Tune in Tomorrow, page 23
Jason sputtered. Paced around the desk. After a long pause, he faced the actors. “We will be doing… a show at the convention.”
Nora crossed her arms. “We always do a show there. Y’all know that already. We shoot all over the hotel and then y’all spend a couple days editing out all the mythics and it’s like the folks of Shadow Oak hit the road and then one of us wakes up with a concussion and it was all a dream.”
“This time,” said Jason, “we’re leaving the mythics in.”
A general gasp went around the room.
“And,” he continued, “it’ll be streamed live.”
Cris swore something so dark and ugly the cameradryads began to wilt. “That’s two weeks from now, Valentine!”
Jason deflated and took a seat. Starr set a hand on his arm, the terrycloth robe’s gems scratching at her hand.
Holy fried mackerel, those are real diamonds.
“We’re going to lose the show.” Jason tore at the robe’s belt, and several gems clattered to the floor. A talon stole forward and scraped them behind the desk. “I can’t do it. I can’t.”
“You won’t be alone.” Starr waited until he met her gaze. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”
“What she said,” agreed Mav.
“Thirded,” said Nico.
Nora threw up her hands. “Whatever.”
Cris leaned up against the desk and smacked Jason’s leg once, hard, then re-lit his cigar by looking at it. “Kumbaya,” he said, glancing around the room.
And then he began laughing.
Chapter 25
Starr Trek
Fiona never arrived fashionably late. She arrived fashionably, intentionally, last.
The diva of Tune in Tomorrow popped into the wide atrium of the waterfront hotel precisely seven minutes after the rest of the show’s cast had MARBLEd over. She tossed her head and began assessing the room.
We’re here! Valéncia squealed. Let’s get this party started.
Pipe down, you, Fiona shushed her. The persona she once thought had abandoned her had rallied to the cause of defeating Starr Weatherby so thoroughly that Fiona now feared she was starting to take over the whole operation. It took more and more effort lately to shove Valéncia aside, and her alter ego had even fewer scruples than Fiona did.
Accepting a ‘truce’ with Starr had made things worse.
You’re caving? Valéncia screamed at her nightly, so loud that Fiona had begun taking the same sleep draught she once gave to Dakota. To the Blonde Blob? The Interloper? Sheer Wannabe?
Wheels are in motion, Fiona always assured her, which for a time had been enough to mollify Valéncia. Now that they were at the annual convention, though, Fiona would have to shift into a higher gear. If she didn’t, Valéncia threatened to hop permanently into the driver’s seat.
I refuse to go insane over Starr Weatherby, she thought. But I also refuse to be defeated by her. Fiona twitched involuntarily, thinking of the treatment she’d received in Centaur Park; the scent of rampaging beasts still filled her nose.
Jason sauntered to the middle of the gathered group of actors and held up his hands for calm. They’d ported in nearly a dozen performers, from fan favorite non-regular players to extras to the usual cast. Nora, big as a house even without the inflatables, rested on a couch. Mav and Starr whispered to one another like they were old pals. Nico stood next to a tall non-cameradryad plant, checking out his bitten fingernails. Fiona had kept him at arm’s length since the Centaur Park mess, but it was time to let him back into her good graces. She’d need him to put in motion the next step in her Starr Eradication plan, and he’d be desperate to help by now.
Later, the mythics would arrive, then Dakota; the reporter would gather quotes all weekend for a summary story to appear in WaterWorlds. But Fiona anticipated her arrival for another reason: Dakota would bring the latest issue of the magazine—one with a cover story that would set the stage for much mayhem.
“As most of you know,” Jason began, “this weekend will include up-close contact with thousands of your most devoted fans.” He outlined some of the highlights: a signing event, a Q&A session, and panels featuring both actors and fans discussing weighty topics.
Fiona shrugged off her yeti-fur coat, dumping it on top of Bookender. His arm shot out from beneath the fabric to hand her a program booklet, which she began to flip through. The panel listings included topics ranging from the quotidian (“Ask a Human: Personal Hygiene in Shadow Oak”) to character-specific how-tos (“Scarf-Tying the Lady Marlborough Way”) to wish-fulfillment (“Imagining Characters as Mythics”). There was even a private service Sunday afternoon at 4:37 designed for trolls to worship Valéncia.
