The Gift of Fashion Read online

  The Gift of Fashion

  The Badger Hole Bar Series

  By Taki Drake and Kris Endicott

  Table of Contents

  Legal Stuff

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 – Signs and Signals

  Chapter 2 – Action and Reward

  Chapter 3 – Visitor Bearing Gifts

  Chapter 4 – Nerves

  Chapter 5 – Makeover

  Chapter 6 – Social Training

  Chapter 7 – Measure of the Man

  Chapter 8 – New Choices

  Chapter 9 – Makeover

  Chapter 10 – Gifts from Nicholas

  Chapter 11 – Humor and Gratitude

  Chapter 12 – It is the Thought

  Contributing Authors

  Author - Taki Drake

  Author - Kris Endicott

  Legal Stuff

  The Gift of Fashion, ©Copyright 2018 Taki Drake and Kris Endicott, All Rights Reserved

  Reproduction of any kind is strictly prohibited unless written permission is granted by the authors.

  The story in this publication is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published by All Chaos Press, 2018

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the wonderful supporting family and friends that make it possible for both Kris and me to write. We both are truly blessed.

  It is also true that no book gets to publication without the help and encouragement of others. Our heartfelt thanks to the editing, brainstorming, and cheerleading dynamic duo of Diane and Dorene. Without your feedback and efforts, we are aware that this story may never have made it to life. You have enriched our lives in so many ways - there are no thanks large enough.

  Finally, we want to thank the crazy, creative group of Phoenix Prime. Our interaction never fails to push us to work harder, create more compelling worlds, and explore our imaginations.

  Chapter 1 – Signs and Signals

  Genevieve paced around her studio floor in a flurry of frustration. She could feel the skin all over her body, and it seemed to be on fire, itching and aching. She longed to scratch but knew that was not appropriate behavior for a woman such as she.

  Only small children gave in to this type of urge in public, and the Clothier felt very much like every moment that she spent in her shop could be in an instant visible to others. It all boiled down to, this was public, and there will be no unseemly behavior in the Clothier’s shop.

  There was no conceivable reason for this much physical discomfort. A sharp reinforcement over her companion bond that connected Genevieve to her symbiotic partner, the sentient building, Doucet, told her that he was equally at a loss.

  Arrested by that thought, Genevieve paused abruptly in her pacing, standing frozen in the middle of the room with one foot lifted off the ground. This was not a reaction of her skin, she abruptly realized. Instead, the feeling was similar to all of the nerves in her body getting together and voting to go someplace else. Obviously, there was more than a simple desire to scratch going on.

  Her three companions watched in worried silence. They had offered no suggestion or question during her first hour of frenzied discomfort. She knew that they were probably at a loss, just as she was. Wrapped up in her own thoughts, the Clothier jumped a little bit as a hesitant voice spoke.

  “Maybe you forgot something?” It was the old treadle sewing machine that bravely offered a comment. His gears revved up and down slowly to create an audible conversation. Genevieve listened carefully, appreciating the considerable effort that he was going through to talk to her. Even more heartwarming to the Clothier was the affection and loyalty that she knew underlaid his decision to speak up.

  Slowly, the machine that had seen more miles of stitching than any she had ever known continued his labored speech. “I know that when I have forgotten to oil my pivots that all of my gear stutter and I feel funny. Almost like I’m going to throw up.”

  Suppressing a smile at the mental vision of the sewing machine pitching out his gears in an expression of nauseated distress, the Clothier turned and smiled fondly at the black and gold Singer machine. Her itching forgotten, she laid a gentle hand on the elaborately drawn decoration on his castle and said, “Thank you, Isaac. But I don't think forgotten maintenance is behind this.”

  Doucet chose that moment to shower her with mental images of all the different ways that a treadle sewing machine might decide to throw up. Totally distracted, the Clothier struggled to contain her amusement, worried that uncontrolled laughter on her part would offend and hurt her fiercely loyal machine.

  Genevieve heard a light clicking sound behind her. Turning, she noticed that both her pincushion and tape measure were laying on the large worktable that occupied pride of place in her studio. Sitting at an equal distance from both was the glint of a single straight pin. The silvery finish on the slender tool of a dressmaker’s trade caught the light and scattered minute flashes of visual confetti in the air.

  The woman knew that the table had been cleared just a short time ago. There was no way that a pin could have accidentally fallen into that particular space. The Clothier stared intently at first one and then the other of her assistants. Only silence answered her, and Genevieve started to become impatient.

  “Patience, my dear,” sounded over her companion bond and Genevieve realized with a massive burst of joy that she had finally heard words from Doucet. The edges of her eyes became teary, and she drew in a sharp breath. Each milestone in the deepening of their bond was an occasion of celebration for her. The closer they came to a true melding, the higher the chance of creating stupendous fashion art.

  It had not been very long ago when she would have said that people who talk to the tools of their trade were dangerously unstable. She would have no more looked to those implements for commentary on her life and career than she would’ve expected the water in her cup to sing her lullabies. Coming to the Badger Hole had certainly changed her view on magic and its relation to her.

