Now a Major Motion Picture

by Cori McCarthy

  “That’s Dun Aengus,” Eamon said. “The fort we saw from the ferry.”

  “You mean Manifest?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” His grin sparked. “You want to see it? You can stand where she stood.”

  I leaped up. “Let’s go.”

  • • •

  A half hour later, I was breathing like a beast, seriously doubting this decision. I was riding the oldest purple bike known to man, and we were in the middle of nowhere, stuck on a low-grade incline. All around, the green land was set into patches by crumbling stone walls.

  “Is it…uphill…forever?” I called out.

  Eamon was a few yards ahead, riding his rusty bike with ease. “There.” He pointed toward the top of a great hill, the backside of the ancient fort we’d seen the day we’d arrived. We kept pedaling until the road dead-ended and then parked our bikes. Eamon pointed up the grassy slope. “Dun Aengus. Three thousand years old!”

  “Dun Aengus.” I struggled with the pronunciation. “Is that Gaelic?”

  “No. That’s the English version.”

  “Is it really that great? It looks like a cliff and a bunch of strategic rock piles.”

  “It is really that great,” he said without missing a beat. He started climbing and I followed, glad I had put on my hiking boots. “I’ve been thinking we should get to know each other better, Iris, so I’ve sorted out a question for a musician. What’s your top song?”

  “My what?” I asked. “Do you mean my favorite? I don’t have a favorite song.”

  “Rubbish. Everyone should have a favorite. It’s says so much about a person. Tells you where their heart is.”

  “My heart is in my chest.”

  “There’s that comedic literalness I’ve come to admire, but what else have you got inside you?” He stopped climbing the hill and faced me.

  I nearly bumped into him. “What’s your favorite?”

  “I was hoping you’d ask.” He pulled out his phone and started a track.

  I recognized the bass rhythm, shaking my head. “Oh no. Queen?!”

  “Freddie and Bowie. Pure magic.” Eamon bobbed his head and sang “Under Pressure.” It had been a while since I’d given the song an honest listen, and it actually was better than I remembered.

  We kept climbing, this time our steps set to music. When the song ended with its odd finger snapping, I glanced at Eamon, which was starting to get tricky. Maybe I was growing used to his face, but every time I looked at him, I liked him more. “So what is that song supposed to tell me about you?”

  “I suppose that I’m old fashioned, like the tune. And I’m great under pressure. Mam says it’s my superpower. No matter how crazy things get, I’m groovy.”

  I tried not to giggle. “Groovy, huh? You’re definitely old fashioned.” We were nearly at the top, searching the outer wall for a doorway.

  “You should have a favorite song, Iris. You could always change it. I hear it’s a fine acting tip. Always have favorites. It means you can make decisions on your feet.”

  I laughed. “That sounds like the first terrible acting tip that comes up when you google ‘How to act.’” It was a joke, but Eamon looked away. Was he embarrassed? “I didn’t mean—”

  “No, you’ve caught me. I searched ‘how to act.’ I’m a phony. Never been in an audition or even a school play before this.” For a moment I thought he was kidding. His bleak expression proved otherwise.

  “Wow.” I tried not to sound too surprised. “It’s, uh, exciting you’ve won such a breakthrough role.”

  “We’ll see.” He frowned, his hair covering his eyes like a cloud. “Maybe I’ll fail then.”

  Oh God, I’d sunk the grinning, adorable, self-professed “great under pressure” guy in a few minutes. Maybe that was my superpower. Jaded Iris, a villain.

  “‘Rabbit Heart,’” I blurted. “By Florence and the Machine. That’s my favorite.”

  “I know that song.” He pushed his hair back to look at me. “I did not have you pegged for drama rock, Iris Thorne.” I charged ahead, and he called out, “Hey! That’s a fantasy song. Like kings and magic. And gold!”

  I ducked through the narrow doorway of the prehistoric fort. Now I could see why this place was perfect for filming make-believe. The horizon dashed across the sky, green on blue meeting in swift, stark lines.

