Box Office Poison (Linnet Ellery)

by Bornikova, Phillipa

  I could read Jeff’s thoughts as clearly as if I’d been telepathic. He looked at his wife. He considered what I’d said about a bloodbath. He steeled himself and took Kate’s hand. “Honey, let’s go upstairs for a minute. I want to talk to you.”

  The actress shook her head and planted her fists on her hips. Though the stance was combative, the smile she gave her husband wasn’t. “You’re going to tell me I can’t go to the Oscars because it’s too dangerous, but if what you discussed is true you’re going to need me there.”

  “You eavesdropped?” Jeff asked.

  “Yes. You were talking about the Álfar, and you know how I feel about them and about Phase Change. Look, these people are our friends and colleagues. The other actresses know me and trust me. If I tell them to move they will move. Same for you with the actors. If something happens this could easily turn into a panicked stampede. You need more help, not less. And this is something I can do to help the Álfar.”

  “This could be very dangerous,” I said.

  “I know. Which is why I don’t what him to face it alone. I want to be with him, not sitting at home alone worrying.” She stepped to her husband’s side and wrapped an arm around his waist.

  “I don’t want you in danger,” Jeff said.

  “And I don’t want you in danger. So, let’s face it together. Okay?” Kate gazed fondly at her husband, and he took her in his arms and kissed her. I looked away.

  Kate turned back to me with a glowing smile. “So, tomorrow. Shopping. We can face anything if we’re in a couture gown, right?”

  “Right,” I said. I wondered if they made one designed for ease of running and fighting.

  * * *

  I collapsed in the armchair in my room at the Beverly Garland Hotel and contemplated just sleeping there. Even the effort of taking off my clothes and moving to the bed seemed beyond me. I lifted my arm and checked my wristwatch. Almost seven o’clock. Ten o’clock in Philadelphia. Late, but not enough to terrify people in their beds late, and I really needed to talk to Parlan. I staggered over to my purse, pulled out my cell phone, and called the O’Shea house. Big Red answered.

  “O’Shea.”

  Thirty years as a cop had left him incapable of saying hello. It drove Meg wild, but then she would just laugh and call him an old war horse.

  “Hi, Red, it’s Linnet.”

  “Linnie, how the hell are you?”

  “Fine. Is Parlan there? I need to talk to him.”

  “Yeah. He’s here.” There was weariness and frustration coating the words. “Parlan, pick up the damn phone—it’s for you.”

  There was a brief silence then, “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s Linnie. You said you still had friends in Fey. How do you think they would feel if they were told they couldn’t cross over to the human world again, and if they tried, angry humans with pitchforks would be waiting for them?”

  “I think they’d hate it. Why? Is that likely to happen?”

  “That’s what somebody is trying, yes, and if he can arrange for a large and public bloodbath I think he may get his wish. So, I’m calling to ask for your help.”

  “Sure, but I don’t know what I can do.”

  “Can you get in touch with your friends? Tell them what’s going on, see if they’d be willing to help me?”

  “I can contact them. I can leave messages at ley line crossroads. Where will you need this help?”

  “In California.”

  “How soon?”

  “In a few days.”

  “That’s going to be a problem. Rapid travel is not one of the hallmarks of Fey.”

  “If they’ll cross over, we’ll fly you all to LA.” I put aside for the moment just how I was going to pay for all this. I hoped David was going to help, and it wouldn’t all end up on my credit card.

  “On an airplane?” he said breathlessly.

  “Yeah,” I said, drawing out the word because I didn’t exactly know how to respond. “That’s the only way we know how to fly.”

  “I look up at them all the time and wish I could fly on one. If I could actually get to do that it would be … amazing.” He sounded very young now, not at all like a man in his forties.

  “Well, consider it done.” I hesitated, then added, “Do you know about the Oscars? What they are?”

  “Sort of.”

  “It’s acting awards. Very glamorous.”

  “So, I could wear some of my real … my own clothes?” he asked, his voice brightening at the prospect.

