A Wolf at the Door

by Stewart, K. A.

  “You guess? It goes perfectly with your eyes, did you even look?” With an exasperated roll of her eyes, she came over to hold the shirt up against my chest, turning me to face a handy mirror. Outside, the cameras went crazy. “See? Perfect.”

  Okay, yeah, maybe. I guess it was a nice shirt. Did make my blue eyes stand out, sort of. “Out of my price range, thanks.” I handed it back before I accidentally damaged it or something.

  Gretchen tossed it negligently into one of the piles she’d started accumulating. “Boys. Never good at shopping.”

  That earned an offended “Hey!” from Dante, and she gave him a genuinely fond smile. “Except you.”

  “Better.” He gave her a one-armed hug, then put the silver shirt back on the rack. “Okay, Boo, I think we’ve done our damage here. You got places to be.”

  “All right, let’s go pay.” The pair of them scooped up their spoils and headed for the cash register. I didn’t pay a lot of attention until she thrust a shirt box into my arms. “Here. In case you ever find a need to be presentable.” She marched away on her stiletto heels before I could protest.

  Sure enough, the blue silk shirt was in the box. Now what in the world was I supposed to do with that?

  Gretchen loaded Bobby and Tai down with bags and boxes for the trip back to the car, proving Tai’s pack mule prophecy true, and I gave both of them a small frown. “How can you be bodyguards with your hands full like that?”

  Bobby nodded toward the throng of photographers still following us down the street. “No one’s gonna try anything with all those eyes around.”

  “Besides,” Tai nudged me with an elbow, almost knocking me over. “That’s what you’re for, right?” He gave me a mischievous tattooed grin.

  I just rolled my eyes at him.

  As we were loading up the trunk of the Town Car, one of the paparazzi grew bold enough to call out to us. Well, to me, actually. “Hey! Hey, what’s your name?”

  I looked behind me, to see who they were talking to, but there was only Gretchen, giving me a small smirk. “You can answer them if you want, but it’ll be all over the Internet by tonight.”

  “Um…” I glanced back at the rabid camera-bearing pack. “Jesse. My name’s Jesse.” Instantly, thirty cameras went off in my face and I grimaced.

  “Jesse what?”

  “Jesse None-of-Your-Business.” The bold guy got the gift of one of my glares, and backed down quickly. It didn’t faze the rest of them, though.

  “How long have you been dating Gretchen?”

  “Are there wedding bells in your future?”

  “Where did you two meet?”

  They all shouted over each other, hoping that I’d give them some sound bite they could sell to the TV tabloids. I looked back to Gretchen helplessly, but she only shook her head with an amused smile and ducked into the car.

  Tai chuckled as he slammed the trunk shut. “Now you’ve done it. We’ll never get rid of them. First rule is never make eye contact.”

  “Thought the first rule was not to punch them.”

  “Rule one-b.”

  “Great. My wife’s gonna be thrilled to see this on the news.” I retreated for the car, only to find Bobby already in the front passenger seat.

  He gave me a scarred smirk. “Shotgun.”

  “I’ll get even,” I threatened, and crammed into the back of the car next to Dante, careful to keep him between Gretchen and me. Last thing I needed was a picture of me and my new “girlfriend” getting cozy.

  “It’s all right, they won’t come to the studio. Part of the deal I made with them. They can’t interfere with my job.” Gretchen gave me an encouraging smile from the other end of the seat.

  “Yay for small miracles.” I tried to get comfortable, but soon gave it up for a lost cause.

  We weren’t exactly squashed, but there’s really no way to sit comfortably with three adults in the backseat of a car, no matter how luxurious. And Dante was one of those people who talked with his hands. A lot. He almost clobbered me in the face three times in the space of driving two blocks, gesticulating wildly about whatever it was he was babbling about.

  “Geez, Dante, scoot over. You’re freezing.” That one phrase got me smashed against the door as Gretchen grumpily pushed Dante away from her.

  And you know, she was right. He was freezing. I shivered when our arms came into contact, his skin feeling cold and clammy.