She tossed the book aside and gazed around the familiar interior of the hotel. It was tastefully done, with an open-air restaurant, escalators leading up to a mezzanine and down to the ballrooms. It was snowing on the other side of the multi-story glass entrance, and a water feature cascaded down a granite wall.
Over the years, Fiona had participated in thirty-nine fan conventions, the last ten in this very building, and each provided a welcome break from the usual routine. They would have almost three days of nonstop adoration, applause and the occasional annoying—if easily deflected—love spell. The location was one of Jason’s whims, as he opted every year to base it in the human side of the Veil.
“We run a reality show,” he had told the actors once. “It’s more fun for the viewers to enter ‘our’ world for even a short time.”
Fiona also suspected it was an aesthetic choice—no matter how fastidiously a poltergeist set might be designed, nothing could fully approximate a real lived-in human space. The convention occupied the entire hotel, with all outside humans aside from staff warded away with spells, and at the end of every event Jason sent a team of glawakuses—known for their memory-erasing gaze—to meet with hotel staff and gently reshape their recall of the gathering. Post-convention, all the staff would remember was that they had provided hospitality to an enthusiastic group of role-playing, costumed attendees, which wasn’t so far from the truth.
Jason paused and turned serious. “Finally—and I can’t emphasize this enough—you must be in character at all times. Think of this hotel as the latest and greatest stage set, and if you interact with mythics, it must be as the human they know and love, not yourself. Capiche?”
Starr had her hand up. “And the live show on Sunday? That’s in the Grand Ballroom?”
Fiona smiled. The live VSE: a place for her to shine, and for Starr to fall. It would be delicious. Over the past two weeks, they had all put in extra hours to rehearse the ‘live’ experience—a first for the show. Jason and Emma’s big plan was to cordon off a large ballroom in which the entire show would take place and invite special VIMs—Very Important Mythics—who could behave themselves around their favorite stars, to interact as part of a ‘cocktail party.’
“Precisely.” Jason gestured at the lobby water feature. “And that is where everyone not participating in the live show will be able to watch it. In real time.”
Fiona nodded along quietly, organizing her own thoughts. She had a different game plan for that night, one that would fix her Starr problem once and for all. The trick would be to make sure it didn’t upend the show simultaneously.
While Jason wittered on with further hotel details, she began strolling the lobby. Nico watched her intently, but did not approach, and she passed him by with nothing more than a small smile.
“What’re we doing in a Boston hotel in the middle of winter?” Starr was wondering to Mav as Fiona approached. “It’s not exactly magical here.”
“Au contraire,” Fiona settled a hand on Starr’s shoulder. She loved watching the conflicting emotions flicker across the young woman’s face; she obviously had many things she wanted to say to Fiona but was biting down on them for the sake of the ‘truce.’ “This is a highly magical locale.”
“Grindylows,” Mav said. “Water mythies live in the harbor. They keep the hotel a protected area.”
“Far from a complete answer, Charles.” Fiona gestured at the tall glass panels of the lobby entrance. “Irish presence in this area has made pockets of the city clear for mythics for centuries—everything from sídhe to fear dearg roam the common. Their soirees are delightful if one can wrangle an invite.” Fiona herself had attended several under-the-hill gatherings, but after one too many uisce beatha drinks she’d ended up in a swan boat in the public garden, painted head-to-toe in blue. “The subway is protected by a local human-hybrid creature, the endless rider they call Charlie of the MTA.”
“That’s a silly old song,” Mav said. “Don’t think that falls into mythic territory, Fee.”
“You know best,” she said with a smile that indicated otherwise. “In any case, to consider Boston unmagical is sheer ignorance. We are quite safe here and have been so for a decade. The humans will barely remember we’ve even been here, until we show up again next year.”
“What, they think everyone’s in costume?” Starr raised her eyebrows.
“Nailed it,” said Mav. “It’s not a bug, it’s a feature.”
“Or it’s a mythic bug and a feature,” Starr grinned.
Mav chuckled.
