“All right,” he said. “Come back.”
She stood on the landing under the overcast sky, savoring a brief moment of the other choice. Walk away from all of this. Never do this job again. Her mother still kept her room for her at home. It would drive Opal insane to live at home for any length of time, but she could rest there and figure out a different way to use her gifts, begin a whole new career. It wasn’t too late.
Or, less dramatically, just get a job on a movie filming on another location.
Lose Corvus, with whom she was still hopelessly in love. There was a chance he would be back. Maybe she could increase the likelihood of that if she stuck around.
She turned and went back into the trailer.
Corvus looked like himself again except for the two pieces of prosthesis she had attached. His eyes had extra light in them, so she knew the one she loved wasn’t present.
“I will walk,” she said.
“I understand,” said the Invader.
“All right, then.” She went back to work, and he left the face in its natural state, letting her do the crafting to make it unnatural. She did not let even a little magic help her.
By the time she had almost finished fitting the Invader into his face and looked up again, Lauren was gone; Blaise had come and gone without her noticing; and the two girls who were playing Serena and Caitlyn as adolescents were in the chairs. Magenta was working on them; Rod was undoubtedly on the set with Blaise and Lauren.
“Have you met the girls yet?” Magenta asked Opal, her tone flattened.
“Not yet,” said Opal. She dipped a brush in gilt, another in adhesive. She painted a thin outline around one of the leaves on Corvus’s cheek and scattered gold over it. The Invader watched her, smiling. She checked his face against last night’s Polaroid and decided he would do.
Opal called Kelsi, who said she’d bring Corvus’s robe right over. There was something to be said for the convenience of a simple costume without changes. She wandered over to where Magenta was working.
“Hey, guys,” Magenta said. “This is Opal. She’s the creature wrangler. Opal, this is Gemma Goodwin and Bettina Lysander.”
“Nice to meet you,” Opal said.
“Hey,” said the darker girl, slightly plump, who looked pretty much like a younger version of Lauren. She looked about twelve. Her voice was deep. “I’m Serena the younger, aka Gemma.”
The other girl, who looked even younger, was a match for Blaise in cherubic beauty and silver-gilt crinkled hair. Maybe she also matched Blaise in temperament; she scowled at Opal, turned back to Magenta. “Yeah, so? Finish up, will you?”
“You’re done,” said Magenta.
Bettina slitted her eyes and glared at Magenta. “You spent ten more minutes on Gemma than on me. I’m telling.”
“Please do.”
Projecting anger with every motion, Bettina pushed herself up from the chair and stalked out of the trailer.
“Well, that was dramatic,” said Gemma.
“It is nice to meet you,” Opal said.
Gemma laughed. “Thanks.”
Kelsi came in and stood beside Corvus’s chair, not too close. Corvus rose and put on the robe. Kelsi hesitated, then fastened the star at his throat. He didn’t reach to touch her, which relieved Opal’s mind. Kelsi had reason to be skittish. He lowered his chin and smiled at Gemma.
“Whoa!” said Gemma, staring.
Opal said, “This is—what is your name?” Kelsi slipped out of the trailer.
“Isn’t it Corvus Weather?” Gemma said in a slightly choked voice. “I’ve seen some of your work. I was going to say it was awesome, but I get the feeling this project’s going to be different, and even more intense.”
“I want a name to call him when he’s in this state, because he doesn’t act like Corvus,” Opal said. “Is your name Last of the Lost?”
He smiled at her, his eyes glowing green and hot. She had not put the contacts on. That much costuming, she figured, she could leave to him. It gave her a quick way to know who was behind his eyes.
“That’s a trifle cumbersome. I’ll give you a name which isn’t mine, but to which I’ll answer. Phrixos.”
“Phrixos,” Opal repeated.
“Prick,” said Magenta.
He glared at her. Her cheeks reddened. She gasped and turned away, her hand rising to hover near one cheek.
Opal gripped his arm. “Stop it.”
“God!” said Gemma. “What was that?”
“Overreacting,” said Opal. “Stop it, Phrixos. Magenta—”
“Damn, I keep forgetting,” Magenta muttered. “All right. Phrixos. What the hell kind of name is that?”