  He snorted indignantly. “Well, it’s winter, and it’s freezing outside too. It’s a wonder I’m not a solid block of ice.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If you think this is cold, you guys would die in Missouri. When I left, it was like seventeen degrees that day.”

  That prompted a lot of questions about my home state, which carried us through to the movie lots. Odd, some of the preconceptions people have about living in the Midwest. Probably just as odd as some preconceptions about living in California.

  Tai flashed some kind of ID badge at the gate guard, and we were waved through with barely a glance. I admit it, I rubbernecked just like any tourist as we drove through, checking out the place where the movie magic happened. We passed a group of nuns, standing around smoking cigarettes, an astronaut in full gear being walked along by a group of cautious attendants, and four different Elvises. Elvi? Whatever. Tai slammed on the brakes once, jolting us all in our seats as some frantic handler chased four loose chickens across the street in front of us.

  Finally, we found a place to park, clambering out, and Dante made his immediate departure.

  “Where are you going?” Gretchen asked.

  “There’s this guy…”

  “What guy?”

  Dante grinned. “Just a guy. I’ll catch up with you later.” And he vanished into the very strange crowd.

  Bobby and Tai debated the idea of going for food for a few moments, neither man truly wanting to let Gretchen go wandering off alone despite the fact that they apparently found the studio security acceptable. She, for her part, turned to look at me curiously. “You’ve never seen a movie lot before, have you?”

  “No ma’am.”

  “You come with me, then. I’ll show you around, and these guys can go get lunch.” Y’know, sometimes she was just as nice as a real person. This woman confused the hell out of me.

  That seemed to make Bobby and Tai feel better, and so it was all arranged. I watched the guys go with a small sigh. Food would have been good, but Tai promised to bring me something. I swear, if he came back with tofu, I was gonna kick him in the shin. I gestured for Gretchen to lead the way. “After you.”

  On rapidly clicking heels, she lead me through a ton of identical buildings that looked like airplane hangars—“Soundstages,” she told me—the streets teeming with costumed extras, stagehands, camera people, makeup artists, various and sundry machinery, and the occasional golf cart rocketing through as people scattered from its path. Several times, Gretchen saw someone she knew, waving and calling out as we passed.

  “So, where are we going?”

  “Oh, Barry wants to meet me at some soundstage down here somewhere. Something he wants to show me.” She frowned a little in annoyance. “Normally, he pitches me new scripts in his office. Not sure what’s so important that we had to come all the way out here.”

  Something cold slithered down my spine. I’d learned to pay attention. “This isn’t normal procedure?”

  “No. Why?” She walked on a few paces before she realized I’d stopped in my tracks. “What’s wrong?”

  “Did you speak to him? Personally?”

  “No, he left a message with Dante while I was in the shower. Why?”

  Nothing was wrong that I could see. We were still in sight of other people, though a few blocks back. None of them were paying any sort of attention to us. The street ahead of us was mostly empty, most of the soundstages at this end of the lot not in use for the day apparently. No danger, no threat.

  The goose bumps on my arms said otherwise. “Come on.” I reached to ta
ke her by the elbow, prepared to drag her if I had to. “We’re going back for Bobby and Tai.”

  “What? Why?” She didn’t exactly balk, but teetering around on those spindly high heels wasn’t going to make us good time.

  I was debating just throwing her over my shoulder when a cool breeze ruffled my hair, smelling of freshly turned earth. What the hell…? Turning, I found one of the soundstage doors open. “Run.” I couldn’t even tell her why I’d said that, but I knew deep in my gut that we had to get the hell out of here.

  “What?”

  Too late. A shadowy figure filled the door, the silhouette broad shouldered and hulking. I shoved Gretchen behind me, backing slowly away. “What is going on? Who…?” We both fell into puzzled silence when a Roman centurion stepped from the door.

  No shit. A Roman centurion. Dressed in full battle gear, plumed helmet and all. An extra, maybe, escaped from a movie set? My finely honed danger sense said no, the goose bumps prickling up and down my arms like needles.

