Celebromancy

by Michael R. Underwood

  “What do you want?” MacKenzie asked.

  Ree took another step forward, the lightsaber humming in concert with the fading music in her mind. She didn’t have much Jedi mojo left, so she’d have to use it carefully. “I want you to dispel the curse you placed on Jane Konrad. Now.”

  Rachel smiled an insincere smile. “So it was you impersonating the reporter. Not many magicians in town that can pull off that level of mimicry and also give two shits about Jane.”

  “One is enough. So are you going to do it, or are things going to get messy?” She waved the lightsaber just enough to make the familiar whmm sound.

  Rachel took a single sultry step toward Ree, her hips moving as if in slow-mo.

  “Why don’t you put those toys down so we can talk like reasonable adults?” The woman oozed charm, and Ree had no doubt she was running the same Majesty-esque effect Ree had seen Jane use at the panel.

  Ree steeled her mind against the charm and built a wall of grit, anger, and the ambient awesomeness of her arsenal.

  “Why don’t you stop right there before I stun you into next Friday? I have lots of tricks, and friends in the local police department. All you have is a pair of unconscious and absent guards.”

  The star chuckled. “Good thing I brought three guards.”

  Ree heard movement back and to one side and turned just in time to see a big bald white man fire a shotgun at her face.

  There were lots of ways that Ree would have ended up dead. If she’d chosen another film or TV show, or if she’d used up all of her power on showy displays.

  Luckily, she had just enough magical oomph left to use Force Speed and race to the side, dodging the spray of pellets.

  Ree raised the blaster and returned fire, not willing to cut a man down for doing his job. The bodyguard ducked behind a tree, and the stun waves rolled past him. He popped back out and fired again, aiming at Ree’s center of mass.

  Running on magical fumes, Ree dodged again, but with less speed. Several pellets hit her like razors, shredding her hoodie and leaving her with a handful of painful lesions. Ree stumbled back, then fired with the blaster again, reconsidering her pacifism.

  The bodyguard ducked back behind the tree, but she saw the man grimace as the wave rolled over him. As she closed on the guard, Ree deactivated the lightsaber and slid it into her hoodie’s pouch, exchanging it for an extendable beatstick. She snapped the baton open, then jumped forward and swung. The guard blocked with his shotgun, but while he was blocking, he wasn’t shooting or reloading, which Ree took as a win.

  But of course, while she was fighting the guard, Rachel was probably getting away. Ree feinted a low reverse with the baton, then dove forward to strike the bodyguard in the nose with the butt of her club. He took the shot and went down in a heap. She spun in place, buzzing with pain and adrenaline.

  Rachel MacKenzie was at the edge of the clearing, heading south through the brush. She’d be back on the path in moments, and Ree would be nothing more than a crazed fan assaulting a superstar.

  Shit shit shit. This plan was really cool in my head. Where the hell had that third one come from? She should have spotted him. No one said Celebromancy could detract attention as well as attracting it.

  Unless Rachel was the distraction.

  Motherfucker.

  Ree fired the blaster again, but Rachel had broken the tree line, and the blast dissipated among the trees.

  “Help! Help me!” Rachel screamed, her voice muted by the foliage.

  Oh, fuck this. Ree realized there was no way she was going to pull this out now. She’d lost control of the situation, and needed to tend to her bullet wounds, pronto. If she pursued the superstar, she’d just get herself arrested.

  Ree turned hard on her heels and started running north, her fastest way out of the park. She stunned the guard with one more blast, just in case he was playing possum.

  It was time for her to GTFO. Ree poured on the speed, threw up her hoodie, and cut through the brush with the lightsaber, using the weapon like a science fantasy machete to clear her way.

  I am soo screwed, Ree thought as she checked over her shoulder on the way out of the park. She deactivated the lightsaber and stowed the blaster in her hoodie pouch, then tried her best to look like a normal jogger, despite the blood and tears on her hoodie and the wounds on her arm.