  “You mean the clothes you wore in Fey?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t see why not, but you should probably be prepared for them to get messed up if you do end up protecting people. But maybe it won’t come to that.”

  We spent a few more minutes finalizing things, then I hung up, stripped off my clothes, and fell into bed. I didn’t wake up until Maslin hammered on my door the next morning.

  23

  Belinda Cartwright had that deer-in-the-headlights expression when she looked up from the printed pages Maslin had placed before her. She quickly regained her composure and snapped, “Speculation.” I mutely handed over the research unearthed by Merlin. She read through those. This time when she met our gaze her expression was sick, and she didn’t recover. “Dear God, they’re everywhere, they’ve infiltrated everywhere.”

  We were back in the offices of Human First.

  “No,” I corrected. “This one Álfar has played you for a fool and built you into a tool to cause conflict between us and his people.

  “Question is, what are you going to do about it?” Maslin asked.

  “Expose him! Tell our members how we’ve been compromised.”

  Maslin sighed. “Wrong answer.”

  “Think about this, Ms. Cartwright,” I said softly. “You’re the head of this organization. You’re the one who allowed this to happen. You didn’t do due diligence on your donors. I’m sure Mr. Ambinder will make damn sure that little fact comes out in his final version of the article. Question is, who are your members going to be more unhappy with? Qwendar? Or you?”

  Maslin studied his fingernails. “I’m betting the Reverend Trager will not take kindly to these revelations. You’ll probably lose your job.”

  “You’re blackmailing me,” Cartwright said, her voice a rough thread of sound.

  “No, just contemplating likely outcomes,” Maslin answered.

  “What do you want? For us to disband? I don’t have the power.” She shot Maslin a venomous look. “As you rightly pointed out, I’m just hired help. Reverend Trager calls the shots.”

  “Just dial it back. Tone down the rhetoric. Stop throwing gasoline on the fire.” She stared up at me, her lips set in a thin line. I pulled a chair in closer, sat down, and leaned across the desk. “Look, Belinda, we’re afraid. I understand that. The world as we knew it has changed. Nobody has a handle on how this is all going to work out. But this has happened many times before in our history—revolution, civil wars, depression, world wars, integration, immigration, technological innovation—and we’ve weathered them all. The world changes, and the people who stand against it inevitably end up being trampled because they can’t stop it. What you can do is guide the change, soften it, make sure all sides are considered, and that’s a valuable role for you to play. Whipping up anger, stoking the fear, inciting violence, that’s not productive, and we’re better than that as a people. The Powers are here. Let’s learn to live together. We may find we can actually help each other.” I paused. Her expression was curiously blank, but at least the rage had faded. “And ironically there are people on the other side who feel the same way about us, who think we’re dangerous to their way of life, and they don’t like the change either.”

  “That’s rich. They’ve turned our world upside down.”

  “And we’ve done the same to them. A lot of the younger Álfar prefer our world to their own.” I gave her a smile. “Which sort of implies we’re way more awesome than they are.�
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  She chewed on that for a moment. “So, if we don’t join in this arbitration—”

  “And tone down the public protests,” I interrupted.

  “You have one in mind?” Cartwright asked shrewdly.

  “The Oscars,” I said.

  “So if we don’t picket at the Oscars, you won’t publish this story.” She shoved the pages back toward Maslin.

  “As much as it pains me to say this: yes, I won’t publish,” the journalist answered.

  She stood and extended her hand. “Then we have a deal. Now I need to see about replacing a source of funding. If you’ll excuse me.”

  We wound our way through the desks and the hardworking volunteers all diligently trying to hold back the tide and stepped out into the parking lot of the strip mall. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Well, that went better than I expected,” I said.

  Maslin gave me a curious sideways look. “You ever considered a career in politics?”

  “God, no. What made you say that?”

  “You do seem to appeal to people’s better angels.”

  “Right now I’m just trying to keep a lot of people from joining that heavenly choir. Shall we go?”