  He lumbered toward us, not unsteady precisely, but like he was unused to where his feet belonged. His face was…odd, somehow, beneath his helm. Plain was the best word I could come up with. There were no scars, no dimples, no pimples, no stubble. Just smooth and blank, like his eyes. There was nothing behind those eyes. No emotion, good or bad. No soul. No life.

  I was so caught up in analyzing the oddities, I almost missed the short sword he had in his right hand. When he raised it to strike at me, I damn well noticed. No movie prop, that. I recognized live steel when I saw it.

  It was a clumsy overhand strike. Whoever he was, he wasn’t a swordsman. A weapon of convenience, then. It was nothing to catch him by the wrist, halting the downward sweep before it landed. It jarred me to my shoulders. The dude was strong.

  Gripping his wrist tightly, I aimed a kick for his gut below the breastplate, yanking him into it for some extra flavor. My teeth clacked together when it landed, and sharp pain shot through my leg. Felt like I’d kicked a block of marble, and it was a wonder my ankle didn’t shatter.

  The centurion didn’t even grunt, merely shifting his weight to swing at me with his free hand. He clubbed it down on my shoulder, and only the fact that I was already dropping to one knee saved me from a broken collarbone. Still, it was gonna bruise like a bitch. My fingers tingled in protest. I rolled to the side even as he was lifting a foot to stomp me flat, and aimed a kick at the side of his knee.

  On any human, that would have folded the joint in a way nature never meant it to go, dropping him like a stone. As it was, I’m not sure he even noticed. Dodging another stomp, my roll brought me up behind him, and I launched a hard kick at the back of his unprotected thigh with the same result. I’m not sure he even felt it, for all the reaction I got. No grunt, no gasp, no sound at all.

  His back was covered in the plate armor, and while I’m sure it wasn’t authentic, it still served its purpose, shielding him from most unarmed attacks. As I rolled up to my feet again, I crouched low, letting his sweeping arm go whooshing over my head. I saw an open spot, just under the arm, and jabbed hard there. Immediately, I felt the telltale signs of swelling in my knuckles as they bruised dark purple.

  The thing wasn’t fast, thankfully, and as long as I kept on the move, it couldn’t quite get a bead on me. Sure, that kept me out of harm’s way, but it wasn’t going to end this fight any faster. I did one more roll, putting myself behind him yet again.

  Lumbering in a circle seemed to confound him for a moment, and by the time he had me in his sights again, I was on my feet. I grabbed Gretchen’s hand, giving her a yank to get her moving. “Run!” I couldn’t fight this, whatever it was. Not unarmed. I could only hope, as clumsy as he appeared, that we could outrun him.

  The centurion stood between us and the occupied soundstages, so we had no choice but to dart down one of the deserted streets, Gretchen’s heels leaving a ratta-tat-tat trail that a deaf man could follow. I glanced back once, and sure enough, he was following us. He was also picking up speed, like he’d finally figured out what to do with his legs.

  I will give the girl credit. She can freakin’ run in stilettos. And not once did she stop to ask stupid questions like “What was that?” or “What’s going on?”

  We tried doors as we passed them, hoping to find people or, in my case, a weapon I could use. Everything on this end was locked, and I could see the wall of the lot coming up ahead of us. I didn’t look back again, but the thud-thud of the centurion’s steps was gaining on us.

  “Fuck it.” At the last possible building, I threw my shoulder against the locked door, and spilled us both into the dark soundstage. Surely there was something in here we could use. I kicked the door shut behind us, for all the good it would do, and held tightly to Gretchen’s hand as we picked our way through the darkness.

  The sound of the door splintering to bits behind us was amazingly loud, and Gretchen’s grip on my hand tightened as she flinched. I squeezed it back, hopefully reassuring, and kept going.

  There were things in the way, old equipment we stumbled against, wires and cords we tripped over. And all the while, the thing behind us was just smashing his way through, metal screeching as he shoved speakers and lights and scaffolding out of the way.

  One hand stretched in front of me, I felt the wall before I plowed into it face-first, and my heart sank. A second later, I found the door. That was better. “Through here.”

