by Anthea Sharp
A touch of make-up, not the heavy stage face she put on for the demo, and she was ready.
Her messager pinged again, this time with a note from Vonda.
:Yo, Spark. Ten minutes.:
:Coming,: Spark wrote back.
When she stepped into the hall, Joe was waiting to escort her down to the convention. Making her way through the hubbub of the Expo Hall, she tried not to look too closely at every lean and muscled guy with black hair. Even if Aran showed up, there was no point.
Ten feet into the room, she was mobbed with fans. Grateful for the distraction, Spark turned her attention to signing more autographs, answering questions, and letting Joe take the gifts thrust at her.
The morning sped by. Before she could catch her breath, Joe and Vonda did their crowd-management thing and got her into the room behind the banquet room, where the panel was gathering for lunch.
They wouldn’t be eating in the main room during the panel, obviously. Nothing elegant about answering questions through a mouthful of food.
“Hello, Spark,” Mr. Chon said, giving her a formal nod as she walked in. “How has the convention been?”
“Great.” She smiled through the lie.
She was sorry Jennet’s dad wasn’t there, instead. He and Mr. Chon didn’t get along, especially after Mr. Carter stood up for the whole beta team and undermined Mr. Chon’s authority. They both still worked for VirtuMax, but Jennet’s dad was now lead on a new project, while Mr. Chon got Feyland.
“I hear the demo went well,” he said.
Nice of him not to be there. She swallowed the words. “Yeah. Fun times. Hey, I’m going to grab a cup of tea. Good to see you.”
She could play politician with the best of them, but she hoped Mr. Chon wouldn’t be seated next to her on the panel. There were limits.
“Spark!” One of the younger VirtuMax employees, a guy named Wilo, waved from a nearby table. “Come join us.”
“Will do. Let me grab my lunch.”
She went to the buffet table and selected a box that supposedly contained a panini and a Caesar salad, then chose a beverage. Strong black tea, with milk and sugar—the way her Irish grandma used to drink. The taste was as comforting as going over to Nana’s and sitting in her soft lap, getting her hair braided while Nana crooned old melodies into her ear. Too bad the feeling didn’t last.
Wilo, a lead artist for VirtuMax, and Tia, a tech goddess, were good company and didn’t make Spark feel like she was some sort of distant diva. Their lively conversation helped lift her spirits. Too soon, lunch ended and the panel moderator began rounding everyone up.
“Spark,” Vonda called, beckoning to her from the corner. “I need to talk to you.”
Her voice held a suppressed urgency that made Spark frown as she walked over.
“What’s going on?”
“I just found out VirtuMax flew in more guests for the panel. They decided the launch was too big for you to do solo and pulled a couple more gamers in.”
“No.” Spark’s lunch turned to stone in her stomach. “Oh no. By a couple, you mean two, right? Please tell me it’s not the Terribles.”
Though it couldn’t be anyone else. The Terabin twins were VirtuMax’s second-place celebrities. They used to be the first, until VirtuMax hired Spark. A year older than she was, Roc and Cora hadn’t taken well to losing their top billing. Or their cash bonuses from extra sponsorships. Any time she had to cross paths with them, things got nasty.
VirtuMax finally figured that out after the twins set up a “prank” that almost ended in severe injury for Spark. Though nothing could be proven, the company made sure to keep them far apart. Until now.
“It is.” Vonda’s gaze went past Spark, and her lips pinched together.
“Well, well.” The voice behind her was like an ice cube sliding over Spark’s skin. “It’s the pink-haired punk. How special.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Spark slowly turned to see Roc and Cora Terabin standing shoulder to shoulder behind her. They were dressed identically, as usual, in one of their many gamer outfits. The current one was silver and violet, with sleek pants tucked into big black boots.
Even though they were fraternal twins, they liked to play up their physical similarities with a twist of gender ambiguity. Roc was taller, his face squarer, his voice deeper. Some people said he was handsome, with his chocolate-brown hair and amber eyes, but the flatness in his expression invalidated his superficial good looks.
