The Saltport ATM

7. It's a Bird, It's a Private Plane

My patience with the prince is running thin. Here I am, just trying to find a shop where I can sit down and research flights to New York, yet Two can't stand still for two minutes. Sandwiching his nose with the glass display windows turns into entering every single store we pass by. And at every single store, he wants to make a purchase. Fridge magnets, lipstick, a garden gnome, an aloe vera plant — you name it, he wants it. It reaches a climax when he demands a five-thousand dollar watch. No matter how hard I try to talk him out of it, he won't take "no" for an answer. So I buy the watch and immediately start hatching a plot of how to get rid of him.

Not in a literal sense; his minions are too loyal and have too many tridents for me to ditch him entirely. But perhaps I can find a place to watch him for a bit, just long enough for me to make some arrangements.

And then I see it. Its sign rises from the street, promising me rest from this horrible man-child. It's like I just stumbled upon an adult daycare, a place that will prevent him from getting into too much trouble while not seeming like a freedom-restricting location.

Two walks ahead of me toward the street. I grab his arm, holding him back just as a car rolls by.

"Wait a minute, Two," I chuckle nervously. "We need to continue your makeover if you're going to make a good impression on Taylor Fife." Two blinks at me, completely oblivious to his near death experience.

"What do you mean?" he asks. "I look human, act human —"

Not really, I correct internally.

"— what more is to be done?"

"Look at your nail beds," I say. Two frowns down at his hands. "And your shoulders, they look so tense! Nope, there's definitely more work to be done, but nothing that a couple hours at the spa can't fix."

"Spa?"

"Sure!" I point ahead, at the sign reading 'Spa of the Everseas.' Rather poetic, isn't it? That is, until you realize that it's just the name of the Congressional district Nalta and Saltport are located in.

I can't believe I forgot about them. I'm one of their number one customers and recommend the most people to them as well. They once told me that I increased their clientele by ten percent simply by sending all my clients to them. Of course, that was a few years ago, and while their growth has continued, my business has shrunk.

Right-Scar clears his throat. "Do they accept male clients?"

"Of course. They aren't sexist."

"Okay, okay." He raises his hands in surrender. "Just checking."

The bigger question is whether they'll have an opening for Two. But I'm sure they'll do me a solid this once. I just hope Two's mer-prince ways don't destroy the decades worth of rapport I've built.

After safely crossing the street and walking down a few blocks, we enter the swinging glass doors of the Spa of the Everseas. Kristel stands behind the counter in a lacy, peach-colored top. Gold sparkles from her eyelids, complimenting her reddish-brown dreadlocks.

"Hey Jessi!" she greets. "Have a new client with you?" Her brown eyes flick between the three, suited men beside me.

"Yes. This is Two," I say, motioning to the prince. Dimples indent his cheeks, and he waves.

"Hi."

"He needs a manicure, pedicure, massage, and... well anything else you think is necessary."

Kristel laughs. "Okay then." She types a few things into her computer. "You can take a seat right over there, gentlemen, while Two pays."