  She kept up the oh, shit pace for several blocks out of the park, holding the jangling props in the hoodie’s pouch, and then slowing to a quick walk to put more distance between her and whatever security/police/beatdown Rachel MacKenzie could bring to bear.

  • • •

  Ree went home first, using another Descent potion and hoping that the police wouldn’t beat her there. She changed and started pacing her room with urgency.

  What’s my next move?

  She had to slow herself down to focus, clear her mind, and push back the loop of self-deprecation that had been running in her head all the way from the park, yelling at herself for not being careful enough, going off half-cocked like a kid on a damn-fool idealistic crusade.

  For at least the second (third?) time in a week, Ree wished she’d stolen Eastwood’s Psychic Paper. It’d be a big fucking stretch to use it as a get-out-of–jail-free card, but she wouldn’t pass up any help.

  She pulled out her old set of glasses, which were even larger and chunkier than her current pair, hopefully chunkier enough to look different. She stuffed her normal glasses in the hoodie and topped off the look with a brown fedora from Goorin Brothers. She tied her hair in a quick braid and pinned it up under the hat.

  There. That should be a different enough look to help her move around without as much worry.

  So, options:

  Calling dad won’t help, though he would happily hop on a plane and take on the Pearson PD by himself if I asked.

  The cops will go to the set as soon as they get more info about me, so that won’t be safe.

  Café Xombi’s out, too. I couldn’t put Bryan in that much heat.

  Grognard’s is probably the safest hideout, since it’s off the street. But I need to warn Jane that things went south. And Drake should know not to come looking for me.

  But if she went to Grognard’s, she’d also have to deal with her boss’s wrath over the fact that she’d gotten thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment broken.

  So, Grognard or the cops, who was she more afraid of? Ree chuckled at the question, but it was all nerves bubbling over.

  Ree pulled out her phone and dialed Jane’s number.

  Please pick up.

  The phone rang once, and Ree bent open her blinds to look down the street for squad cars.

  It rang again, and Ree started tapping her feet. “Come on, Jane.”

  The line picked up during the third ring. Jane sounded positively electric. “Hello?”

  “Thank Jeebus. Have the cops come by?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I fucked up bad, Jane. And if Rachel is smart, I’ve probably got an APB out for me right now.”

  Ree swore she could hear Jane’s smile. “Not anymore, hon. I took care of it.”

  A beat passed as Ree tried to process. “Shubba-what-now?”

  “It’s taken care of. A detective came by with two squad cars of backup, but I handled it. You should be fine.”

  “I repeat—what?”

  “Celebromancy is a lot more than instant makeup and playing to the room. But you should come by so we can talk.”

  “And I won’t get surrounded by a bajillion cops along the way?”

  Jane laughed, her energy infectious. “Of course not.”

  “And you’re not saying this because the cops are there making you be the bait so they can bring me in?” Ree asked, thinking of the dozens of TV episodes she’d seen with just such a move.

  “I’
m alone, and even if you were still a fugitive, which you aren’t, I’d be tempted to mind-whammy you into coming over so I can tear off all your clothes that much faster.”

  Gulp. Jane was a good actress, but if Jane could dial in that much sultry without meaning it, Ree would eat a month-old croissant from Café Xombi.

  Pack a teleport card just in case, she thought, scratching her paranoia. She walked back to her room to the card supply and said, “I’m on my way. And thanks.”

  “Think nothing of it, my raven-haired beauty. Be careful.”

  Ree built herself an Escape-from-Cops sideboard with a couple of teleportations, some cards from Netrunner to beat a trace, and some kung fu from Marvel VS. for good measure. She slipped the sideboard into a breast pocket of her jacket, double-checked her basic disguise, and then headed out.

  • • •

  Ree managed to get across town on a bus without being cuffed, flagged down, or otherwise arrested, so by the time she got to the trailer camp, she was ready to accept the half-reassuring possibility that Jane had actually magic-ed the police off her trail.

  It was only half-reassuring because, while it made one problem go away, Ree could guess how much magic it had taken to pull of something that big, and now it was going to be a matter of time before the other Gucci dropped. And if the Smokinator came back tonight, Ree didn’t like their odds, even with Danny, herself, and a troupe of mundane bodyguards.