  “Tell me something I don’t know about Ireland,” I said because I was staring at the scenery like I was in love, and I didn’t want Eamon to ask if the beauty had got me again. “As an American, what should I know that I don’t?”

  “Quit saying ‘Gaelic.’ The language is called Irish. Gaelic is the Irish word for Irish.” Maybe he could tell that I was confused because he added, “That would be like calling German ‘Deutsche.’ Everyone says German. Right?”

  “Okay. I’ll spread the word.” I paused, amused by his abrupt candor. “Can you say something in Irish?”

  “What? No.”

  “Why not?”

  He leaned toward my face and squinted. It was too cute. “Because I’m not a performing leprechaun.” I turned, mostly to hide the way he made me smile, and walked toward the cliff’s edge. “Also because I remember an embarrassingly small amount from primary school,” he added.

  “I was pretty impressed this morning,” I said.

  “What’d you think about all that?” he asked, making me suddenly nervous. “About Cate’s interview and all that sexist shite she goes through with the film industry?”

  “I think she was trying to get to me,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I didn’t want to tell him that Cate made me itch. All of her “fist-up, face-up, and fight” feminism wasn’t my style. Or maybe it wasn’t allowed to be. Her words trickled through my thoughts. Courage is simple. First, be honest. Second, don’t back down.

  Flawed logic, my dad whispered. Honesty is complex.

  We approached the cliff’s edge, and I gasped. The height of the fall was grand, and the surf below was so far away that the waves were a solid heartbeat ahead of the crashing. I couldn’t even get within five feet of the drop, scared that the wind might reach up and steal me.

  Eamon held up his phone. “Can I take your picture like hers? We can put them side by side.”

  “No way. You’ll say it won’t ever end up on the internet, but it will at some point, and then I’ll have to hate you and send my lawyer after you.”

  “So severe, Iris Thorne,” he teased. “Here I was, wanting a picture to remember you by since you’re going to vanish from my life in a week like an elven princess.”

  I held down a smile. “Very smooth. Nerdy, but smooth.” At least now Eamon was blushing too. “Okay, you can take the picture, but this is a big deal. Remember that.”

  I thought about my grandmother’s image, her hair blowing back. I untied my ponytail. The drop was still a yard away and already terrifying. I took a step. Then another.

  When I was a foot from the edge, Eamon said, “That’s close enough. I’m no small amount frightened for you.”

  “She was standing on the edge. Toes on the edge.” I felt the wind sweep up the cliff, but I stepped forward again, sick of being afraid.

  You’re going to fall, Jaded Iris.

  “Just tell me I can do it for once,” I said to that dad voice, inching closer.

  “You can,” Eamon replied. “I believe in you, but please don’t die in front of me today. Seventy years from now, sure. But not before my big-screen debut.”

  “Don’t make me laugh!”

  Another two inches…

  When my toes reached the edge, I shrieked. “Take the picture! Take the picture!”

  Eamon fumbled with his phone, and then I was smiling at him like Grandma Mae had smiled at whomever took her picture.

  “Got it.”

&
nbsp; I collapsed backward, grateful when Eamon’s hands were on both of my arms, pulling me to the ground. I flattened myself on the hard rock, shaking. And laughing. Eamon fell over beside me. “My heart is storming!” he yelled. “That was awful stupid!”

  I laughed even harder and stared at the sky. Security and gravity came back with each slow, pounding heartbeat. When I felt like I had finally returned from my conversation with mortality, I looked at the picture Eamon took. “But I look scared,” I said. “She looked so bold.”

  “She had a few years on you.” He sat up and looked down at where I lay. It felt a little like he was trying to read between my lines, searching for whatever I wasn’t saying.

  He really needed to stop doing that; I was getting used to it.

  “You were right, Eamon.” I sat up, taking in the way the ancient fort made the very sky and ground feel timeless. “This really is that great.”

  QUALITY TIME WITH JULIAN YOUNG

  That afternoon, Julian and I sat shoulder to shoulder on an epic white sand beach before crystal-blue waves. He wore his incredible black leather jacket and dark sunglasses, which helped to balance out the Frodo wig, fantasy urchin clothes, and makeup that made his cheekbones stand out like wings.