His sister, Cora, wore platform boots—subtle, but enough to bring her closer to her brother’s height. The eyeliner they both wore looked more flattering on him, though Spark wasn’t about to say so. The less she spoke to the Terabins, the better.
She’d tried before to field their barbed words with snappy comebacks. At the moment, though, the two of them felt like more than she could face.
“Ready?” the panel moderator called. “Showtime!”
The noise from the banquet room increased as the moderator opened the connecting door: conversations layered on monologues layered on laughter, the clink of silverware on plates, and clatter of ice in glasses.
Mr. Chon led the way, gesturing for Spark to follow. Vonda gave her arm a squeeze, but there was nothing she, or anyone, could do.
Pasting a smile on, Spark felt the crowd’s attention veer toward them as the panel walked up to the stage and took their places at the long table. Microphones lined the white tablecloth, one in front of each name card, along with a bottle of water.
Spark found her name and sat down. She was at the center of the table, and someone had thought it would be a cute idea to put the Terabins on either side. Great.
Teeth bared, Roc took the seat on her right. Cora passed him, setting her hand on Spark’s shoulder as she went by. Her sharp nails bit through the thin cotton of Spark’s T-shirt, and Spark regretted not putting on her costume. One more layer of armor between her and the twins would have been nice, even if it was rubberized and a garish teal blue.
The moderator introduced them, and Mr. Chon gave a rambling introduction about VirtuMax’s development of the FullD system, and the inspiration behind Feyland. Little did he know.
Spark kept her elbows tucked in and her knees close together, careful not to stray into enemy territory. Her best defense was to act nonchalant, though her palms were sweating.
“I’ll let our amazing gamers talk about how it feels inside the sim,” Mr. Chon said. “Spark, why don’t you start?”
She felt Cora’s glare. The other girl had never forgiven her for being younger, faster, and better. Not to mention a more pleasant human being. The Terabins came from a wealthy family, and stories about their arrogance and demands were legendary, even before Spark joined VirtuMax. Afterwards, they had gotten worse.
“As a lot of you know from playing the demo yesterday,” Spark said, “the FullD interface is the best sim immersion yet. I know we’ve been waiting a long time for a game that feels real, and that game is Feyland.”
Her words earned a couple cheers and a patter of applause.
Beside Spark, Cora leaned forward and spoke into her mic. “Beyond that, the fight mechanics and battle sequences are amazing. Don’t be surprised if you come away feeling a bit bruised.”
“Figuratively speaking,” Mr. Chon said, frowning at Cora. “Of course, there’s no actual pain or injury involved. Only a light simulation in the neural interface.”
Unless the gamer somehow slipped into the Realm of Faerie. Spark hadn’t experienced carry-over, beyond a few scrapes, but both Tam and Jennet had sustained injuries in-game that had been serious in the real world, too.
“So we can’t lose weight by playing Feyland?” some joker called out.
“The technology isn’t to that point yet,” Mr. Chon said. “But who knows what the future holds? Jet, would you like to add your viewpoint on the game?”
“Sure.” Roc pulled his mic closer. “Unlike the girls, I think it’s important to note the variety of heroic qu
ests and the depth of the world-building in Feyland. It’s not all about feeling the wind on your face.”
His sister glared at him, and Spark was torn between annoyance at the put-down and amusement that he’d also insulted Cora.
“Speaking of world-building,” the moderator said, “Wilo Martinez and his team put a lot into designing the terrain and features of Feyland. Wilo, what were some of the challenges you faced?”
The panel veered off into a discussion of tech and spec, with Cora interjecting off-topic comments and Roc leaning back, an amused smirk on his face.
Spark answered another question from the moderator, and this time Cora didn’t try to hijack the answer. Still, the current of animosity flowing from the twins was so electric she half-expected to get a shock when she reached for her water bottle.
“What’s next for the intrepid VirtuMax team?” the moderator asked as their time wound to a close.
“I’m pleased to announce the Terabins will be joining Spark in helping debut the FullD system,” Mr. Chon said. “A full schedule of their appearances is posted on the events section of our site. This is a historic launch, and VirtuMax is committed to making it fantastic!”
