“It was his second offense, which carries a term of one month to five years,” Alistair said. “Vescovi was unlucky enough to get two years. Word has it Ursino was the one who sold him out.”
He proceeded to explain the situation, ending with: “Vescovi might be useful. He has a grudge against Ursino, and knows the man better than anyone. That’s why I made it a point to speak to him tonight and invite him around to The Pride.”
“Good idea,” Wanda said.
Sam had finished his mock champagne. Philip noticed and fixed him another. Alistair watched through narrowed eyes, though Sam wasn’t certain why. Did he and Philip have some sort of falling out?
“So what next?” Sam asked. “Do we go to The Black Rabbit tomorrow night?”
To his surprise, Alistair shook his head. “No. Tomorrow is Saturday. They’ll close early to go to Easter Vigil Mass.”
“Oh! I forgot Sunday is Easter.” Back home, they always went to sunrise service, then the potluck in the church basement afterward. He usually tried to fill his plate in one go, then find a quiet corner to sit in, out of anyone’s way.
“The Black Rabbit will open again Sunday evening,” Alistair said. “We’ll go then.”
“I’m going, too,” Doris put in.
Sam had almost forgotten she was there. Doris was a woman of few words, and tended to keep to herself. Her presence was imposing, but she had the unusual talent of being able to fade into the background as well. Just like her tiger form, he supposed.
“We don’t need—” Alistair began, but she cut him off.
“You might run into trouble that needs muscle to deal with it,” she said.
Alistair looked like he wanted to argue, but knew he couldn’t. “Thank you,” Sam said in his stead.
To his surprise, she smiled at him—the first smile he’d seen on her taciturn face. “I like you. You’re a good one. Hope my little brother appreciates that.”
“Fur and feathers, Doris!” Alistair exclaimed, going unexpectedly red.
Before Sam could wonder why, Reinhold spoke up. “I have a brilliant idea. Sam, you haven’t met Joel yet, have you? Wanda’s witch?”
“No.” Sam had heard talk of the man, but apparently he mainly worked as a tailor, coming by every few days to charge hexes for The Pride.
“Sam will need something fancy to wear for The Black Rabbit,” Alistair said, nodding. “Makes sense. We’ll go to his shop tomorrow afternoon.”
Reinhold shook his head. “The Pride doesn’t shut down for Easter mass, but we don’t open the kitchen since there are so few customers. Give Sam the night off, so he, Joel, and I can spend some time together. Just us witches.”
Sam still didn’t know why everyone seemed so certain he was a witch. He glanced at Alistair, but his expression was fixed, his eyes trained on Reinhold.
“All right,” Sam said instead. “Sounds like fun.”
“I look stupid,” Sam said the next evening.
He stood in front of a triptych of mirrors inside Hunt’s Fine Tailoring for Men. None of the three looking glasses offered much to…well, to look at.
The suit itself was very nice, with anti-creasing and stain-repelling hexes worked into the stitching. Sam would never have been able to afford it on his own, but Joel Hunt had behaved as if it was crazy to even think it wouldn’t be on the house. Wanda’s witch had turned out to be a blond man in his mid-thirties, who managed to exude both warmth and competence simultaneously. He’d whisked Sam into the back, had him undress down to undershirt and drawers, and taken his measurements. A few changes and some pins later, Joel made the alterations, and by early evening it was done.
“It’s not the suit,” Sam added. “You’re a great tailor, and it looks so much better than anything I’ve ever worn. It’s more…me.”
“You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,” Mom had always said whenever she had to replace some worn out article of his. She certainly hadn’t been wrong, though in this case it was more like he was a sow’s ear inside of a silk purse.
Everything fit perfectly, from the white shirt and vest, to the tuxedo coat and pants, which sported a silk stripe down the outside of each leg. A white bow tie and handkerchief completed the ensemble, along with a pearl stickpin for his lapel. Nothing flashy, but far fancier than he’d ever wear under other circumstances.
“Nonsense!” Reinhold clapped him on one shoulder, grinning his lopsided grin into the mirror. “Not everyone can be as handsome as me, naturally, but you’ll turn some heads.”
Sam was never quite sure whether or not to laugh when Reinhold made the occasional joke about his scarred face, so he smiled into the mirror and hoped it was enough. “It’s not as though I’m looking to turn heads,” he said. “This is just a disguise. I need to blend in, and I will.”
He undressed carefully, concerned about creasing the suit despite the hexes, and put his own clothes back on. Joel lived in an apartment just around the corner, so it was a short walk to his place.
The apartment was small but neat as a pin, and came with a well-stocked liquor cabinet. “I don’t usually keep hexes around to use on the drink,” Joel said as he swung the cabinet open. “It seems a bit overboard to me, but that’s what the people want.”
“And that’s what Wanda gives them,” Reinhold agreed. “A Sidecar for me, please. What do you want, Sam?”
“I can just have water, or coffee, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Joel said. “Let me get the pot on.”
While Joel worked on the coffee and cocktails, Sam glanced around the living room. A group of framed photographs drew him to a shelf. One was of a younger Joel surrounded by people who might have been his family, given their looks. Another showed him and Wanda, standing with Lake Michigan in the background, arms around each other’s shoulders and grinning happily.
“Ah, that’s one of my favorites,” Joel said as he approached, drinks in hand. “Taken the day we bonded.” He handed Sam his coffee, then lifted his cocktail in a toast. “To witches and their familiars.”
Feeling out of place, Sam nevertheless clinked his cup with their glasses. “Had you and Wanda known each other long?” he asked.
“Oh, about three months by then? This was during the war. I was too old to get caught up by the Selective Service, so I was going about my business as well as any of us could at the time. One day I was sitting innocently at a café, enjoying a cup of tea, when Wanda marched up and told me flat out I was her witch, and I should consider this to be the beginning of my interview.”
Reinhold laughed. “That’s pure Wanda.”
“What did you do?” Sam asked, fascinated.
“Once I got over my shock, I asked her if she was sure. Which was a stupid question, they always know, but I was still reeling. Then I asked her to sit, and we began the first of many conversations. We soon learned we had very different lives and very different desires…but that we very much enjoyed each other’s friendly company. Both of us could use a little magic to achieve our goals, so we bonded. I’d say it’s worked out splendidly for all concerned.”