  Now, Genevieve looked inquiringly at the two items lying on the table and waited for them to speak. When neither of them spoke quickly, the woman narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her, her face assuming an expression that would have told anyone that knew her well what she was actually saying was, “Don’t make me wait!”

  For once the human woman wasn’t the more volcanic person in the bond between Anchor and Building. Compared to Genevieve’s spark of irritation, the fury that Doucet felt at her assistants’ reticence was volcanic. The Clothier found herself in a unique position, needing to calm her companion down from an unreasonable level of emotion.

  That just proves that just because the man has more vision and skill in his nonexistent pinky finger than I do in my whole body doesn’t make him perfect. Even if he is now a sentient building, Genevieve thought to herself. Pushing her voice through the companion bond, the Clothier echoed back at Doucet, <> His wry acknowledgment was a satisfying indication that their partnership was becoming equal.

  Henri, the cloth measuring tape, rose up. He held a loop of his tape vertically in front of him like a shield, hiding the fact that he was pointing at Yoko, the pincushion. The Clothier’s eyes were drawn immediately over to the stuffed flower-like tool and her right eyebrow raised in an unconscious demand.

  Yoko was a pincushion sculpted in the form of a lotus and constructed of beautiful Japanese fabrics. Articulate and pleasant, she tended to be shy and did not often draw attention to herself. Genevieve knew
that when the usually quiet female threw a pin, it marked an important event.

  Genevieve picked up the pin and gently slid it back into place. “You have an idea, Yoko?”

  “Hai, I believe it is a signal from the honorable BHB,” the pincushion said in a sweet, lilting voice. “He has been known to send signs or signals to those with whom he cannot speak directly.”

  “A signal for what?” Genevieve asked in confusion. Casting her mind back to her activities of the last few days, the Clothier could not think of anything that would require the intervention of the BHB. Doucet chimed in with an emphatic agreement but flooded her mind with additional images that confused her. I guess that we still have a way to go with our communications, Genevieve thought to herself.

  Usually, if the sentient building needed something from her, either Madrik or Alastair would show up and ask her for whatever it was that they needed. Occasionally, the waitress, Wynn, would stop by to discuss decorations and other interesting projects over a cup of tea. Neither of those had happened.

  When Genevieve repeated her question, two of the pincushion’s fabric petals lifted in a shrug the reminded Genevieve of the graceful wing-like movements of the sleeves on a geisha’s kimono. “I do not know.”

  The Clothier opened her mouth to respond but paused for a moment as Doucet stabbed short little comments into her brain, noting the combination of sleeves and movement and how that could create a graceful formal gown. << Squirrel! >> she said sternly to her companion, << We can work on that later. Just don’t forget it! >>

  A thump reminiscent of a thimble tapped between the eyes admonished her not to be silly. Of course, Doucet would remember. With an internal grin, Genevieve realized that so would she.

  Turning her attention back to the conversation with Yoko, the Clothier said, “I suppose then I should go over and find out if there’s something that is needed at the bar, but I still think that they would’ve sent for me if anything was required.”

  Henri chimed in, “I am sure that is true, but surely there are situations where it is not that they require you to do something but perhaps the BHB is trying to tell you of something that will happen to us instead.”

  Struck by the possibilities of that statement, the Clothier turned her nervous energy into fuel for a frenzied tidying of her already pristine shop. No matter what occurred, she wanted to be prepared. No one would be able to find any fault with her studio, not after years of imagining a place to create her art coupled with the pain of hopeless yearning to find someone who would help her achieve her dream.

  A crystalline image of the studio full of exquisite gowns and intricate garments filled the Clothier’s mind. Smiling in joy, Genevieve pushed a picture of her dancing through the maze of mannequins back along her companion bond to the building that was her partner.

  The woman could feel a warm wave of pleasure at the picture reflecting back at her, and she knew that her companion, Doucet, had caught both her meaning and the joy that their bond brought her. She knew that there were traces of pride on both of their parts at the continued improvement of their communication. Both of them had grown in their ability to communicate fluidly and were developing the ability to add nuanced notes. It was not quite the power a partnership that Madrik had with the BHB, but it was miles ahead of where they had started.

  Once more, Genevieve was yanked out of her thoughts by one of her assistant’s voices.

  “Madame Genevieve,” Henri interrupted. “Your hands. Look at your hands!”

  The Clothier held out her hands. Blue light raced in random paths across her palms and up her arms just as it had when she first bonded with Doucet and again when she created the elegant gown for Star Child Grace.

  However, this time it was different. There was no objective to expend the magical energy on, no garment to create. Instead, the power built up a wave within her.

  Genevieve could feel the magic intensifying within her, getting higher and higher, but with no clear target. Alarmed, she sent an image of a large question mark over her companion bond with Doucet, but he was equally at a loss. Without any clear direction, Genevieve decided to lean on her assistant’s instincts.

  With some relief at having picked a direction, at last, the Clothier uttered a short laugh in relief, saying, “I think you're right, Yoko.”