  He pointed to where the crew was setting up the scene, putting down tracks on the beach for the camera. Henrik was directing the setup. “Things must not be going well. Cate should be back from the other location by now. And look.” He nodded toward the production vans where a woman stood with a notepad. “Reporter. I can smell them a mile away.”

  I squirmed and pulled my hair over my face.

  “If she comes around, say ‘off the record.’ That’s the magic phrase with these people, but you have to say it before you say something, not after. And she doesn’t have a camera. Cate would eat her if she did. Come to think of it, she must have permission to be here. Something is up.” He sighed and stared between his knees. “Down to business. Cate thinks I’m messing up my character, doesn’t she?”

  I answered his question by not answering it. “She thinks I can help, but I don’t know.”

  “The real problem is that I should be Nolan,” he said. “That’s a great role! All my best reviews are when I’m the romantic lead. Who is Eamon O’Brien anyway? I mean, I like the guy, but do you think he can act?”

  I shrugged. Picturing Eamon as the love interest did feel odd. What was he going to do? Seduce Sevyn with his scrappy hair? I pictured Shoshanna kissing Eamon and got sort of angry. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be romantic. They were thirteen-year-olds in the book.”

  “Only in the first novel. They grow up a lot in the second and third. If those sequels stay green-lit, Shoshanna and Eamon are going to have to get physical.”

  My brain flatlined, unable or unwilling to picture it. “Let’s focus on Evyn,” I said. “On you. What’s Evyn’s emotional journey?” Writing-craft talk. My dad had primed me for this conversation from the womb. “Tell me how you see it.”

  Julian took his side out from his jacket, flipping through his lines. “Evyn’s born weak, blessed with fire but sickly. Unlike Sevyn, who sends bolts of lightning after people every five minutes. Evyn’s power draws the attention of the bad elves. One of them—Byers—abducts Evyn and takes him to the Blackened Wastes of Thornbred.”

  “The blackened what?”

  “I know.” Julian took off his sunglasses, his green-brown eyes piercing. “Honestly, I don’t get Evyn’s reaction. He gets abducted but doesn’t try to escape or fight back! I have nothing to work with. He should at least be terrified. I can do fear, but Cate says I’m misreading the heart of the character.”

  “Let me see.” I took his script and read.

  Ext. Elementia Beach

  BYERS flies across the water on dark wings. He’s a divided creature, part-elf, part-eagle. His elven parts are attractive but sinister, his torso and head very human. His skin is ivory, but occasionally pulses with black veins. His hands and feet sport talons and dark feathers, and he’s carrying an unconscious EVYN by the arms.

  They have been flying since Byers pulled Evyn through the waterfall, and Byers drops Evyn on the sand. Evyn doesn’t stir. Byers collects driftwood and starts a small fire. He pokes Evyn awake. Evyn sits up, confused.

  I looked out to sea. Byers was the character who reminded Ryder of Felix Moss.

  “What…” I rubbed my eyes, my throat dry. “Who is going to play this creature?”

  “CGI. My whole scene this afternoon is me talking to a tennis ball on a stick while someone reads Byers’s lines off camera. If only we could afford Andy Serkis and his magic suit.”

  I looked back at the script, but when I started reading again, I didn’t picture Julian. I saw Ryder trembling before Moss.

  EVYN

  (stammering)

  Are you going to hurt me?

  Byers shows Evyn the flames he built.

  BYERS

  For you. Can I call you Fire, Little Fire?

  Evyn edges closer to the fire and eyes his abductor.

  EVYN

  Do you want to know my real name?

  BYERS

  Names are dangerous, Little Fire.

  EVYN

  You are dangerous. You are a mighty predator.

  BYERS

  (cocks his head, amused)

  You speak truth. I will give you my name, but you mustn’t use it against me. You may know me as Byers.

  Evyn reaches into the fire, letting the flames grow up his arm. The light and heat builds, and Evyn breathes easier. Byers is entranced.