She’s after him now, Valéncia sniped.
Patience, Fiona shut her down. They’ll all be singing a different tune by this time tomorrow.
Yet, Fiona was also nervous about the live show. It could not be ‘attempted.’ It had to succeed. That was the only thing TPTB would accept; she knew that in her heart. That was why she had insisted on the full complement of brownies attending the event. All hands needed to be on deck, with multiple hands for her personally. Only Phil and Emma had remained back at the studio, and the werepanther was taking a few days off to hunt during her monthly cycle. The dragon wasn’t invited: he’d become mythic non grata at the con since the year he’d carried off a taco truck, consumed all the guacamole and hot sauce, then abandoned it on the roof of the building next door. His flatulence that night had forced everyone in the hotel to wear masks.
“And that about wraps things up,” said Jason, passing out key cards from an envelope. “Your bags are in your rooms; as usual, you have exclusive access to the top floor block of suites and roof deck. There’s one hitch, though—”
“Hey,” Nora held up her card. “We’re sharing rooms?”
“There was a plumbing… incident,” said Jason. “Half of our usual floor got flooded. And the live show’s been so popular the rest of the hotel is sold out. So… everybody’s got a roommate. But I’ve added something special to each of your domiciles that I promise will make up for it.” Silence from the actors. “Trust me, loves!”
“Of course,” cooed Fiona. She never worried about her own room—she always stayed in the presidential suite, which had better not have been waterlogged. That was her special spot, solo occupancy. Well, with Bookender, who didn’t count.
Though this year, there would in fact be someone else in the room: Valéncia.
We’ll have so much fun, her alter ego chuckled demonically.
For once, Fiona saw no reason to hush her up.
Chapter 26
Double Starred
Piercing shrieks streamed down the hallway, reaching Starr all the way at the twelfth floor elevators. Tired though she was from a long day of rehearsals, she barreled down the hall, dodging a maid’s cart along the way and found they were coming from the room she was sharing with Nora. Praying her roomie’s water hadn’t broken, Starr tapped her keycard and shouldered open the door.
An object the size of an infant flew straight for her head.
“Crap!” Starr ducked back into the hallway, slamming the door. Whatever it was thumped against the other side.
Nora’s screeching continued.
For a moment, Starr wondered if Nora had given birth—to a projectile—and shook her head. That hadn’t been a thrown object; it had been a flying one. Also, definitely not an actual baby.
She scanned the hallway. Mav and Nico would be in the shared room at the opposite end, but summoning Mav for help would require going through Nico, and that was definitely not happening. Starr snagged a vacuum hose extender from the cleaning lady’s cart and lifted it high. If exploring a dragon’s cave had taught her anything, it was that she shouldn’t enter strange spaces unarmed. She raised her key again to tap.
“Yoo-hoo! Starr!” Dakota waved from the elevator bank, trotting over on her high heels. “What good luck to run into—”
“Not now, Dakota.” Starr gritted her teeth. “We’ve got a situation.” She pushed into the room. Something came at her again and she swung for the fences. The vacuum extender clipped it with a hollow thunk and it fell to the floor, unmoving.
The creature resembled a beautiful, elfin doll. Its hair shimmered from violet to teal to royal blue and back again, and its nearly transparent wings fluttered, then stilled. Starr bit her lip, squatting next to the creature, which snarled, revealing tiny, pointed teeth.
“Eech!” Starr fell backward.
“Starr?” Dakota poked her head in the room. “What’s that—oh, boy. You’ve got bugs.”
“What the hell is that?” Starr pointed.
“Manic pixie,” said the reporter. “Big one.”
Nora’s brownie Quintuple leaped from one of the beds, holding another of the creatures by its heel. He doffed his top hat. “Deee-lightful,” he crowed. “Well done, Ms. Weatherby. Ms. Gardener—please restrain that one; it’s merely stunned.”
Dakota upended her messenger bag, dumping manila folders, makeup accessories and a compact onto the carpet. Then she scooped up the creature in the bag, securing the fasteners. “And so!” she said with a flourish. “Not just a pretty face, after all.” She helped Starr up. “No hotel room is safe unless you do a sweep.”