“One I like,” said the Invader. “Child, I am pleased to meet you.” He held out a hand to Gemma.
“I’m scared to meet you,” she said, and slowly placed her hand in his. He lowered his head, lifted her hand, kissed the back, a linger of lips, and she suddenly relaxed and smiled at him.
Before she could worry about Phrixos brainwashing a child, Opal’s Ear crackled from its resting place around her neck. Magenta tapped her Ear. Opal put the Ear on. “Where are you people?” asked the assistant director.
Magenta checked her watch. “Shit.”
Opal pressed the transmit button. “On our way,” she said, and then, to the others, “Let’s go.” She grabbed her messenger bag and makeup suitcase and followed Gemma, Magenta, and Phrixos out of the trailer, and locked it behind them.
Magenta fell back to walk with her. “Figures the little princess would actually get to the set on time,” she muttered. “Brownie points for her and demerits for the rest of us. Are my cheeks red?”
“Wait a sec.” Opal had a spell she had used often on her younger siblings, a healing for scrapes, cuts, and bruises. She held her hands palms out near Magenta’s face and murmured. The red faded.
“Wow. Lots better. Thanks, Opal.”
“You’re welcome. I think your nickname for him is right, but we can’t use it when he can hear us,” she muttered.
“Yeah. I get that. I’m a slow learner, but I learn.”
The red light over the door to the soundstage was out. A security guard held the door open for them. They went to the backstage grouping of chairs near the clearing set. Bettina was already in her own chair, hunched tight and frowning, so that she looked more like an unpleasant old lady than a young girl. An older, baggier version of her sat in a nearby chair reading a fashion magazine.
“Gemma?” said a slender, dark-haired woman in another chair. “What was the delay?”
“Sorry, Mom,” said Gemma, settling beside the woman. “This is Magenta, my makeup lady, and Opal, who does the Dark God makeup, and that’s, uh—Phrixos? Everybody, this is my mom, Doreen Goodwin.”
Phrixos came forward and held out his hand. “Corvus Weather,” he said. “Pleased to meet the mother of such a talented child.”
Gemma’s mother did not look as pleased as Phrixos sounded, but she was polite. “Nice to meet you. Please call me Doreen.” She extended a hand to Phrixos, gave a slight shudder when he accepted it. He didn’t try to kiss the back of her hand, which Opal thought was interesting.
“My pleasure.” He glanced toward the woman who was apparently Bettina’s mother. She didn’t look up from her magazine. Phrixos smiled and sat in Corvus’s chair.
“Hey,” said Neil. “Lighting’s up. Cast to the set for blocking rehearsal.”
Gemma, Bettina, and Phrixos headed for the set. Opal slumped in Corvus’s chair, hugging her messenger bag, and Magenta took the chair next to her, which had the name DIRK BAPTISTE on it. Dirk played the suspicious and Twin Peaks-ish sheriff in the film. Opal had never met him; Corvus had only one scene with him, tentatively scheduled to be filmed next week.
Craig Orlando sat in one of the other chairs. He smiled at Opal and Magenta.
Doreen sat in Gemma’s chair and stared at Magenta.
“What is it, Mrs. Goodwin?” Magenta asked.
&
nbsp; “Why do you choose to look so strange when your job is to make people beautiful?” she asked.
“Because I don’t have to be in front of the camera. I can look any way I want,” said Magenta, smoothing back her heavy black and pink hair. “I did a fine job with your daughter, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” said Doreen. “I was just wondering. If your job is—”
“Yes, but I already got the job, ma’am. I don’t have to keep interviewing for it. This is the me I feel like being now.” She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled.
“Ah.” Doreen subsided.
Magenta got a pad of paper out of her duffel and wrote, Was that weird, or is it just me? She slid the pad into Opal’s lap.
It was weird, Opal wrote back. She rose and set her messenger bag in Corvus’s chair. “I’m going to check the camera,” she said.
