“My name is Charlie Hessner.” The man was slender, almost too slender, with ice blond hair. 

“Hello, Mr. Hessner,” Killian greeted him, as he got up from the couch. “Did you bring cosmetics?”

“I did,” Charlie said. He set a very large black case down at his feet. “Are you sure you want to wear makeup?”

“The last time I ventured into society elegant men wore lipstick and powder. I do not miss powdering my hair, wigs, or lice, but lipstick will be familiar and welcome, I think.” 

“Just how old are you,” Charlie asked. He moved his bag to the table and opened it up like some giant black flower blooming. Within it were hundreds of small cosmetic samples. “You’re not a vampire are you?”

“I am not,” Killian said. “I am fond of blood. I prefer venison or bison. Where is your tailoring staff? Gisco,  you did make our guest aware that I need a new suit, yes?”

“Yes, boss,” Gisco replied. He was upstairs, but perfectly able to hear and shout his replies. 

“My tailor will be here shortly,” Charlie said. “Do you have some sketches or a mood board or something? I assume you don’t want Brooks Brothers. The man who hired me said you had eccentric tastes.” 

“What is Brooks Brothers?”

Gisco bounded down the stairs, “Brooks Brothers makes suits, Kilé. They’re descended from Brommell.”

“Then no, I definitely do not want that.” 

“Here, Charlie,” Gisco said, handing over a tablet with a mood board on it in amethyst and darker purples. “I also have a corset. It’s not bespoken, but Innova makes nice stuff.” He handed over the corset to the stylist. “Think Louis XIV, but modern.”

“I want to be able to move freely. I will be dining with a very modern woman.”

“Not a ghost then? Will Your Lordship be sporting a sword this evening?”

“Those are illegal,” Gisco pointed out. He looked at Killian firmly and added, “I checked. They’re illegal. One can get a permit for a gun, but not a sword.” 

“Uncivilized.”

There was a knock on the door and a moment later Gisco was guiding in an older woman and a boy who might have been her teenaged grandson. The boy had bolts of fabric in his arms, which he dumped down on the table.

“Gran, I’ll get the machines.” 

“Yes, Toby, that’s fine. These fabrics were as close to the mood board as I had. I can get more, something more specific, but if we want something done in the next five hours, then this is what we’ve got.” 

“Where is the rest of your team,” Killian asked as he gently fingered the velvets and brocades. “This is very nice.” He said of a deep purple brocade that was lighter than anything he’d ever seen before. “Is it silk?”

“I fear not,” she said, pulling about a yard of it out so she could drape it over his shoulder. “It’s polyester. I got it for an indy period drama movie I was costuming.” 

“What does that mean,” Killian asked as he studied the fabric in the full length mirror.

“It means she makes costumes for the stage,” Gisco said.

“The stage,” Emily agreed. “Now, Mr. Marlowe if you would please strip down for me so I can get your measurements and begin getting the patterns cut out.” 

Emily handed Killian a sketchbook, opened to her designs for his new suit. It was a little like a frock coat, a little like a tux with tails, but the tails were more gathered like a bustle. “I like these designs. How will it be completed in time?”

“Trust me, little boy,” Emily said firmly, tape measure in hand. 

Killian peeled out of his clothes and held his arms out so she could measure him. While they did that, Toby set up the two sewing machines. 

More deliveries arrived and Gisco started things cooking in the kitchen. A dining room table and fine china arrived. Killian gave his focus to that. Iris would be joining him for dinner. She would see  how much he loved her and wished all good things for her, that he was serious and authentic, and they would be back together before midnight!

Soon Emily was fitting him with velvet breeches, diamond buttons at the cuffs just below his knees. “So tell me, pretty boy, you’re getting ready for a date then?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Killian said sticking with English.

“So tell me about this lady or gentleman?”

“Lady. Her name is Iris and she is brave and intelligent, stubborn and kind beyond all reason. She has soft brown hair that curls if left to dry on its own and violet eyes. She fought a ghoul and won. She’s human, but in all my years, I have never felt drawn to someone as I do to her. I believe she was sent to me by the goddess, a luna for me after so long without one.” 

“Oh that does seem very serious,” Emily said. “Okay, take those off. I need to finish the button holes. Try on the shirt, please.”

“Yes, of course,” Killian said. He pulled the flouncy linen shirt over his head. It was a v-neck, with a flouncy white ruffle around the edge and a lace to pull it closed, though even with the lace pulled tighter his chest hair still showed. “This shirt is lovely. Can you make me ten more of them, in various shades?”

“Yes, but I’m charging you $350 usd for each of them.”

“That is acceptable. It has been a long time since I had new clothes!” He held out his arms and she helped him into the coat, pulling it closed so she could chalk the button placement. 

“You’re a very handsome man, Killian. Why are you so nervous about your date?”

“Well, I met her on my island, but then she got an email and ran away.”

“She got accepted to medical school, with a full scholarship,” Gisco shouted from the kitchen.

“Medical school,” Killian said dismissively, a hand fluttering as if he were shooing away pigeons. “Medical school is dirty and dangerous, not a place for a lady at all! Indeed, when I first arrived in the city I went to the hospital where she works and found a man nearly attacking her. I stopped him and she got very angry at me!” 

“You don’t say,” Emily said.

Killian loosened the laces on his shirt as he studied her face. “Why was she mad at me?”

“You really don’t understand?”

“No.” 

Killian’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out. “Iris says she is too tired to meet me tonight!” It was said as if it were the end of the world, as if a tsunami had wiped away the resort and a thousand years of his community. “How do I convince her of my love!?”

“Sit down Mr. Marlowe. I’ll explain the world to you.”

Killian sank down onto one of the new dining room chairs and looked up at the gray haired old tailor who had been making clothes for as long as Killian looked like he’d been alive. “Yes, please tell me what I’m doing wrong.”