Excerpt from The Roaring Days of Zora Lily by Noelle Salazar, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"I'm nearly finished, Mama," I said, glancing at a gown hanging from a rack by the window. "I'll get to Mrs. Johnson's dress next."

I was excited to get my hands on the beautiful garment that looked so out of place in our rundown little house. It beckoned to me as the sunlight shifted through the window, the shimmering material undulating in between the shadows.

It had been purchased abroad and damaged on the trip home to Seattle. Told by the two well-known dressmakers in the city that the wait time would be at least a month, Mrs. Johnson had sought desperately for someone skilled enough to not only fix the torn sleeve and beading, but who could let out the cinched waist a touch to reflect the new, looser styles women were wearing. Her search led her to our door...and to me.

"You're Zora Hough?" she'd asked, barely able to disguise her disdain as she'd looked past me into the home where my two younger siblings were fighting over a headless doll and my father was stumbling through, his button-down shirt hanging crooked on his skin-and-bones frame while barely concealing his bloated belly.

"I am," I'd said, trying to block the scene behind me with my slight build as I frowned back at the stranger standing on our front porch wearing an expensive coat with a fur collar. Had she not known my name, I'd have reckoned she'd knocked on our door by mistake. "Can I help you?"

"I need a dress fixed. I took it downtown of course," she said, pressing her hand to the large pearls at her throat. Behind her, parked in front of our house, was a motorcar, the driver standing by in case I accosted his boss. "But they're booked for weeks. I need this done by next Saturday for a benefit. When I asked around, your name was at the tip of everyone's tongue. It's a complicated gown though." Again her eyes flicked past me, then down the plain blue frock I wore. "Are you sure you're...equipped for such work?"

"May I see the garment?" I asked.

It was a pale green, like the beginning of spring before sun and soil had mixed to give a plant's leaves its burst of color. It shimmered in the afternoon light, the ivory beads across the neckline and swaying from the shoulders sparking like tiny fireworks.

I noticed right away the ripped sleeve and beading that needed tending to, and nodded, refraining from touching the dress in case she should think my hands as dirty as she obviously viewed my house.

"The sleeve and beads are an easy fix," I'd said.

"I—" She'd frowned. "You're sure? The fabric is very delicate. You'd need to take your time so as not to tear it."

"I'm sure."

"Oh." Her dark eyes blinked several times and then she added, "Well, I was also hoping you could fix the waist."

She'd described what she wanted and I'd nodded and asked if I might take a closer look, holding up my hands to show her they were clean. At her nod, I took the hanger and held the dress up, turning it slowly, eyeing the cinched middle, and then handing it back.

"I can do what you want, but because the fabric is so fine, tiny holes will be left from the threads I cut. Others might not notice, but I can tell you have a keen eye and wouldn't miss them. If you'd like, I could remove the fourth tier of beads from either shoulder and scatter them, making a sort of constellation of camouflage."

She pursed her thin lips as she considered the idea, and then stretched them into a grin.

"I've been told by several women you are a magician with a needle," she said. "Do you really think it will work?"

"I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't," I said.

I'd fixed the torn sleeve and removed the tiers of beads that same evening. As soon as the heart patch was attached to the knee of Eva's trousers, I'd pull the stitches from the gown's waist. The entire job would be done a week before Mrs. Johnson needed it.

I slid my needle through the last stitch of Eva's patch and then jumped at the sound of someone pounding on the front door, narrowly avoiding piercing my skin. Mama wasn't as lucky.

Excerpted from The Roaring Days of Zora Lily by Noelle Salazar. Copyright © 2023 by Noelle Salazar. Excerpted by permission of Mira Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.