  EVYN

  Come sit with me, Byers.

  BYERS

  (cringing)

  Can’t maneuver a sit. Only stand or fall.

  Evyn looks over the creature. Byers’s birdlike qualities have given him no waist, and he crouches. His eyes are drawn to the pointed elf ears. Byers shuffles closer, watching Evyn move his hand through the flames.

  BYERS

  You are torn in two. Like me.

  EVYN

  (startled)

  What do you mean?

  BYERS

  Like me, yes. You are a boy and more.

  EVYN

  You are a boy and more?

  BYERS

  I am more and more.

  (sad)

  And less and less.

  EVYN

  What do you want from me?

  BYERS

  A warm friend, Little Fire. I am tired of cold. I miss the heat of the fires that made me. And I will not feed on you, I won’t. I will tell you about the world, and you will tell me I am right.

  EVYN

  Are you taking me to Thornbred? To the burned forest?

  BYERS

  (pained)

  Do not speak of such destructions. They will hear you, and they are angry. They will feed on you, little human. They will drain you, and I will be cold and alone.

  Evyn straightens, attempts to be as commanding as his father, the king, or his bold, harsh sister.

  EVYN

  (nobly)

  Take me home, Byers. I demand it.

  Byers’s face scrunches, and his veins pulse darkly, drawing a spiderweb netting across his complexion. He bares his sharp teeth.

  BYERS

  Bloodsuckers, demons. You are mine!

  “I forgot there were vampire creatures in this story,” I said, although I hadn’t. I didn’t have the luxury of forgetting after Moss had screamed, “Let me drink his blood!” while the cops cuffed him to the ambulance’s stretcher. During the following weeks, Ryder had acted like Moss was a monster coming for him at any moment. His therapist had my dad read the books to him as a first step—and then we’d all gone to the institution so Ryder could see Moss, a schizophrenic fanboy. I went as well, watching
my brother develop a strange bond with his would-be abductor as they discussed their favorite parts of Elementia.

  Afterward, Ryder was relieved. “Moss isn’t scary. He loves the trilogy like me.”

  Julian had his phone out, but for once, he wasn’t texting. He was watching me. “You went to a dark place when you read that,” he said. “Your face got very old.”

  “I’m sure that was attractive.”

  Julian mimicked my dark look as though he were adding it to his acting library. “One reviewer said I look like I’m forty when I act sad. That’s why I took this fantasy role. It was supposed to be light and fun.” He dragged a hand through his hair and his bicep popped. “But I have to be honest with you. This feels like a career ender. Shoshanna is starting to think so too.” He looked at the time on his phone. “We’re an hour off again.”

  My dad’s voice reminded me that this was what I’d wanted only yesterday. For the movie to fall apart. How did I feel now? I didn’t even know. “But you said Alien Army seemed that way, and it turned out great.”

  “Yeah, well, Alien Army didn’t have to worry about fans with ridiculously high expectations. The people you call Thornians? They hate the movie already. They’ve been blowing up my Twitter with asshole comments, and they hate Cate Collins. Everything is always her fault.”

  “Oh. That is bad.” I glanced over at the crew, working hard to make sure that the shot was ready for when Cate arrived. “I hope she proves them wrong.”

  Do you? my dad’s voice asked, but I ignored him.

  I held out Julian’s script. “Cate’s right. You don’t need fear for this. Evyn’s not afraid of Byers. They have too much in common. They’re both misunderstood. Lonely. Sick.”

  “But how do I play that? How do I have something in common with a CGI creature?” Julian bit his lip and squinted, deep in thought. It was his most honest look to date, and I found myself thinking about Cate’s prescription for courage. Honesty first, then, follow-through.

  “Julian, you have to pretend like you’re acting with yourself.”

  “Really?”

  “I think so.”

  Cate Collins arrived, and the crew buzzed with action. I watched her inspect the shot and make adjustments. It was strange to think of the Thornians turning on her. I’d thought she’d be their fan club president. She was fearless. She’d strut to the edge of Dun Aengus just like Grandma Mae, no problem.