  We found ourselves in a hallway of some kind, Gretchen’s shoes echoing hollowly against the tile flooring. On the upside, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, literally. We dashed toward it. Behind us, we heard the hallway door ripped off its hinges.

  The light was an industrial-grade kitchen, white and sterile. Stainless steel appliances ringed the large room, broken up with immaculate white countertops. My eyes were only for the butcher block, prominently placed on a cooking island. I snatched a French knife out of the wood, quickly testing the edge with my thumb, satisfied when it drew a thin line of blood. No movie prop here, either.

  Pushing Gretchen behind me again, I turned to face what was coming down the hallway, bracing myself for whatever was about to come.

  And then ninjas dropped through the ceiling.

  11

  I’m not kidding you. Ninjas. Actual ninjas, in their black pajamas and hoods, all harnessed into ropes and clutching a variety of weapons. Most of the “ninjas” were holding their weapons all wrong, I noted.

  They blinked at us, and we blinked at them, and then someone shrieked “CUT!!!” The wall of the kitchen behind us gave a groan and slowly rolled out of the way, revealing a team of very perplexed-looking movie-type folk.

  Glancing back at the hallway, I could see the shadowy figure of our centurion filling the walkway, then he slowly faded back into the darkness of the soundstage. Within moments, he, and my goose bumps, were gone.

  “It took me three hours to set those cameras.” The shrieking voice had quieted, but it was that quiet that said “Boy am I pissed off.” “Would someone mind telling me what fucking moron is responsible for wasting three hours of my life?!”

  The ninjas were quickly unbuckling themselves from harnesses, muttering among themselves, and the crew cleared a path for what I will assume was one pissed-off director. Frankly, as portly and round as the guy was, he wasn’t physically intimidating, but his unkempt beard was bristling in all directions in his fury, and it was obvious that when he wasn’t happy, no one was happy.

  “Just who the fuck do you think you—” I could tell the moment he recognized Gretchen, because he nearly choked in an effort to swallow whatever curse words were about to spew forth. “Gretchen! Oh, honey, I didn’t recognize you! What in the world are you doing here?”

  “Lars!” Instantly, Gretchen drew herself up, pasting on a gracious smile, and exchanged air kisses with the hairy angry man. “I’m so sorry. I was showing a friend around, and we didn’t know anyone was using this stage. The light over the backdoor must be burned
out.”

  Damn. The girl lied good. While Hairy Angry Lars was distracted, I dared a glance at the small disk on my key chain collection, intended to warn me of danger. The colored surface was just settling into a deep blue, and as I watched, it faded to purple, then back to black. Just like a mood ring. I had to wonder what color it had been when the mysterious Roman centurion was trying to mash me like a potato.

  Fidgeting with Cam’s disk gave me a closer look at my hands, and I grimaced. Somewhere, no doubt stumbling through the darkened soundstage, I’d gotten into something, and it was all over my hands. Gray paint, maybe, though it flaked off as I brushed at it. Wet plaster?

  “This is Jesse. Jesse, this is Lars. He directed two of the films I was in last year.” Gretchen directed his attention toward me, and belatedly, I remembered that I had a rather large knife in one hand. I quickly slipped it back into the block, pretending that nothing at all was amiss. Nothing to see here, move along.

  Lars shook my hand, but I guarantee you he couldn’t have described me to anyone later. His eyes were all for the dazzling movie star.

  “If I’d have known you were coming in today, we could have arranged a tour! Listen, can I call you later? I had some interesting stuff across my desk in the last week, I wanna run a few things past you.”

  Linking her arm through his, Gretchen slowly herded Hairy Angry Lars off the set, picking her way through the cables and equipment with the ease of long practice. “Sure! Just call Reggie, he can set something up. It was good to see you again!”

  Five minutes later, she managed to extract herself from his blatant ass-kissing, and as we walked away I heard him yell, “Well, what are you all standing around with your thumbs up your asses for? Reset!”

  Gretchen made it all the way out to the street before all the color drained from her face and her knees buckled under her.

  “Easy. I gotcha.” I wrapped my arm around her waist before she could fall, and she leaned on me, trying to keep from hyperventilating.