“Ow!” Sheed screamed, pinching his wrist where Mr. Flux’s minion had pricked him with her terrifying needle.
“Hold still, sir,” said the Clock Watcher, making another torturous attempt.
Sheed tore his arm from the monster’s grasp and pleaded with Mr. Flux. “Please stop. We don’t have to do this.”
Mr. Flux, his head cocked, evaluated the Clock Watcher’s nasty work. “I think we do, Rasheed. That sleeve is a bit long. Don’t you think so, Stitch?”
A Stitch in Time stood tall, snaking the yellow measuring tape over her shoulder and jabbing the offending needle into the pumpkin-shaped pincushion affixed to her wrist. “I refuse to deal with a human who can’t appreciate quality tailoring.” Frustrated, she huffed away.
Sheed stared at himself in Stitch’s tall mirror and barely recognized what he saw. As Mr. Flux’s new second in command, he was required to wear a suit, like when Grandma dragged them to church on Sundays. Sheed hated suits.
Particularly this one, a replica of Mr. Flux’s black pants, black jacket, white shirt. The only thing missing was—
“Here’s your hat.” Mr. Flux shoved a familiar looking stovepipe hat at him.
When he’d agreed to the deal he’d been offered (really, what kind of offer was it—join or freeze), Sheed hadn’t known about the dress code. If he had, he might’ve chosen freezing. His jeans, sneakers, T-shirt, and Flamingos jersey lay in a messy pile nearby. Abandoned so Sheed could become a mini Mr. Flux.
If Otto saw him now . . .
“Do I detect sadness, Rasheed? Are you reminiscing about your old life?”
“No.”
“Because if you were, I’d remind you of how underappreciated you were there. And how perfectly appreciated you are here. I gave you a suit. What do you say?”
“Thanks.”
Mr. Flux placed the hat atop Sheed’s head, the brim resting on his brow. “Now I have bad news. Your fantastic new suit is going to get dirty. You can blame your cousin for it.”
“Otto? What?”
“Our people have been watching him run around the county, stirring up things. He’s planning an attack soon. When he arrives, I want to be sure you’re not confused about your loyalty.” His hands caressed the camera around his neck; his thumb hovered by the shutter button. “Are you confused, Rasheed?”
Sheed plucked at the fabric of his new shirt, forced himself not to look at his jersey in the corner. “No. I’m not.”
“Good.” There was a mighty racket outside, crunching steel and shattering glass. Inside the clock tower, the legions of Clock Watchers scrambled, panicked. “Because your sweet cousin Octavius is here.”