39Water flowed down the glass walls in shades of aquamarine. Men tried on winter coats made of white moss. And a girl stared up at the ceiling aquarium, where three giant stingrays swam above like bats in the night.
Cecil rushed into the Visage flagship as a sweaty mess. His hair looked like a wet, brown rag. Half of the customers inside stopped and shot pictures of him.
“I need Perdonna,” he yelled across the room to the sales assistant. “Get her on the phone, please.”
The small girl cowered behind the desk encrusted with tiny blue mussel shells. “Can I get security to the front now?” Her eyes nervously traced over Cecil’s flushed face and crazed huffing.
“I’m Cecil LeClaire,” he said.
“I told you,” he heard a little girl whisper loudly to her mother.
“It’s an emergency. A life and
