The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen - Delia Sherman [56]
When I got to our table, Espresso waved me to a seat next to her. “Hey, Neefer-girl! How’s the questing gig?”
I sat down and launched into the exciting tale of my adventures in the Garment District. I skipped over the part where Airboy appeared, and then of course I had to slide over how I learned to cross Seventh Avenue and pretend I’d left the magic map at home and leave out the whole thing with the Ugly Mirror because, well, because. But I told them all the important stuff.
When I finished, Stonewall looked thoughtful. “Tiffany, huh? You know, there are a lot of blonde debs in New York Between. Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?”
“I’m not jumping to anything. I thought about it all day yesterday. Tiffany has to have the mirror. Why else would she disappear?”
“If the other deb was Bergdorf, she could have it,” Mukuti pointed out.
“It makes more sense the other way,” Fortran said. “Besides, Bergdorf’s a total minion. Can you see anybody giving her a magic mirror when Tiffany was around?”
There was a thoughtful silence. Danskin said, “Well, if Tiffany had the mirror, wouldn’t we know? I mean, I can’t see her taking one of the great talismans of New York and not using it.”
“Tiffany, Queen of New York!” Mukuti chortled. “She’d like that.”
Fortran laughed. “I bet she’s lurking on top of the Woolworth Building, planning to take over the world!”
“Then why is Bergdorf so freaked out?” Danskin asked.
Espresso shrugged. “Minion, remember? Maybe Tiffany left the mirror with her, stashed in a bag of last season’s lip gloss.”
“Ha-ha, very funny,” I said. “Here’s something I never thought I’d hear myself say: I want to find Tiffany.”
Stonewall groaned. “Oh, yeah,” he said sarcastically. “You’re the hardest-working mortal changeling in New York Between. Boo-hoo.” I looked at him hard. He didn’t seem to be teasing. “Can we talk about something other than Neef’s quest for a while? Everybody got their Hallowe’en costumes? Fortran, you still set on that monkey-warrior thing?”
Fortran glanced at me. I shrugged. Stonewall was in a mood. It happened.
“Nah. Too much trouble.” Fortran hesitated. “What do you think about a troll?”
Stonewall narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Well, you’re approximately the right color, so that’s a start.”
I watched Fortran decide this was supposed to be funny. “Good one,” he said doubtfully. “Should be easy, then. What about you, Mukuti?”
“I’m tired of always being something Indian,” she said. “Miss Van Loon’s is all about diversity, right? So I was thinking about one of those nasty Russian water nymphs. You know, a rusalka. I could get my hair all wet.”
“Oh, your godmother’s going to love that,” Stonewall said. “Dripping all over your clothes and shorting out all her nifty amulets. The ones that actually work, that is.”
Danskin gave his friend the kind of look you’d give someone who was turning into a toad. “Hey, lighten up, Stoney—or should I call you ‘Too-Much-Coffee Man’?”
Espresso giggled nervously.
“What about you, Neef?”
I glanced at Stonewall. His eyes were hard and unfriendly under his golden eyebrows. If this was just a mood, it was certainly a foul one. Even if I’d decided about my costume, I wouldn’t have necessarily wanted to say anything.
I gave a noncommittal shrug.
“How about somebody from the Wild Hunt?” Fortran asked helpfully. “That gives you lots of scary choices.”
“It’s obvious,” Stonewall said. “Peg Powler.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Well, you’re not exactly skinny, are you? And there’s the hair—definitely fly-away. A few weeds, a little green paint, and you’ll be ugly enough to scare the little kids into fits.” He stood up and slung his red leather Shoulder Bag across his back. “I’ve lost my appetite. I’m outta here. You coming, Danskin?”
Danskin shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so.”
“Whatever,” Stonewall said, and sauntered away.
We all looked at each other.
“Better wash your face, man,” Espresso told me.
I hadn’t even known I was crying.
That night, I spent a long time in front of the mirror