Terrible, indeed. Spark forced herself to keep smiling, though her insides churned. Touring with the Terabins was going to be a nightmare.
The moderator thanked everyone and the crowd applauded. The instant Mr. Chon got up, Spark pushed back her chair and stood. She took a deep breath, but her relief was short-lived as Mr. Chon beckoned her and the Terabins to the front of the stage.
“The press wants some pictures of our top gamers,” he said. Glancing at her, he shook his head. “Unfortunate that you’re not in uniform, Miss Jaxley.”
“Maybe you should dock her pay,” Roc said. “Obviously she’s not taking this launch as seriously as she should.”
“Yeah,” Cora said. “Are you sure you’ve got the right spokesperson for the FullD?”
“Yes,” Mr. Chon said. “And all three of you are representing VirtuMax equally. Is that clear?”
“Well, she—” Cora began.
“Fine,” Spark said. “I’ll wear my costume from now on.”
“Smile, everyone,” Mr. Chon said.
“Could the gamers bunch together?” one of the reporters called.
Spark edged closer to Jet.
“Miss Jaxley in the middle, please,” another photographer said.
“Come on, Fizzle,” Cora said, too softly for Mr. Chon to overhear.
She snagged Spark’s arm, fingers too tight, and hauled her to stand sandwiched between them. Roc draped his arm over Spark’s shoulders and the two Terabins, big smiles on their faces, pressed close, squeezing her until she could barely breathe. Flashes went off, leaving starry afterimages on Spark’s retinas. She put on her best photo face, enduring until she couldn’t take it any more.
Ducking backwards out of the Terabins’ false embrace, she turned to Mr. Chon.
“I need to finish getting my things together,” she said.
He nodded, frowning slightly. As she walked away, she could hear Roc say it was too bad she wasn’t a team player.
Damn them. Her throat tight, Spark moved to the stairs at the end of the stage. She still had to get through the banquet room without revealing a hint of how disturbed she was that the Terabins were back in her life.
Joe and Burt, ever the loyal guards, flanked Spark as she stepped down. Her fans surged toward her, and she felt the usual twinge of panic, as though one day she might be completely overwhelmed, trampled beneath hundreds of adoring feet.
But not today.
Spark headed for the exit, shaking hands and thanking people. It had taken a while for her to perfect the move where she stuck her hand out just in time to prevent an unwanted hug. Burt had helped her, after she’d been glommed on once too often by an overeager fan. Nothing like getting pressed into the pits of an excited guy who wanted to crush her life essence into his body. Or being clung to by a girl who didn’t want to let go so much that her long fingernails left scratches on Spark’s arms. So, no hugs.
She did her best to meet her fans’ eyes, to look at every person, to put all of her thanks and appreciation into her smile. Still, the faces tended to blur—until one set of features came into sharp focus. Aran. His dark eyes met hers, and held.
Without meaning to, she veered toward him.
“Hey,” he said, giving her a half smile.
“Hi.” She hadn’t expected to see him again, and her breath caught in her throat.
Whatever their connection, it was real. The people around them faded into the background. Though her fans were probably going to gossip like crazy, it didn’t matter.
Aran held out his hand, and she took it, his grip warm and firm.
“Since you couldn’t make it to the beach,” he said, pressing something hard and oval into her palm, “I brought part of it to you.”
She looked down, to see a pinkish stone. It was a small thing—and it meant more than she could say.
“It’s an agate,” he said. “If you get it wet, it’s pretty.”
“Thanks. For thinking of me.”
She wished she could find other words. But there was only goodbye. She closed her hand around the stone; a bittersweet memory, but better than nothing.
He dropped his gaze. “Anyway. Good luck, Spark.”
“You, too.” She stepped forward and hugged him.
After a startled second, Aran’s arms came around her, sure and solid, erasing the residue of the Terabins’ touch.
Then Burt cleared his throat, Aran let go, and the crowd of fans surrounded her again.