  Chapter 2 – Action and Reward

  Now that Genevieve had made a decision, she burst into frenzied activity. One last check around the room and nothing was out of place. Then a rapid evaluation of possible things she should take with her to the BHB. When Doucet pointed out that it wasn’t even a five-minute walk away and that she could easily come back for needed items, the Clothier pointed out that she really hated to be unprepared. She also reminded him that sometimes when inspiration hit there was no time to walk back and forth.

  Henri and Yoko reassured her that they would keep the shop in hand and that if anyone stopped in without first going to the BHB that they would immediately notify her. Knowing Doucet could reach her no matter where she was, Genevieve stopped fussing and got ready to leave. Taking only the sample of fabrics that she had promised to the BHB waitress, the Clothier left her shop.

  As soon as Genevieve stepped out of her shop, the horrendous itching of her skin lessened. Reinforcing the idea that she was answering a summons, each step closer to the bar’s entrance resulted in the feeling of uneasiness and violent itching becoming easier to ignore.

  Genevieve issued a sigh that mingled both relief and delight that the mystery had been solved. With an increased bounce in her step, the Clothier made a beeline for the BHB determined to see what the other end of the mystery was. She had not gone very far, not even a few steps when Star Child Grace called to her from a short distance down the main road to her right.

  “Oh good, I've caught you,” Star Child said as the woman moved quickly toward her. The willowy woman seemed to flow rather than walk. Her steps appeared to barely touch the pavers, yet she moved quickly. In the woman’s hands was a covered tray. As soon as she got close enough to Genevieve to speak normally, the older woman held out the covered platter to the younger woman, saying, “I stopped by the Bakery knowing that you would need these.”

  Automatically, Genevieve took a step toward Star Child. Staring down at the tray blankly for a moment before moving her gaze up to look inquiring at the older woman, the young woman saw that Star Child was just smiling with a pleased sparkle in her eyes. When the younger woman made no move to take the tray, the grinning Star Child deposited it into the hands Genevieve had automatically held out. Before the Clothier could utter a complete sentence, the frustrating Plane Walker headed back down the street in the direction she had come.

  Genevieve shook her head in amusement, bubbles of mirth effervescent in her blood. She had met Star Child Grace frequently since coming to this place. Every one of those times the woman had seemed to know what was happening before Genevieve or anyone else did. Was this another example of foresight on the older woman’s part?

  “Oh well,” Genevieve said as she shrugged her shoulders. Supposedly, Star Child thought this tray was needed, so it probably was. And since the woman had an uncanny sense of timing, the Clothier assumed that this was not something to carry back to her shop. Instead, since she been intercepted on her way to the BHB, she probably just needed to take the tray with her when she went to visit Madrik.

  Genevieve could feel Doucet looking through her eyes over their companion bond. The woman had to admit that she was curious about what was on the tray and she could feel her companion’s similar need to know. Giving in to that urge to discover, Genevieve balanced the platter on the one hand and lifted the heavy cover with the other.

  An explosion of warm and inviting smells slapped her in the face as if she had just walked into a well-run bakery. Luxurious almond, invigorating cinnamon, deep thick, honeyed satisfaction, and other exciting aromas erupted into Genevieve’s senses. Overwhelmed for just a moment, the young woman blinked her eyes an
d focused on what was on the tray. “Cookies?” she asked out loud.

  Totally befuddled, Genevieve put the cover back down over the delectable smelling cookies and headed for the BHB. I am sure that at some future point, this will all make sense, she thought to herself. Until then, I will enjoy the smell of them, and perhaps find which ones go with which type of wine.

  << <> >>

  Genevieve waltzed into the dark wooden tavern with a light step and humming a song that she remembered from the carolers on Fifth Avenue. She loved her shop, but the BHB taproom was special. The Badger Hole Bar was the heart of this universe. Every time she set foot inside the bar, she noticed the special smell in the air and indescribable energy that ran through the atmosphere. Within the confines of its walls, anything seemed possible.

  Madrik was seated at the bar having a discussion with the bartender, Brechal. There was a cup in front of Madrik that sent tendrils of steam floating through the air like waving fingers and Genevieve was intrigued that it seemed to be forming letters. She would’ve sworn that she saw FA followed by LA a few seconds later. When she glanced back at it, it looked like LA appeared again.

  Strange things are always happening here, Genevieve thought, Perhaps, if I sit here long enough the misty letters will make sense to me. Before she could look further into that, the two men greeted her by name. Madrik continuing on to ask, “Hello, Genevieve. It’s a pleasure to see you, but is there something that you need?”

  Oh, good! He’s just as much in the dark as I am, she thought to herself. Aloud, the Clothier said, “No, I believe it is the other way around. It seems that I’ve been summoned here by the BHB and since I was waylaid by Star Child Grace on the short trip and handed this tray, I thought perhaps the contents of the tray were needed.” Punctuating her statement, Genevieve laid the platter on the bartop in front of Madrik.

  Madrik stared blankly at the covered tray, unsure of what to do. Brechal had been busy with the ever-present glassware but interrupted his actions long enough to look at her and asked, “What's that?” pointing at the tray with his chin while his hands kept drying glasses.