“You put that back!” Augustine demanded. “You put that back right now!”
But it was too late. The paper hit the floor, and immediately began folding itself into a long string of origami animals. Which tore off the roll and started sprinting through the maze of tasteful racks and tidy tables. Which suddenly weren’t so tidy anymore, with paper tigers leaping on them, and paper elephants ramming them, and paper monkeys climbing them.
And gleefully throwing the perfectly folded wares at each other. And at us. And at the floor.
It looked like they were still stuck on last season’s circus theme, which the formerly elegant shop was really starting to resemble.
And then a swarm of something flew in the open front doors.
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER IS IN AUGUSTINE’S.”
The locator spell blared like a foghorn, screaming my name and confusing my brain. Which was already confused enough watching what looked like a couple dozen bats swoop in and start circling the room. I stared up at them, feeling like I’d been caught in a rogue game of Jumanji, while Augustine cursed and Françoise grabbed the crazy woman who was still trying to destroy the gift-wrap station.
Only to have her pull something out of her purse.
“Where is your shield?” the brunette screeched, brandishing what looked suspiciously like a wand.
“Get zat out of my face!” Françoise warned her.
“Where is it? You have to have one!”
“Get eet out right now, or I swear to you—”
“No, I swear to you—”
Françoise took the wand away from her and snapped it in two.
“What the . . . how did . . . you bitch!”
“Witch, actually.”
“So am I!”
“But not a very good one,” Françoise said smugly.
And then the circling cloud dove, in a black, shrieking, speeding mass.
I ducked, hands over my head, but it didn’t help. The next second I was surrounded by a crowd of fluttering things that weren’t bats, weren’t birds, weren’t anything I’d ever seen before, but were suddenly everywhere, including right in my face. And screeching something I couldn’t understand because they were all talking at once.
“Don’t answer them!” the woman—the witch—was yelling. “I was here first. I was here first!”
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER IS IN AUGUST—”
“Cassie! Zees way!” Françoise called, and I threw myself behind the counter. The not-bats followed in a streaming mass, only to go up in flames when Françoise, who is a very, very good witch, threw a fireball at them.
Of course, a mass of flapping, yelling, on-fire things is not exactly an improvement. But they didn’t appear to be much more substantial than Augustine’s origami. Because they disintegrated as I scurried out the other side of the counter, in puffs of ash that exploded in the air all around me.
At least the outfit couldn’t get much worse, I thought, staring about.
And then jerking back when I found myself facing one that had been smart enough to head round the other way.