  One of said guards met her at the edge of the camp. He was a tall blond with a look that spoke to ancestors who’d gone a-Viking more than once. He held up a hand, giving her the once-over. “Hold on there, sir.”

  “Sir, really?” The question came out more snippy than Ree intended. She double-checked her outfit and acknowledged that she wasn’t exactly exuding femininity at the moment—yes, short hair plus fedora—but it’s not like she’d strapped down or anything.

  Ree softened her tone, pulled off her hat, and started again. “Ree Reyes, I’m the writer? Jane Konrad is expecting me.”

  Ree let her brain narrate while the guard called someone on his phone. Little did she know that it was not the police who would be the challenge but a none-too-perceptive hired guard. Intrepid adventurer Ree Reyes evaluated the statuesque sentry, gauging whether she would need to use the Five-Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique. Instead, she settled on the Indignant Name-Dropping Prana, hoping to spare the guard his life.

  The guard put away his phone and nodded to Ree. “Go ahead, Miss. Sorry about the confusion.”

  Stepping past the guard, Ree chewed up the pavement between the entrance and Jane’s trailer. If Jane was high on magic, who knew when the crash would come or how bad it would be. Ree had dated some potheads in college, but no one who more than dabbled in the hard stuff. The way Jane was hitting the Celebromancy was approaching full-on season six Willow, and Ree prayed that it wouldn’t come to the obelisk-of-death, save-the-world-with-broken-crayon story level. She’d always hated the magic-as-drug analogy, anyway, but judging from the curse, it seemed like Rachel MacKenzie didn’t share Ree’s aesthetic.

  Ree saw Yancy duck out from under a tent and wave her down. He was wearing a tan suit and carried a leather briefcase.

  “Ree, a second?” he asked.

  She veered left and met Yancy at the tent.

  “What’s up?”

  Yancy set his bag down and checked over his shoulder. There was movement near the sets, but nothing nearby. “I need you to talk Jane down. She said she wouldn’t use her power except on the set, and only one take per shot. But when the police came . . .”

  Ree nodded. “I got it. That’s why I came. Are you sure the cops won’t be back?”

  Yancy gave a lopsided grin. “This isn’t the first thing we’ve covered up. The press is voracious, and sometimes it’s better for everyone involved that news doesn’t get the chance to spread.” He dropped the grin, and in stillness, he looked tired. “I hate to muck with people’s memories, and I get why she did it, but if Jane doesn’t dial things back, I’m going to lose control of this production. And at that point, I’ll have to pull the plug in order to protect everyone, you included.”

  “I get it. Any tips? If she’s not listening to you . . .”

  Yancy pursed his lips. “We need something to bring her back to Earth first, and then convince her to keep her eye on the long-term, not just the I want it right now short-term. She used to be good at that, but this curse has wrapped itself around her brain, and at a certain point she just starts ignoring me. I’m not her father, and I’m not going to take choices away from her unless she becomes a danger.”

  Yancy took a breath, his face looking suddenly older. “Do something before it gets to that point.”

  “I get it. If she blows me off, then we may have to get drastic. But let’s keep the doomsaying on hold for now, okay?” Ree said, as much for herself as for the director.

  Yancy clapped Ree on the shoulder, and picked up his bag. “Good luck. I’m off for a meeting to get us a bit of wiggle room on the budget. Without more money, we could bring Jane back on track and still not have enough to pay for postproduction.” The director pursed his lips and thought a moment. He looked like he was about to say something else, but all that came out was “Good luck.”

  Then he nodded to her and headed toward the parked cars.

  No pressure, right? Ree thought.

  Dear Universe,

  It has come to my attention that, of late, you appear to be fucking with me a lot more than usual. I’d like to formally request that only one of my jobs go kablooey at once.

