Sister Iris led the boys through a narrow, shadowed alley where even light seemed reluctant to pass between the arches of the old stone houses. At the end of the street something strange awaited them — a small but absurdly ornate wagon with a gaudy sign: "La Beauté Éternelle". Hardly the right name for such a grim quarter of Rome.
"This looks like… a cosmetics shop?" Juan muttered, frowning.
"Just wait," Iris replied curtly.
Inside, they froze. The wagon unfolded into an impossibly vast interior, enchanted and bustling. Hunters sat in chairs, their beards trimmed. Women received bright rouge on their cheeks. Tailors worked tape measures around shoulders. Scissors snipped, fabrics rustled, powders hissed. It felt like a carnival of beauty, corrupted by the strange aura of the Order.
"Julien!" Iris called out sharply.
From the depths emerged a tall, lean man in an embroidered vest, his belt hung with dozens of tiny scissors, razors, combs, and glittering tools. His movements were theatrical, his eyes appraising and predatory.
He looked beautiful in a rather woman way. He even wore some make-up!
"Mon Dieu! Iris!" he exclaimed, springing forward to seize her hands, showering the air near her cheeks with kisses. "How long has it been, ma chère?"
Iris stiffened, leaned close, and whispered something cold into his ear. Julien's face twitched, his flamboyance instantly subdued. He coughed politely, then turned with an exaggerated bow.
"Messieurs," he announced, spreading his arms in a flourish, "I am Julien. The finest stylist, barber, cosmetician, alchemist of appearance, and architect of image in all of Europe!"
"Alchemist of what?" Juan muttered, eyeing the strange jars steaming on the shelves.
"He will help you change your style, Azazel," Iris said matter-of-factly. She tugged Juan to her side and added, "We'll go shopping while he works."
"Wait—wait—what do you mean change my style?" Azazel's voice cracked in alarm.
But Iris was already gone with Juan in tow, neither of them looking back. Juan only smirked over his shoulder:
"Don't worry, brother. They'll make you pretty."
Azazel's eye twitched violently. Julien arched a brow like a predator savoring his catch, then smiled darkly.
"Alors… let us begin."