all the known Neighborhoods of New York. The jar is my special beauty cream. You don’t need it now, but you will.” He leaned close to Airboy. “A word to the wise: Don’t waste it on your girlfriend.”
Chapter 15
RULE 305: STUDENTS MUST NOT WEAR GLAMOURS OR ALTER THEIR APPEARANCE MAGICALLY.
Miss Van Loon’s Big Book of Rules
Airboy and I clattered down the stairs in one of those noisy silences that happen when you’re really mad and can’t yell. It lasted until we got to the street.
“What was that all about?” I hissed at him. “What are you even doing here?”
Airboy fixed his eyes on the street. “I’m looking for the Queen’s mirror.”
“How do you know the Lady doesn’t have it? And how did you happen to turn up in the Garment District? Have you been talking to my friends?”
He shot me a look.
It did seem unlikely. “Why are you spying on me?”
He shrugged. “There’s no rule against spying on enemies.”
“I’m not your enemy. That’s really slimy, you know that, Airboy?”
He turned and looked at me. “Slimier than vodyanoi?”
Now I was mad and guilty. “I said I was sorry. I didn’t even know it was going to happen!”
Airboy turned back to the street.
I counted to ten again. “Listen. Hate me if you want. We can still cooperate. You know—like that exercise in Diplomacy?”
Airboy unfolded the map the Glamourist had given him and held it so we could both see it.
It was, of course, a magic map. Fortran would have loved it. Any part you focused on got bigger and so detailed you could see the signs on the buildings. If you kept looking, it burrowed down under the streets to show the shadowy tangle of the Betweenways. Central Park, however, was just a blank green rectangle without even Belvedere Castle or the Reservoir marked.
Eventually, we found ELIZABETH FACTOR’S BEAUTY SALON, uptown and east, not in the Garment District at all. It was, as I had feared, on the other side of Seventh Avenue. Which looked just as impossible to cross as it had when I first saw it this morning.
We walked to the curb. I watched racks zip by, their bright burdens swaying, their kobolds scowling and yelling as they tried to outrace each other. I glanced at Airboy. He was breathing normally. Fine. If he wasn’t scared, neither was I.
A rack