  If that is almost always my whacky Urban Fantasy life, so be it. In fact, that’d be preferable, since it’s easier to compartmentalize and keep my friends out of the epic-level danger. But when my urgent to-do list includes “go into work and get yelled at for failing to fight off a cloud of Pitch Black monsters,” “navigate a love quadrangle with a superstar, one of my best friends, and the most useful magic ally I have,” and “talk down aforementioned superstar while she’s on a mana bender,” a girl can get a little overwhelmed.

  Care to lend a hand?

  Thanks,

  Ree Reyes

  B.A, M.F.A, G.E.E.K.

  P.S. A simpler love life wouldn’t hurt, either. Not holding out for that one, though.

  Ree gave the letter time to process and, fresh out of excuses and distractions, headed to Jane’s trailer. Danny sat on the couch, his baseball bat resting against the other corner. He looked only a bit less wrecked than Ree felt, though he’d changed since yesterday.

  As soon as she registered Danny, Ree was nearly knocked off her feet by a glomp-attack from Jane.

  “Hello, sailor!” Ree said as Jane found her footing, only to be cut off when the star locked her in a kiss. Her lips tasted like strawberries, and Ree let the concerns fall away for a moment, let her world narrow to the gorgeous woman who was nearly knocking her over with smooching.

  Ree had never considered kissing as something that would call for a Reflex save. Ree kept her footing, but only because the two of them leaned into the wall of the trailer with a totally-not-subtle thud.

  A breathtaking moment later, Ree disentangled herself from the star, who was, for some reason, wearing a metallic blue evening gown. It was, of course, gorgeous—a sleeveless over-the-shoulder number that had ruching where ruching should go to accentuate the bust, then hugged close around the waist to flare out down to her ankles.

  “Damn . . .” Ree said, indicating the dress.

  “You like?” Jane twirled like a Disney Princess. Except that Disney Princesses didn’t tend to make bedroom eyes while they twirled in their fairy-godmother-granted dresses.

  “Hell yeah. Any reason why you’re wearing it on a Sunday afternoon?”

  “Why not? I get these dresses for awards shows and premieres, and then I either send them back or they just s
it in a wardrobe. I felt like hitting the glam button.”

  And hit it she had—Jane had Broadway amounts of makeup on, though Ree got the sense that most of it was applied with a wand rather than a brush.

  “It worked. But aren’t you throwing magic around a little blithe-tastically?”

  “Hey, if I hadn’t done that whammy, you’d be getting a ride in a squad car, and the nicest clothes you’d be seeing in a while would be prison orange and a judge’s robe. Where’s the gratitude?”

  Was Jane even in there? Or was it just the magic driving?

  Ree reached out and grabbed Jane by the shoulders as gently as she could. “Of course I’m grateful. But I’m worried about you. I really don’t want to go another round with Smokey, and if you miss another day of shooting, Yancy says we’re fucked sideways with a rusty spade.”

  “He didn’t say that,” Jane said, waggling a finger.

  Great, now she’s five. Things didn’t tend to go very well when Ree was the mature adult in a discussion.

  “I embellished. Creative license, don’t you know.”

  Jane laughed, a deep belly laugh. Okay, that was funny, but maybe not that funny.

  The whole scene took Ree back to her college days, complete with the totally sober friend in the corner who was embarrassed to be there, played this time by Danny.

  Jane took Ree’s hand and started to lead her to the bedroom. Ree leaned back and stopped their movement. “Not now, Jane. If the curse works anything like it has before, this comedown is going to be killer . . . maybe literally.”

  “You worry too much. If the comedown is the trouble, maybe I just won’t ever come down! I can just keep shooting until we’re wrapped, stay awake like in A Nightmare on Elm Street, and you can go and save the day, and then everything will be marvelous. See? No problem. Now come on.”

  Ree reached out and grabbed Jane’s hand, locking the magic-drugged woman in her gaze. “Seriously, Jane. If you’re too stoned on magic to be reasonable, then I’m not going anywhere near a bed with you.”

  Jane went to the naughty smile place. “That didn’t stop you before.”

  “No, but this time I’m sober, and I didn’t know that a curse-induced Smokinator was gunning for you. Let’s sit down and talk this out, okay?”