“Me, too,” said Magenta. They went over to the Props area and joined Joe at his monitor. The camera was set for the master shot, showing everything. Bettina and Gemma sat on the altar stone, side by side, Bettina looking fierce, Gemma hesitant. Phrixos stood at the head of the stone, face-to-face with them. They spoke, but the monitor had no sound. Opal mouthed the lines, having memorized them from practice with Corvus the night before.
“Louder,” said Magenta, and Opal whispered them a little louder, lip-synching as well as she could.
“This scene’s new, huh?” Joe said after the first run-through.
“Yep.”
“Creepy as hell. The more they write on this, the worse it gets. Only good thing about this scene, no props to manage, and I still get paid.”
“Hey,” said Opal. It was true. All she saw in the camera’s view were the actors and the standing stones. The stones were set decoration. The actors didn’t pick up or move anything in this scene. Although they did interact with the stones—touch them, sit on them. No knives or cups or censers or braziers. Daylight in the forest—a whole different animal from the night rituals.
Opal left the Props area and edged around the backdrop of photographed forest to watch Phrixos as he ran through the scene with the girls. No doubt about it, he looked the part, and he gave her the creeps. In the script, he didn’t actually seduce the underage girls, but he was asking them for a commitment to belong to him in later life. “Handmaiden,” whatever the hell that was supposed to be. Damn it, Travis had used it after all. Phrixos was infecting her brain, and she was infecting the writers.
He had been infecting the writers all along.
“A little more hunger, Caitlyn. A little more revulsion, Serena,” said Neil.
“But I don’t—” Gemma said.
Phrixos placed his palm on her forehead. She blinked in confusion. “What?”
“You’re supposed to be more afraid of me,” he said, his voice low and thrilling.
“But I—”
“You fear me,” he murmured, “you resist me, you are fascinated by me.”
Her face changed as he spoke. Fear dawned, and she couldn’t look away from him. She did not blink.
“Thanks for the direction, Corvus,” the director said dryly. Phrixos smiled at Neil as though taking his remark at face value. “All right, we’re almost ready to shoot. Last looks!” he said.
Opal got her bag, and she, Craig, and Magenta went to the set.
Phrixos knelt and stared into her eyes. As always, his makeup looked perfect, if that was what it was. “I’m hungry,” he whispered.
“You pick now to tell me?” she whispered back. She dug an energy drink out of her bag. “It’s not very cold.”
“You know that’s not what I want,” he said.
She studied her hand. She could almost see the flaming shield Flint had given her, still strong after a day—self-sustaining, or was she feeding it? Either way, she was grateful for this warm invisible cocoon. She stroked her smallest finger until it emerged from its shelter. It felt strangely bare. She curled the other fingers toward her palm.
He leaned forward and took her finger in his mouth. The touch of his tongue, his lips, was strangely erotic. She felt the draw on her magical energy, and that was erotic, too, the mother’s power to feed another from her body.
“What are you doing?” whispered Bettina. She sounded appalled.
Opal felt a little faint. She touched Phrixos’s face as though redrawing one of his cheek leaves and slid her finger from his mouth. His eyes glowed brighter than they had, and he smiled.
“Thank you, my handmaiden.”
“Hey. She’s not your handmaiden. I am,” said Bettina.
“Save it for the take,” said Neil. “Come on, people, let’s get to work! Clear the set. Starting marks. Okay. We’re on bell . . .”
Opal joined Magenta and Joe at the Props monitor and watched the scene come alive. Now that the actors were projecting, they could hear the lines. Gemma went through a series of emotions. Opal found her so fascinating she couldn’t look at Bettina or Phrixos.
“Wow,” muttered Magenta. “She’s really good.”
“She’s in a trance.”
“Prick can hypnotize other people into acting, too?”
“Apparently.”
“Cut. Good work,” said Neil after the second bell had rung. “Got it in one, people. Print that. Take a break while we light for close-ups.”
The actors came off the set. Someone went outside and summoned the stand-ins.
Phrixos claimed Corvus’s chair. Gemma’s mother tugged Gemma toward a chair beside hers. The woman who might be Bettina’s mother took her a little way off and lectured her. She didn’t go far enough that everyone couldn’t hear every word she said. “I saw the whole thing on the Casio,” she said, “and that girl stole the scene. What’s the matter with you?”
