The Bronze Key (Magisterium #3)(2)
“It looks fine,” said Alastair, who had collected a vacuum cleaner somewhere along their travels through the store and was examining it, probably for parts. He’d also picked up a jacket for himself but had failed to try it on.
Aaron took another look at the alarmingly shiny gray suit. The legs bagged around his ankles and the lapels reminded Call of shark fins.
“Okay,” Aaron said meekly. He was always very conscious that everything bought for him was a favor. He knew he didn’t have money or parents to get him things. He was always grateful.
Aaron and Call had both lost their mothers. Aaron’s father was alive, but in prison, which Aaron didn’t like for people to know. To Call, it didn’t seem that big of a deal, but that was probably because Call’s secret was so much bigger.
“I don’t know, Dad,” Call said, squinting into the mirror. He was wearing dark blue polyester that was too tight underneath his arms. “These might not be our sizes.”
Alastair sighed. “A suit’s a suit. Aaron will grow into his. And yours, well — maybe you should try something else. No use getting something that’s only good for tonight.”
“I’m taking a picture,” Call said, pulling out his phone. “Tamara can give us advice. She knows what you’re supposed to wear to stuffy mage events.”
There was a whoosh as Call texted Tamara the photograph. A few seconds later she texted back: Aaron looks like a con man who got hit with a shrink ray and you look like you’re going to Catholic school.
Aaron looked over Call’s padded shoulder and winced at the message.
“Well?” Alastair asked. “We could duct-tape the legs. Make them look shorter.”
“Or,” Call said, “we could go to a different store and not embarrass ourselves in front of the Assembly.”
Alastair looked from Call to Aaron and gave in with a sigh, putting back his vacuum cleaner. “Okay. Let’s go.”
It was a relief to get out of the airless, overheated mall. A short car ride later Call and Aaron were standing in front of a thrift shop that dealt in vintage stuff of all kinds, from doilies to dressers to sewing machines. Call had been here before with his dad and remembered that the proprietor, Miranda Keyes, loved vintage clothes. She wore them constantly, without much respect for matching colors or styles, which meant she was often seen wandering around their town in a poodle skirt, go-go boots, and a sequined tank top with a pattern of angry cats.
But Aaron didn’t know that. He was looking around, smiling hesitantly, and Call’s heart sank. This was going to be even worse than JL Dimes. What had started out kind of funny was starting to make Call feel a little sick inside. He knew his dad was “eccentric” — which was a nice way of saying “weird” — and he’d never really minded, but it wasn’t fair that Aaron had to look “eccentric,” too. What if all Miranda had was red velvet tuxedoes or something even worse?
It was bad enough that Aaron had spent the summer drinking lemonade from a powder mix, instead of from fresh lemons the way they made it at Tamara’s house; sleeping on a military cot that Alastair had set up in Call’s room; running through a sprinkler made from knife holes in a garden hose; and eating regular old cereal for breakfast instead of eggs cooked to order by a chef. If Aaron showed up at this party looking stupid, it might be the final straw. Call might lose the Best Friend War for good.
Alastair got out of the car. Call followed his dad and Aaron inside with a sense of foreboding.
The suits were in the back of the room, behind the tables of odd brass musical instruments and the jadeite bowl of rusty keys. It was a lot like Alastair’s own shop, Now and Again, except that the ceiling was hung with fur-collared coats and silk scarves, while Alastair specialized in the more industrial end of antiques. Miranda came out of the back and talked to Alastair for a few minutes about what she’d brought back from Brimfield — a huge antiques show up north — and who she’d seen there. Call’s dread grew.
Finally, Alastair found his way to telling her what they needed. She gave each of the boys a sharp evaluating look, as though she were looking through them and seeing something else. She did the same thing to Alastair, her eyes narrowing before she disappeared into the back.
Aaron and Call amused themselves by wandering around the store, each one of them trying to find the weirdest object. Aaron had discovered a Batman-shaped alarm clock that said “WAKE UP, BOY WONDER” when he pressed the top, and Call had unearthed a sweater made out of taped-together lollipops, when Miranda reemerged, humming, with a pile of clothes that she stacked on the counter.
The first thing she pulled out was a dressing jacket for Alastair. It looked like it was made from satin with a subtle, deep green pattern to it and a bright silk lining. It was definitely old and weird, but in a not-embarrassing way.
“Now,” she said, pointing at Call and Aaron, “your turn.”
She handed each one of them a folded linen suit. Aaron’s was the color of cream and Call’s was dove gray.
“Same as your eyes, Call,” said Miranda, looking pleased with herself, as Call and Aaron threw the suits on over their shorts and T-shirts. She clapped her hands and gestured for them to look in the mirror.
Call stared at his reflection. He didn’t know much about clothes, but the suit fit him, and he didn’t look bizarre. He actually looked kind of grown up. So did Aaron. The light colors made them both look tan.