Shelves of floating shoes filled every space along the walls, and Savannah’s eyes landed on a pair of bright pink platform heels that were on display in the center of the shop.
“Ah, welcome.” A stout, bald man appeared from out of a back room. He adjusted the apron tied around his front and flamboyantly gestured to the pink heels. “The new line from Andrea Todorova. Gorgeous, aren’t they? You can walk miles in them, and they’ll feel like you’re dancing over clouds.”
“Seriously? They’re gorgeous.” Savannah ran her fingers over the smooth leather.
I could easily imagine how those might look on her as she moved around a stage, her hair flying behind her.
Hair like flames.
She was an asset. That was all.
“We’re in the market for a pair of running boots,” I said, my voice rough.
The shopkeeper glanced at Savannah, then cast me a look over his glasses, and recognition dawned on his face. “I see. For the slow-footed.”
Savannah shot me a deadly expression, and I forced a grin. “Exactly.”
“A pair of Swiftleys might do.” The shopkeeper waved his hand dismissively at her feet. “Could you remove…those things? For a fitting.”
With a sigh, she shucked off her old tennis shoes and plopped down on a bench. The little man slipped out a long wooden wand and touched it to her right toe.
He closed his eyes. “What would you like? What fits, hmm?”
“Well, I’m generally a size nine,” she answered.
“I’m not talking to you,” the man muttered.
“Then who—"
“Your feet. I think it only makes sense to get their opinion on the matter.” He touched the wand to her left foot and nodded, apparently listening intently. Savannah gaped, but without another word, the shopkeeper disappeared in the back.
“Was that for real?” she asked me, her eyes wide.
“Honestly, I have no idea, but I wouldn’t get a fit anywhere else.”
The bald man returned a minute later with a pair of black biker boots made of smooth leather with a buckle over the front and a one-inch heel. Savannah slid her feet into the boots and moaned, then circled the store twice. I could sense her joy. She’d witnessed unimaginable horrors in the past week, yet somehow, was still capable of experiencing delight.
She was strong hearted.
Savannah grinned. “These are amazing.”
Watching her reaction to this new world was like seeing everything for the first time. A broad smile slowly spread across my face. “Just wait until you run in them.”
“Can I really run in biker boots?”
The bald man made an irritated squeak and threw up his hands. “Of course you can. They’re Swiftleys. It’s literally what they’re for! Why else would I bring them to you?”
She tensed and seemed about ready to dig into the man, but then she shook her head and turned her attention back to the boots with unabashed adoration in her eyes. “How fast can I go?”
“I cruise around forty miles an hour,” I replied, “so that’s your benchmark.”
Her eyes widened. “Holy crap, that would easily double my speed at a sprint.”
A glimmer of concern drifted into my mind. She’d need to be faster than me to outrun the rogue wolves. They must have been using some kind of enchantment or physical enhancement as well. I needed to know more.
As she admired the boots, doubt clouded her face. “How much—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I like the thought of you keeping up. Who knows, maybe you’ll be my match.”