Chapter 2
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Desperate times…
Maelin
I find my sister in the car . After scouring and scouring the whole convention, nearly fainting, and having to babble gratitude to another handler for sharing water with me, I returned to our vehicle in the wide lot outside the convention hall. I planned to wiggle out of this fursuit and hide until Morana decided she loved me more than whatever trinkets she was likely collecting…
But here she is .
I slap my paw against the driver-side window, and she jolts, seafoam green eyes fixing on me.
She steps out of the car, then has the audacity to snap at me. “There you are. I’ve been calling and texting you for an hour .”
“Um.” I lift my freaking paws . “Hello?”
“You couldn’t feel your phone buzzing?” she quips.
“I can’t feel my legs, Mora.”
Taking a deep breath, Morana runs her fingers through her long dark hair—jet black, an equal opposite of mine. Despite our otherwise identical twinness, something ever so slightly kinked in the code between us, diverting all the ink into my little sister. “Sorry. It’s just…” She breathes, spins me, and undoes the clasp keeping my head in place. “Come on. We need to go.”
“Is everything okay? Is…” My throat closes as worst case scenarios run through my head. “Is everyone okay? Mom? Dad?”
She pulls off my paws, swipes down to grab Zakery’s card when it falls, turns it over, brow raised, then dumps it and the rest of my bulkier fursuit pieces into the backseat before dragging me to the passenger side and cramming the rest of me in. “Helena called.”
I shudder as Morana slams the door on me, circles to her seat, and slides in. Hesitant, I ask, “What did your boss want? Am I… Am I making you late to one of her grand summons?”
Morana shakes her head. “No.”
“Then…”
“She’s fired me.” Throwing a look over her shoulder, she peels out of the parking spot.
Dread heightens, squeezing air from my lungs. “Why? You’re perfect at cleaning. Particular to a fault. I’ve watched you use my sewing tape to measure the distance between two of the same decorations on our Christmas tree every year for over a decade.”
“And—” A wry, insulting laugh spills from her. “—I am also not blonde .”
Blonde? Yeah. She sure isn’t. I blurt, “What does that have to do with anything ?”
“Helena wants an all blonde housekeeping staff now. Rich people piss me the—” She curses. “—off. She told me since I’m so good at my job, she’d give me the opportunity to stay on as a maid. But only if I either bleach and dye my hair, or wear a wig. And—of course—if she so much as sees my roots or my dark hair while I’m on the clock, she will have no choice but to let me go.”
“Oh, Mora…”
Morana seethes. “I’m not wearing a—” She swears again. “—wig to work so I can clean up after frivolous parties for a—” Another swear. “—entitled—” More swears.
“And you shouldn’t have to. That’s insane.”
“I know!” she shrieks. “It’s insane . And what’s even more insane, Mae? We won’t have food next week because of this.” A shaking breath leaves her. “I need to start looking for other jobs. Heck, if there weren’t a strict no soliciting rule throughout Sunset, I’d go door to door and pitch cleaning services to anyone who would listen.”
“I’ll look for jobs, too. I’ll…I’ll see if there are any part-time positions, so I can still take care of the house. Maybe waitressing? At Honeycomb?” I like the atmosphere of the little cafe off main street. It’s all yellow and bees. (Not to mention, they have the best breakfast bagel sandwiches in the world.)
“You’ve been fired from waitressing jobs a dozen times, Mae. You are not suited to hold stuff and…” She waves an aggravated hand. “… walk .”
“I can try to take on more for my laundry service?” My heartbeat pounds in my throat. “I can…” I look down. At my poofy skirt. And pink faux fur. “I can make fursuits.”
Morana slams on the brakes at a red light and whips her attention to me. “What?”
“Fursuits. They sell for something like six thousand dollars when they’re made to order.”
“It took you over a month, working tirelessly, to make that one, Mae. We won’t have rent in two weeks, and I don’t think you’ll be able to manage quite the same production quality while you’re rushed and starving. We need something now, or we’re in big trouble.”
Something…now.
Looking over my shoulder, I find the dark card Zakery gave me on the floor beside my paws.
The simple silver cursive font glimmers when a ray of sunlight hits it.
Zakery Bachelor
Artist
Fifty dollars an hour…would cover food.
Several hours a day at that wage would cover a whole lot more.
Taking a deep breath, I decide I have very little left to lose at this point, lean back over the center console, and reach for the card.