  * * *

  I was late meeting Kate. She was already in the Elie Saab store on Rodeo Drive, and under her guidance a couple of saleswomen were filling a rolling clothes rack with gowns. As I studied the tall, elegant, perfectly groomed, perfectly coiffed, chicly dressed women, I wanted to slink back out of the store. My professional woman’s uniform—straight gray skirt, black jacket, scoop-neck pale yellow shell, sensible pumps—seemed unbelievably dowdy. I gazed at the dresses on impossibly tall, slender mannequins. I was short. Really short. I was going to look so stupid in these clothes. No one this short could possibly—

  “Oh, Linnet, good. I think we’ve got some great choices for you,” Kate said, and pulled me over. “This is Glynis and Julie. They’re going to help us.”

  “How do you do,” I mumbled. “You’ve got your work cut out for you,” I added.

  “Nonsense,” trilled Glynis. “You’re lovely.”

  Then we were into it. It was like an explosion in a fabric store. Silk, taffeta, satin, chiffon. A rainbow of colors. There was one red dress with a gathered bodice that kept the left shoulder bare, but created a wide strap effect across the right shoulder. The dress flowed to the floor and the fabric looked like it would cling to the legs. A bit of material formed a train that flowed out behind the skirt. It was gorgeous and it had me fantasizing about walking down a curving staircase to meet an elegant gentleman, taking his arm, exiting to our waiting limo—

  I reluctantly and sadly put it aside. “I really need to be able to move easily. Would it be awful if I didn’t wear a floor-length gown?” I asked.

  “Not at all,” Julie said, and she pulled down a dress of deep indigo blue with silver and white embroidered flowers.

  It had a one-shoulder fitted bodice; an asymmetric hemline; beaded, stylized flowers in trapunto on chiffon. The design of the flowers reminded me of Elizabethan crewelwork, and it was done using gold and silver thread and silk embroidery floss. I had a feeling that the asymmetric hemline would leave my right leg bare nearly to the hip. My left arm was going to be bare, the right arm partially covered by translucent chiffon of a pale teal color.

  I touched the material and felt it catch on the rough tips of my fingers. I snatched my hand back. “Don’t worry, it’s not that fragile,” Kate said with a laugh. “Go try it on.”

  “Would you like a glass of champagne?” Glynis asked.

  “Uh, it might be a little early,” I said.

  “I’ll make it a mimosa,” she said with a wink.

  “Well, okay.”

  Julie, carrying the dress reverently draped over her arms, led me back to the dressing rooms. No tiny cubicles here. Each fitting room was large, carpeted, and lined with mirrors. There was also a comfortable armchair. “For the gentleman in a lady’s life if he would like to see the transformation. Otherwise we have a waiting room in front with magazines, comfortable chairs and couches, and a beverage selection,” Julie explained.

  “Oh,” I said, inanely. So this was how the very rich lived, I thought.

  Glynis arrived with my mimosa in a crystal goblet. I gulped down a sip. Fortunately there was more orange juice than champagne.

  Julie hung the dress, and they both stepped out while I removed my clothes. “Ready for me to help you?”Glynis called.

  “Uh, yes, please.”

  They came back in and zipped me into the dress. I kept my eyes focused on the dressing room door. I didn’t want to see. I knew I was going to look totally stupid. Julie turned me around to face a mirror. “There.”

  “I don’t look like me,” I whispered as I studied my image in the dressing room mirror.

  “It looks wonderful on you,” the two fashion amazons said in chorus.

  “Let’s go show Ms. Billingham,” Glynis said, and pulled me back out into the store proper.

  I stood on a little pedestal while they circled me like sharks, tugging at the material, pinching in the material at my back, pulling up material to expose more of my hip. Pins appeared to reinforce these changes. I couldn’t tell if they were improvements or not. They were so subtle and I was so overwhelmed.

  “How quickly can you make the alterations?” Kate asked. “The ceremony is day after tomorrow.”

  “We’ll have them done today and you can pick up the dress tomorrow. Or we can have it messengered over to Ms. Ellery,” Julie said as she plucked another pin out of the pincushion she wore on her wrist and reached for the hem of the skirt.

