Under the Stars and Stripes (Under Him)

Blink and you miss it. That was the easiest way to describe Shadow Realm. An underground record store hidden in the downtown core that took the term rather literally.

The old, thinly carpeted stairs squeaked beneath each step I took. I kept hold of the nicked wooded railing, just to be safe. No good taking a tumble and potentially breaking my neck. That had likely been the thinking of any officials dispatched to inspect the premises.

The scent was immediate and strong. Sage, with hints of smoke. Cheap incense most likely. Still far preferable to the smell coming out of some of the indie boutiques I’d been to. Let alone thrift stores.

It was also much better organized, the owners doing as much as they could with the limited space they had. Most of the records, actual vinyls, were in milk crates, with the different categories written in Sharpie on purposely cut sheets of cardboard slipped between the record sleeves.

There was a small selection of CDs lining the walls on stretches of string. Jewel cases hung out like clothes drying on a line.

“Can I help you?” someone asked.

I tried not to gasp when I saw her, letting just the tiniest squeak of surprise come out. It was like meeting a vampire in real life.

The woman’s black velvet dress was cut just right to display her ample bosom and she was wearing it with a matching choker that seemed to shimmer even in the low light. Off-setting her palace pallor complexion, which had no doubt been achieved with the assistance of a powder puff, were lips the color of her dress.

Her eyebrows had been replaced by intricate, almost tribal, designs. All of this was topped off with a crown of jet-black hair that seemed to defy the laws of gravity.

She was unlike anyone or anything I’d ever seen before. It was my first real jolt of culture shock on the new path I’d been taking.

“I – I—”

“Don’t worry, sweetie, I don’t bite,” she said. “Not without permission, anyway.”

“Loki’s Laugh. You sell their t-shirts, right?”

“Follow me.”

Hopping down from her stool, she led me to the shirt rack, lifting the front of her extraordinary skirt like a fine lady in a costume drama. Her Doc Martens gleamed like mirrors in the gloom.

“I didn’t get your name,” I said, suddenly, deeply curious.

“Didn’t give it,” she said, halting and turning like a ballerina. “I’m Anastasia Mordant, but my friends call me Ana.”

I accepted her offered hand, feeling a whiff of something cool and dark. It was like sitting under the shade of a tree.

“I’m Rebecca Adams, but people call me Becca.”

“How very old is our world,” Ana said, with a playful wink, before turning her attention and her outstretched hand to the t-shirts.

There were several designs to choose from, all of them with a version in something close to my size. I liked my clothes to be loose on my curvy frame and generally found a men’s medium to fit me quite well.

Finding the only one that wasn’t majority black, which was a white baseball style t-shirt with black sleeves and collar, I checked out. Reused grocery store bag in hand, I climbed the mountain once more, into the light of day.

DreamTime Publishing, the outlet where Ashe worked, wasn’t big. The virtues of its diminutive nature were a cause of celebration, not only by those who worked there but by anyone who’d even seen one of their beautifully crafted, richly illustrated volumes.

They would never make the Fortune 500, but they didn’t have any direct competition either. No one else able to match their deft combination of the traditional and innovative, the sublime and the surreal.

As it so happened, Ashe was lucky enough to be employed as one of their junior illustrators. Mostly doing inking and coloring work at that point, though the publishers had assured her that there would be other things in the works for her after graduation.

“You brought a snack?” she asked.

“Well, hello to you, too,” I said with a laugh.

Ashe indicated the bag I’d nearly forgotten about while on my trip over here from Shadow Realm.

“Oh, no, it’s something for tonight.”

I got out the shirt for her inspection, Ashe knowing a lot more about such things than I ever did.

“Very nice,” she said, nodding her approval. “Am I to take it you liked the record?”

“I loved it! It stirred my heart and spoke to my soul!”

“That’s great but quiet down, people are looking.”

I looked about the cubical farm and there were, indeed, heads peeking up over fabric walls, like gophers out of holes.

“I definitely want to go tonight.”

“Great, I’ll tell Varg. I’m off in five minutes.”

“See you then.”

True to her word, Ashe came down to the lobby where I did my best not to pace. I was just so full of nervous, excited energy.

It was something of a new experience for me, because usually I was too steeped in work to notice much at all. Especially not what I was feeling, other than tired or hungry.