A man wearing a cheap blue suit with a boutonniere pinned to the lapel stopped in front of the plate glass window and looked in. Evie recognized him at once, in spite of his waxy, unnatural pallor and frozen features. He looked at her with glassy, unmoving eyes for an instant, and turned and shambled down the street in the direction of the funeral home.
Evie stared out the window in shock. “Demon hunters, you say?”
“I have told you so, have I not?”
“You sure did, and I believe you. Dwight Farris just looked in the shop window, and he’s dead.”
Chapter Six
There was scarcely time for Evie to activate the alarm system and grab her purse before Ansgar dragged her out of the flower shop.
“Wait, wait!” she protested. “Give a girl a minute to catch her breath, will you? I just saw my first zombie.”
Ansgar looked down at her, a gleam of amusement in his silver eyes. “What you saw, in all likelihood, was a ghoul, a corpse made animate by a demon. Humans are so imprecise.”
Evie pushed the hair out of her face. Nine o’clock, and already the heat and humidity were suffocating. It was like breathing under water, not that Ansgar the Magnificent seemed affected. Cool as a cucumber, he was.
“Ghoul smoul, call it what you want,” she said, “but there’s a dead guy walking around Hannah.”
“Do not concern yourself. The matter will be dealt with. Where is this tailor?”
She pointed. “On the corner at the end of the block.”
Ansgar pulled her down the street, his long stride forcing her to break into a trot to keep up. The businesses along Main Street were beginning to stir to life. Two familiar wrinkled figures perched on a bench outside the Sweet Shop Café and Grill. Herbert Duffey’s moose-like countenance was hidden behind the morning paper. Beside him, Jefferson Davis Willis puffed on his pipe and watched passersby.
“Good morning, Mr. Duffey, Mr. Willis.” Evie smiled at the octogenarians. “Warm day, isn’t it?”
“Herbert, get your long snoot outta that paper and tell me who that is with Evie Douglass,” Mr. Willis said.
Evie smothered a laugh and promptly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.
Ansgar’s grip tightened on her arm. “Have a care.”
Her face burned. Why, oh, why did she have to be such a klutz? “Sorry. The—uh—tailor’s is on the corner at the end of the block.”
There were three clothing stores in Hannah: Tompkins’s for men, the Greater Fair for women, and Toodles for children. They reached Tompkin’s and pushed open the front door. The shop was empty except for Brand and the sales clerk, Tweedy Gibbs. Tweedy, a slim wisp of a man in his early thirties with thinning red hair, stood toe to toe with Brand in front of the counter.
“I’m telling you, I’m slap out of anything that will fit a man of your size.” Tweedy glared up at Brand like a Chihuahua squaring off against a Great Dane. “Dean Wilson bought the last tall suit I had in the shop two weeks ago. Or maybe it was David.” He frowned and shook his head. “Hard to keep all those Wilsons straight. Every last one of ’em built like a tank, and all of ’em with names that start with ‘d.’ Darryl and Daniel, Dalton and David, Dean and Del.” He gave a disgusted snort. “It’s like trying to name Santa’s reindeer or the seven dwarves. What was their mama thinking? There are twenty-five other letters in the alphabet she could have used. Duh-duh-duh-duh-dee. I feel like Porky Pig every time one of ’em comes in.” Shrugging aside his irritation at the Wilson matriarch, he said, “I could maybe get you something in a week, but that’s the best I can do.”
Brand frowned at the smaller man. “I cannot wait a week. I need appropriate clothing now.”
“I tell you nothing I have will fit.” Tweedy eyed Brand up and down. “What are you, six and a half feet? I put you in a thirty-inch inseam and we’re talking high waders.”
“Is there a problem, brother?” Ansgar asked.
“There will not be once I ascertain the appropriate garb for this realm.” Evie’s stomach lurched as Brand turned his cold gaze on her. “I see you have brought Mistress Evie. Good. She can help us select clothing.”
Tweedy whipped around, his eyes widening when he spied Ansgar’s tall form. “Good Lord, there’s two of ’em!”
Out of the corner of her eye, Evie saw Ansgar stiffen. She smiled at Tweedy. “Morning, George,” she said, calling Tweedy by his given name to soothe his ruffled feathers. She shot Ansgar a meaningful look. “I’m sure Mr. Brand and Mr. Ansgar don’t mean to be any trouble.”
Ansgar lifted his brows, but remained silent.
Tweedy unbent a little. “Oh, you know these gentlemen, Evie?”
“They’re here for the Farris funeral.”
Tweedy pulled her aside. “What’s with the getup?” He cut his eyes toward the two big men and back again. “Are they in some kind of cult?”
“They’re actors.” Evie felt a twinge of conscience at the lie, but somehow she didn’t think Tweedy was ready to add CLOTHIERS TO INTERDIMENSIONAL DEMON HUNTERS EVERYWHERE to the sign outside the store.
“Oh.” Tweedy seemed to digest this for a moment. He raised his voice for the benefit of the other two men. “And both of them are looking for suits? Like I said, I don’t have their size.”
“They don’t have to have a suit,” Evie said. Lord, give her patience. The very idea of Whaley Douglass giving anybody fashion advice was laughable. “What about a nice pair of slacks and a dress shirt? Something more conservative than they’re wearing now.”
“Show up at a funeral sans jacket?” Tweedy shuddered. “Tacky. Still, when you live in a town where camouflage is considered haute couture, I don’t suppose it matters, especially since they’re not from here.”
“As long as the apparel is not something Conan would wear, it will suffice,” Brand said.
Tweedy gave Evie a look of confusion. “Conan? Who’s Conan?”
“A new designer.” Boy, she was getting scary good at this lying stuff. “Really out there. Lots of leather, but too avant-garde for a small-town funeral. They’re looking for something—uh—a little more traditional.”
Traditional for medieval transrealm warrior types. Granny Moses. Addy owed her big time.
“I’ve got a pair of summer-weight wool dress pants on hold for one of the Wilsons,” Tweedy said. He looked Brand and Ansgar up and down. “They’ll probably be too short and too big in the waist, but it’s all I got.”
He disappeared in the back of the store and returned with two pairs of trousers draped over one arm.
“You’re in luck. I found another pair.” He held a pair of slacks against Brand’s waist. “Like I thought, too big and too short in the inseam. The Wilsons aren’t quite as tall as y’all and softer in the middle. The beer diet, you know.”
Brand took one pair of pants from Tweedy and tossed the other pair to Ansgar. “These will suffice. Is there a place where we may withdraw to don them?”
“The dressing rooms are this way.” Shaking his head, Tweedy led Brand and Ansgar to the back of the store. “I’ll bring y’all a couple belts and some shirts to try. Will you gentlemen be needing shoes?”
“No, we will wear our boots,” Brand said.
Evie dropped into a chair in the shoe section of the store to wait. Tweedy muttered to himself as he