"You can't just throw open the doors without the right ambience in place," I snarled. "It'd look too amateurish."

I hoped Massha wouldn't toss it back in my face that it had been her idea. But she was turning over the boxes and cards with a look of delight on her face.

"Oh, Aahz, honey," Massha cooed. "They're beautiful! 'Massha's Secret'?" She went scarlet, but she leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.

"Don't get soft," I snapped. But inwardly I was glad she liked it. "Think all of this will lure the thieves in?"

"They will not be able to resist," Chumley assured me.

Massha looked it all over again, holding up the ribbons and other little knickknacks. I felt a surge of pride. Everything was coordinated and professional-looking, and, I was sure, guaranteed to appeal to the chosen market. But an expression of faintly puzzled discomfort crossed her face.

"Aahz, honey," Massha remarked at last, holding a ribbon up next to my face. "You clash."

EIGHTEEN

With pride and trepidation I stood at the entrance to the shop two mornings later. Our hired musician, Gniggo, a Gnomish pianist whose keyboard hung suspended in midair, played old standards, vying desperately against the disco beat blatting from the bards just outside in the corridor and the sale music piping out good and loud from above the store facade. In spite of the protection of Massha's amulet, my ears were killing me.

The Mall itself had opened only ten minutes before, but I was not surprised that hundreds of shoppers had already found their way to the newest store on the block.

Moa himself had agreed to be present at the grand opening. We also had a full contingent of security personnel on guard in case any of the counterfeits made an appearance. Though, after Sibone's intervention the other day, we had to be careful that we intercepted real phonies, not the originals whose identities had been hijacked by Rattila and restored from zombiehood by the emergency infusion of coffee. Most of the rescued shoppers were back in The Mall, making up for lost time. Parvattani, in full uniform, caught my eye from the edge of the crowd and waggled a finger unobtrusively. I grumbled to myself. It meant neither he nor any of his guards had managed to spot any of the impostors coming into The Mall. I knew they were there somewhere; I could feel it.

To deafening cheers, Moa walked out in front of the crowd with his arms raised. He turned toward the store entrance and beckoned.

Massha, decked out in a brand-new outfit of purple silk gauze trousers and abbreviated harem-girl top with silver trim and with her orange hair in a knot on the top of her head, floated casually on her side with her head propped casually on her fist to hover beside Moa. The right leg of the trousers was slit from ankle to hip, letting a lace-and-silk silver, purple-and-pink garter with a tiny silver pouch on the side peek out.

"Mwah!" Rimbaldi Djinnelli threw her a passionate kiss from the front of the crowd. "Bella donna! She is one of my best customers, you know," he told the Imp next to him.

"Massha, will you do the honors?" Moa asked.

Massha reached into the tiny pocket of the garter and drew out a gigantic pair of silver shears three feet long. The crowd gasped, then cheered. She slapped them into Moa's hand.

Moa, an old pro, stepped to one side, allowing the center of the ribbon to be visible to the crowd. "I now declare this store open. You should shop here in good health."

He cut the ribbon and ducked hurriedly to one side as an avalanche of buyers thundered into Massha's Secret.

"Ooooh! Aaaah! That's beautiful! I must have that!"

I allowed myself a wide grin, listening to the murmurs, cries, and howls of approval as the visitors perused the new merchandise.

"Mine!" shrieked a female werewolf, hanging on to one side of a powder blue feather garter adorned with a golden jewel.

"Mine!" bellowed a female Gargoyle, firmly attached to the other end. The werewolf took a swipe at the Gargoyle, and blunted her pink-painted claws on the Gargoyle's stone flesh. The Gargoyle rose into the air, trying to take the disputed item with her. The Djinnies we had hired from one of Marco's cousins started to move in to separate the combatants. Chumley waded in from his post near the wall. I relaxed. If I had any doubts as to whether this place was going to be a success, they were dispelled. We were off to a great start.

Massha plunked herself down in the violet-upholstered "husband waiting chair" under the ostrich-feather fan to the left side of the door.

"I have never been so worn-out in my life!" she declared. "Well, maybe once or twice," she corrected herself with a grin. "This was almost as much fun, though."

"No details!" I protested, trying not to let pictures pop into my head as I counted out the cash box. "That's a secret you can keep to yourself."

The Djinnies, popping gum, finished tidying up what was left of the display, and departed. The guards Par had left on duty sat against the wall next to Chumley.

"Ni-iiice," I drawled, letting coins run through my fingers. "We've already got enough here to pay off the Deveels and about half of Marco's bill. By tomorrow we ought to be running in the black."

"We did very well!" Chumley exclaimed.

"Not really," I grunted, perturbed, as I totaled sums in my head. "It means our prices are too low. If the items are jumping off the shelves like that, it means we're under the threshold of what we could be charging. Let's raise everything fifty percent by tomorrow."

"You're kidding," Massha goggled. "We made a fortune."

"We've got an exclusive here," I argued. "We've got it for one week before the Deveels start copycat operations. Let's make the most of it." "All right," Massha responded, dubiously. "You know what you're doing."

Eskina moved around the walls, poking here and sniffing there. She stopped, one foot still in the air, her eyes wide.

"What's up?" I asked her.

"It's his scent!" she replied. "I smell him! Rattila was here!"

"When?" we all asked at once.

The Ratislavan investigator closed her eyes and concentrated. "Not long before the store closed. The scent is still warm."

"Can you follow it?" I asked, but she was already on the move.

Par jumped to his feet to follow her. I tucked the bag of coins in my pocket and ran along behind.

Baying low in her throat, the Ratislavan investigator ran out into the corridor. The last few stragglers were being herded toward the nearest exit by a few of the guards. The bards had already packed up. All the noises that usually filled The Mall had died away in the distance. Eskina picked up speed. I had to run to keep up with her. The little figure in the thick white fur coat had stopped looking cuddly and harmless. We saw her in full police mode, the equal or better to Parvattani and his security force.

Cire scrambled alongside me.

"I was going to tell you, we had a few false positives in the chamber today."

I frowned. "Why didn't your trap work?"

"Well, the people proved they were the real thing," Cire explained. "Their credit was good. They didn't act like impostors."

I smacked my forehead. "Half of the identity victims cleaned up their credit rating as soon as we pulled them out of their trance! As for acting like the real thing, the impostors are really good at letting the personality in the card overwhelm their own. I'm sure when they were pretending to be you they were pretty convincing, too!" "Oh," Cire murmured in a very small voice. "I guess I should have told someone."

"Never mind," I spat out. "If Eskina can lead us to Rattila, the whole mechanism's going to collapse anyway."

Walroids! It was all coming back to me in clear and lucid memories why I had stopped hanging around with Cire. Too bad Chloridia had split. I thought of sending a message bubble to Kail to ask her when she was coming back.