“Goodbye,” she said, so quietly he probably didn’t hear.
He lifted his hand, and then she lost sight of him as Burt and Joe steered her toward the VIP exit.
“Time’s up,” Burt called to the crowd. “Head down the road to the Burkesville Mega-Gamma Center tomorrow, the next stop on Spark’s tour. See you there!”
She made herself smile and wave at the fans until the door closed behind her. But her other hand was tightly clenched around a small, pink stone.
***
The redcap goblin, along with two of his kin, bowed low before the midnight throne.
“Has the hour come for us to depart, my lady?” he asked.
The Dark Queen leaned forward. Her pale hands flexed, fingernails biting into the tangled vines. Her smile glittered, sharp as shattered diamonds.
“Yes,” she said.
The sibilant word echoed through the clearing. Moon-colored moths fluttered up, startled, only to be caught and devoured by stealthy, dark-winged bats. The court musicians played a low, sorrowful melody, and the night breeze stirred the shadowed oak leaves.
“The mortal moon wanes to darkness,” the queen said. “Step aside, Codcadden, and I shall open a portal.”
She drew a sharp black thorn from her robes, then gestured to one of the faerie handmaidens beside her throne. Eyes dark with knowledge, the maiden came and knelt before her ruler. The Dark Queen gently cupped her handmaiden’s cheek, a world’s wealth of sorrow in her face. Then, without a word, she took her thorn and plunged it into the maiden’s heart.
A single drop of blood fell upon the velvet green moss. Silver light emanated upward from the spot, forming an unearthly, radiant ball. The faerie maiden breathed a last sigh and folded like a torn cobweb.
“Make haste,” the Dark Queen said to the goblins. “Fetch me the boy ‘ere the new dawn wakes, and breaks this dearly-won enchantment.”
“Yes, my queen,” Codcadden said.
He carried a worn leather sack, and his evil smile matched the fierce knives strapped to his belt. Roughly, he pushed his companions into the glowing sphere, leaped in after them, and was gone.
CHAPTER NINE
Aran didn’t bother going to sleep. He sat on the lumpy sofa, the blue flicker of his tablet the only light in the Chowney’s garage. Too much soda surged through his system to rel
ax, so he was wasting time following links to all Spark’s appearances. Not that he’d show up at any of them, but there was something strangely comforting about knowing where she’d be over the next couple weeks.
The VirtuMax tour would spend a few more days in the area, then head all over the country, basically. Which would be cool, if she had the time—or freedom—to actually visit the cities she appeared in. Too bad she’d missed seeing his home town.
At least she had a rock as a souvenir.
A rock. Aran shook his head. What had he even been thinking? At the time, it seemed like a romantic gesture, but in hindsight he was embarrassed. I have a prime crush on you, so here’s a stone I picked up. Weak. It was probably in the bottom of the hotel’s trash can by now.
Enough Spark obsessing. He flicked his tablet to one of his favorite music streams, turned up the earpods, and let the heavy beat and electric guitars anesthetize his brain. Despite the caffeine and sugar pumping through him, his eyes closed, weariness weighting his bones.
Silence woke him, and the feeling of being watched. With a yawn, he glanced at his tablet. Midnight, exactly, and for some reason his music had cut off. But that wasn’t all.
An eerie glow was forming in the middle of the garage. It looked like a digital special effect—a pulsating ball of light that expanded until it was about four feet high. What the hell? Aran stood and pulled his earpods out, ready to sprint for the door.
A strand of melody threaded through the air, haunting and melancholy. Then three figures stepped out of the light; three squat creatures, one of whom looked familiar. Shock froze Aran’s feet, and sped his breath.
No. Way. The goblin from Feyland had not just materialized on the stained concrete floor of the Chowney’s old garage.
Except that it had.
“Greetings, Eron. We have come for you, as promised.” The goblin held up a worn leather sack and smiled, sharp-toothed and malicious.
“I’m dreaming,” Aran said, the words dry in his mouth. He swallowed, and tried again. “I’m not awake. This isn’t happening.”