“Which you were supposed to do, Quintuple!” Nora lowered herself to the bed, where she’d been standing. She set a hand over her heart, breathing heavily.
“It was on my agenda, but the bros have been mightily occupied today,” said Quintuple.
“Like we weren’t?” Nora barked. “Starr and me’ve been stuck rehearsing our guts out all afternoon and you can’t even bother to—”
“Yo!” Starr interrupted. “Problem at hand, first.” She gestured at Dakota’s bag, which had started to wriggle. The creature Quintuple still held onto was trying to swing forward and bite him.
“Entirely sensible.” Quintuple gestured at the balcony. “If you would be so kind as to unlatch the door.”
Starr dragged the balcony door to the side. Frigid air rushed inside the room, and Quintuple stepped out, arcing his arm back.
“Wait!” She held up a hand. “Shouldn’t we see what they want?”
“Little sneaks,” Nora groused from inside the room. “Want our memories. Want our time. Want our toothbrushes. They’d steal everything if we let them stay.”
Quintuple nodded. “They are impossible to avoid entirely; humans call them—” He snapped his fingers.
“Groupies,” said Dakota.
“Indeed. A pernicious, persistent version of the more common ‘fan.’”
Taking advantage of its captor’s momentary distraction, the manic pixie in his grip made a dash for the skies, beating its wings so hard it sounded like a giant bee. The force dragged Quintuple off his feet, and Starr launched herself at the brownie, holding him in place. He released the pixie’s ankle, and the creature soared into the night. Dakota opened her bag to the skies, and the second mythic escaped with a buzz, turning backward once to give them all the finger.
“This room is clean.” Quintuple slid the door back in place. He dusted off his top hat and tapped it back on his head. “I shall take my leave.”
“How about grabbing us some dinner, first?” Nora demanded.
“Perhaps room service?” Quintuple opened a small door near the air vent that Starr was certain did not exist in classy hotels when brownies weren’t around. “We bros are on… hiatus until morning.”
“Hiatus?” Nora, Starr and Dakota spoke the same word, in the same tone, simultaneously.
But the brownie had already slid through the door, which shut behind him.
Starr flopped on her bed, exhausted. It had been a long, nutty day. They’d shot regular scenes that morning before MARBLEing to the hotel, then spent the last three hours walking through the live show again. Part of her wanted to do nothing but sleep. The other part was her stomach, which growled. “Want to join us for dinner, Dakota?” she asked, rolling over.
“No, indeed,” said the reporter, who’d refilled her messenger bag with the items she’d dumped on the floor. She cradled a thick manila envelope. “I have a meeting of my own.”
Nora raised an eyebrow. “You mean you and Cris’ are bunkin’ together.”
Dakota flushed and turned away. She gestured at a dimmer switch on the wall Starr hadn’t seen before; a note card dangled from the dial. “Look at this,” she said. “‘This Room Glamourized for Your Enjoyment.’ Wonder what it does?”
“C’mon,” Starr prodded. “Even Jason knows about you two.”
Dakota patted her hair. The heroic quality on display from a moment ago was gone, replaced by an arch formality. “Be that as it may, the reason I’m really here is”—she handed Starr the manila envelope—“this. Well, also Fiona’s column pickup. She’s punctual, even on the road.”
“You’re bringing revisions?” Starr opened the envelope and peered inside. “Oh, my. You’re not.” She pulled out a thick, glossy magazine that read WaterWorlds on the cover, the words partially obscured by a beautifully rendered watercolor painting of the cover model—herself. In the artwork, Starr was Sam, wearing a wasp-waisted beige trench coat, with a revealing décolletage, and a matching fedora cocked over one eye. Her heels were higher than either Starr or Sam had ever worn.
I always dreamed of being Lauren Bacall. Starr’s heart pounded. Wish I looked this good in real life.
“We timed it so all the convention attendees would have a copy,” Dakota explained. “Helena was most insistent. Alligash is delivering copies to everyone tomorrow morning, but I thought you’d like a sneak peek. The expression on a first-time cover actor’s face when I hand over her copy makes my heart go pitter-pat.”
