Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

The other man couldn’t have been more different. Though he was dressed
similarly, he was as thin as a whisper and almost as tall as Wallace. His suit
hung loosely on his frame. He appeared to be made of nothing but skin and
bones. He carried an old briefcase in his hand, the sides worn and chipped.
The men moved to either side of the doorway, standing stock still.
The sounds of the tea shop at midday stopped as everyone turned to look
at the new arrivals.
“Oh no,” Nelson muttered. “Not again. Mei isn’t going to like this.”
Before Wallace could ask, a third person appeared in the doorway. She
was a strange vision. She looked young, possibly around Hugo’s age, or even
younger. She was tiny, the top of her head barely reaching the squat man’s
shoulders. She moved with confidence, her eyes bright, her frizzy hair
unnaturally red under an old-fashioned fedora with a crow’s feather sticking
up from the band. The rest of her outfit had probably been en vogue at the
turn of the nineteenth century. She wore ankle boots with thick laces over
black stockings. Her dress was calf-length, and looked heavy, the fabric
black and red. It was cinched tightly at the waist and cut low on her chest,
her bosom pale and generous. Her white gloves matched the pashmina shawl
around her shoulders.
Everyone stared at her.
She ignored them. She raised one hand to the other and began to pluck at
the glove one finger at a time. “Yes,” she said, voice deeper than Wallace
expected. She sounded as if she’d smoked at least two packs a day since
she’d learned to walk. “Today feels … different.”
“I agree,” Squat Man said.
“Absolutely,” Thin Man said.
She pulled off the glove from her left hand before holding the hand out in
front of her, palm facing toward the ceiling. Her fingers wiggled. “Quite
different. I believe we’ll find what we seek today.” She lowered her hand as
she moved toward the counter, the floorboards creaking with every step she
took.
The customers in the shop began to whisper as the men fell in step behind
her. They passed Wallace and Nelson by without so much as a glance in their
direction. Whoever this woman was, she wasn’t the Manager that Wallace
had been fearing. Unless she was ignoring him on purpose to gauge his
reaction. Wallace kept his expression neutral, though his skin crawled.