  “Wait,” Glynis ordered. “We need the right shoes.” A less exalted salesperson darted away. “Open-toed, ankle strap,” Glynis called after her.

  I suddenly remembered trying to get out of my shoes during one of the werewolf attacks last year, and how the ankle strap had made it impossible for me to shed my high heels quickly.

  “No strap,” I contradicted. “I want to be able to kick them off. If my feet start to hurt,” I added awkwardly.

  “And a purse,” Kate added.

  The girl returned with a pair of silver shoes that picked up the color and sparkle of the trapunto flowers. Using Julie’s shoulder for balance I slipped them on and got three inches taller. The purse was a Debbie Brooks clutch bag decorated with a multicolored rhinestone dragonfly swooping over enamel flowers. Kate reached up and pulled my hair out of its twist. If fell onto my shoulders.

  Everyone clapped. “Oh, yes, definitely wear your hair down,” Kate said.

  I stared at the image in the mirror. I looked sophisticated, chic, maybe even a little pretty. Now, if Qwendar just wouldn’t fuck everything up maybe I could be a princess for a night.

  * * *

  Parlan, flanked by six gorgeous Álfar, was waiting at the curb at LAX. They had a lot of luggage, as in Oh, holy shit, that’s a lot of luggage. And of course, being me, I said just that, then added, “Good thing I got a van. But I think we’re going to need a second car.”

  “Sorry. None of us were sure what to pack,” Parlan said.

  “May we meet this lady?” said the tallest of the Álfar. His long black hair was confined in a ponytail. “Though I assume her to be Linnet.”

  “Right you are,” I said, holding out my hand. “Linnet Ellery.”

  “Ladlaw,” he said. Then he pointed at the other five, a name accompanying each thrust of his forefinger. “Aalet, Cildar, Donnal, Zevra, and Tulan.”

  “Pleased to meet you. Thank you all for coming.”

  “Will we get to ride on the airplane going back?” Aalet asked, his eagerness and excitement showing.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Wonderful.” Tulan cuffed Aalet across the back of the head lightly and affectionately.

  I recognized the behavior. “Brothers?” I hazarded a guess.

  “How did you know?” Aalet marveled.

 
“I have one,” I said.

  “Condolences,” Tulan said, but the word didn’t match the affectionate glance he bestowed on his sibling.

  I called Kobe and outlined my problem.

  “I’ll have a limo over to you in about fifteen minutes. We keep a lot near the airport.”

  “Thanks. You are a life saver.”

  I hung up the phone. I looked at Parlan. “Why don’t you ride with me in the van? We can talk.”

  The limo arrived, luggage was loaded in my van, Álfar in the limo. Parlan climbed in with me and we headed out. We negotiated the long horseshoe that was LAX, reached Century Boulevard, and headed for the freeway.

  “So many people,” Parlan said softly. “In all of Fey I don’t think there are as many people as there are in this city. No wonder they worry.”

  “So, you think Qwendar is right?”

  “I think I understand why he wants us separated,”

  “And what do you think?” I asked.

  His eyes clouded with pain and sorrow. “I think that while I know I’m human, I don’t want to be cut off from my own people.”

  “Then let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.” We drove in silence for a few minutes, then my phone rang, but since I was on the freeway I didn’t want to risk reaching into my purse. “Would you answer that for me?”

  Parlan pawed through my bag and finally emerged, first with my compact and then the cell phone. He gazed at the screen and figured out how to answer. He then handed it over to me. It was Jeff.

  Without salutation or preamble he said, “Linnet, I think it’s on.”

  “Wha … why … how do you know?”

  “A doc friend who works at Cedars-Sinai called me. Someone broke in—”

  Memories tumbled into place. Parlan’s descriptions of blood magic, Connie telling me about the Álfar blood supply. “To the supply of Álfar blood they keep at the hospital,” I interrupted. Dread for what was coming clawed at my gut.

  “How did you know about that?”

  “The EMT on set told me about it.” I beat the heels of my hands on the steering wheel in a frenzy of guilt and anxiety. “I should have thought of this. Warned them to move it, hide it.” The words tumbled over each other.