The Law of Nines

He decided not to press her and changed the subject. “Considering that other people are likely to ask questions, too, and we might find ourselves questioned when we’re not together, I think we’d better come up with a believable story, something we can use if need be.”

“Don’t tell me,” she said, fanning her face as if feeling faint, “we’re madly in love, I am betrothed to you, and we’re to be married.”

Alex winced a little. “Well, as a matter of fact, that is what I came up with—the engaged part. I thought it would be a useful story. I mean, if I’m to take you into the hospital where my mother is locked up I should have some kind of plausible story. They don’t let just anyone in. You need to be someone close, like a relative, a spouse, something like that.”

“Why is your face red?”

“Look, I just figured that if we said that you were my fiancée it would satisfy people and avoid a problem. I didn’t realize that you’d object.”

“Relax,” she said with a smile. “I thought of that same story myself.”

“Oh. You did?”

“Of course. What else could we say to people where your mother is held? That I’m a woman who dropped in from another world and I would like to speak with the crazy lady?”

“Is my face really red?”

She glanced up at him. “A little.”

“So, you’re my fiancée? You’re all right with that story?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Unless you’re planning on us going through with the marriage.”

He slowed and gestured to a window filled with female mannequins dressed in casual clothes, glad to have a change of subject. “We should be able to get you something in here.”

He held the big glass door open for her. She looked back over her shoulder. “Your face is still red, Alex.”

“Well, actually,” he said, “I was thinking that maybe it would be best if we did actually go through with it and get married. If it was legal it would solve a lot of problems. When we get to the lawyer’s office, already being married would help the transfer of the title to the land go smoothly. . . .”

He was pleased to see her freeze and stare at him. “Just kidding,” he said. “Your face is red.”

She shook her head to herself. “I imagine it is.”

Round racks with pants, tops, and skirts crowded the floor of the store. Alex directed Jax toward a rack with jeans. As they made their way through the islands of clothes, he leaned close.

“Jax, is there any way to tell if someone is from your world? A way to tell if they’re a different kind of human?”

“No. They’re the same as you, except that in my world they have magic. Here they don’t. I only know they’re from my world if I recognize them.”

“Or if they try to kill you.”

“Well, in my world we would call that a clue.”

“My world too,” he said, disconcerted to realize that there was no way to tell friend from foe.

When they reached the rack with the jeans he found the size-8 section and pulled out a pair.

“This looks like it might fit you,” he said.

Jax glanced around at the circular racks stuffed with clothes. “To think, there are so many things already made that you have a good chance to happen across some that will fit.”

“They’re sized,” he said. “They come in standard sizes.”

She shook her head in wonder as she took the jeans from him. Her brows drew together. “These are worn out. Are they a donation for the poor? Is that what this place is?”

Alex laughed softly. “No, no, they’re new. They’re made to look used. Believe me, they’re not for the poor.”

Jax appraised him suspiciously.

“It’s the fashion,” he assured her.

She looked like she suspected that he might be putting her on again. “The fashion is to look destitute, with holes in your clothes? Why would anyone choose to look that way?”

“I don’t know.” He scratched his temple. “I guess the fashion is to look as if you’re wearing comfortable old clothes. It’s meant to look casual.”

“Like making yourself look like a freshly dead corpse?” She sighed as she laid the jeans over the rack. The saleswomen were all acutely interested in Jax. In such a shop her graceful black dress and blond hair made her look like a queen visiting a dump.

“Please, Alex, can we get clothes that don’t have holes in them? I want to fit in, but . . .”

“Sure.” He pulled out another pair that he thought might be more to her liking. “These aren’t even as expensive as the ones with the holes already worn in them.”

“Now you’re joking at my expense.”

“I’m telling you the truth, the ones with holes cost more. Would you like me to tell you a lie that you’d rather believe?”

When she still looked skeptical he pulled out another pair and showed her the price tags.

She took the jeans from him. “I like these better.”

“You won’t be as fashionable.”

“Will I fit in?”

“Yes.”

“Then may I have these instead? Please?”

Alex smiled. “Of course you can. We’ll get you whatever you feel comfortable wearing. You pick.” He gestured with his chin. “Over there is a fitting room where you can try them on to see if they fit and how they look.”

“I can try anything I want?”

“Sure.”