“She has better lines,” Bettina said.
“You’re making excuses.”
“What do you expect me to do? She has the interesting part.”
“There are no small parts, only small—”
“Minds,” said Phrixos.
The woman glared at him. “This is a private conversation,” she said.
“Perhaps you should take it farther away,” he said. Then his voice silkened. “Perhaps you should leave the child alone. She gave an adequate performance.”
“Adequate is not good enough,” said the woman.
“Cast back to the set,” called one of the A.D.s. “Last looks.”
They all went to the altar, except for the mother and the maybe mother. As she touched up the powder on Gemma’s nose, Magenta muttered, “Who is that woman, and why is she tormenting Bettina?”
“That’s her on-set guardian,” Gemma said. “I forget her name. She’s always mean, and she torments our tutor, too.”
“Shut up,” said Bettina, beside Gemma. “You don’t know anything.”
“What, you like the way she treats you?”
“She wants what’s best for me.”
“Clear the set,” called Neil. “Let’s go, camera two.”
Back in the chairs, Magenta got out an InStyle magazine and flipped quietly through it. Opal thought about watching the Props monitor again, but ended up curled up in Corvus’s chair instead. Doreen came and sat beside her. The woman took a small pad of paper out of her purse and wrote a note on it, then shoved it in Opal’s face.
What is that man doing to my daughter?
Opal took the pad and pen. She wasn’t sure what to write. Finally she settled on Coaching her.
I don’t like the way it looks. Is he a Svengali?
Opal tapped the pen on the pad. She couldn’t remember how the movie had turned out. I don’t know. Maybe. ??? she wrote.
Don’t you leave him alone with my daughter.
Opal stared at the note, then snatched the pen and wrote, I can’t control him.
I see how he treats you. He’s more interested in you than anyone else. Keep him on a leash.
Opal shook her head. He’s the one pulling strings.
Doreen clutched t
he pen and pad in her hands, stared at the backdrop separating them from the set. Her hands tightened until the pad bowed. Finally, she wrote, slowly, Do what you can? Please. Help my daughter.
If I can, I will.
“Cut,” yelled the director. Two bells rang. “Print. Good work, people! Caitlyn, you’re a little stiff; let’s do another one. Relax. Don’t be the actor playing the girl. Be the girl.”
“Yes sir.”
Phrixos’s voice murmured something, and Bettina murmured something in response. A moment’s silence.
“Last looks,” called someone, and Magenta, Craig, and Opal headed for the set.
Phrixos was kissing the back of Bettina’s hand this time. She stared into his eyes.
The director grabbed Opal’s arm as Opal passed her. “Is the monster schizo?” he whispered.
“Not exactly. More like multiple personality,” Opal whispered.
“Damn it. This upsets me. But it’s working on film. Damn it! Nobody told me!”
“It’s a recent development.”
Neil blew air out through his nostrils, a subvocal snort. “Rein him in.”
“How? Why does everybody think I can control him?” Opal’s whisper came on a gush of breath.
“You’re sleeping with him.”
“In a master-servant way,” Opal muttered.
“Oh? Damn. That’s no help. Anyway, do what you can, will you?”
“I already am, and it’s not a whole lot.”
Neil released Opal and pushed her toward the set.
Opal went to Phrixos. He leaned forward. “Trouble?” he muttered, and for a second she felt comforted by his concern, as though she had a coconspirator.
Then she remembered what everybody was complaining about. “You’re creeping everybody out, and they want you to stop it.”
He smiled, and his eyes glowed brighter. “Don’t worry,” he said, but not in a way that convinced her. “Things will fall into place.”
“And then what?”
“You’ll see.”
10
He dropped a brief kiss on her cheek—no draw, only a touch—then turned her by her shoulders and aimed her off the set with a push on her rear. She stumbled two steps, then whirled and walked backward as she studied him. She hadn’t touched him up again. If it were Corvus, that kiss on the cheek would have mandated some kind of makeup repair, and so might the swat on the butt, but Phrixos was fine.
Fall of Light Page 14
