Celebromancy (19 page)

“I can’t use those.”

Ree tucked it back in her baggie. “Fair enough.” She turned to Jane. “Are you okay?”

Jane got to her feet, and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ll be fine. How did you know I was here?”

Ree nodded to Drake. “My friend here had a whoosamawhatsit. And I remembered what you said about liking a view.”

Jane smiled. It was a small smile, a tired smile. But it was something.

Chapter Fourteen

4-Top

From: Alex Walters

[email protected]

To: [email protected]

May 25, 4:17 AM

Subject: Override Request (was Re: Starlet Containment)

The Cameron solution has failed to yield results, as previously indicated. Requesting approval to break subtlety policies in order to seal the deal.

I’ve pulled a half-dozen critters out of films and sent them after the has-been’s guardian, but this Reyes chick is a Leading Lady Geekomancer, with her own gang of Scoobies.

I want to have this BS cleaned up before I have to go back with MacKenzie for the divorce trial.

—AW

Ree, Drake, Jane, and Washington sat around a table at a twenty-four-hour Starbucks, which was empty except for the one bored-looking barista and an unsettled-looking homeless man nursing a short coffee in the corner, his life stuffed into a laundry cart. Ree was halfway done with a cappuccino, Drake sipped tea, Washington was on her second cup of coffee, and Jane drank hot water. The whole scene reminded her of the aftercredits bit in
The Avengers
.

Except no shawarma. I could murderate some shawarma.

“Shouldn’t you be on shift or someting?” Ree asked.

“I’m taking witness statements,” Washington said, raising her cup with a grin.

“But of course. Would that all chats with the constabulary might be so pleasant,” Drake said.

“You can drop the act, Ren-Faire,” Washington said.

“Not likely,” Ree said. “He’s a lifer.”

Jane leaned into Officer Washington, both hands on her mug. “Are you going to report this?”

“I pretty much have to, someone of your profile,” Washington said. “Word has likely gotten out, and if we try to cover it up, there will be seven kinds of pushback.”

“What would you report?” Ree adopted a nonchalant voice. “A mysterious figure of moving smoke that hit like a T-800 pursued movie star Jane Konrad onto a construction site, where it was subdued by a screenwriter, a Ren faire actor, and a young Pearson PD officer. Case closed?”

“This isn’t the only weird thing to come across the dispatch, you know,” Washington said. The fact that she hadn’t forgotten the whole fight meant there hadn’t been enough time, there hadn’t been enough social or psychic distance from the event, or maybe the cop just wouldn’t forget at all.

Could police training inoculate someone against the Doubt?
If it did, you’d think either a lot more cops would end up dead or everyone would think they were crackpots when they tried to tell the mayor.

“Weird like what?” Ree asked.

“Mob deals gone strange, odd drugs with inexplicable side effects, dead-end missing persons cases that just feel wrong. Every beat cop and detective I’ve met has at least a few weird stories. And now I’ve got one more.”

“Intriguing. In my homeland, there was no effort to cover up the marvels and terrors.” Drake stopped to smell his tea, his eyes flashing through memories from an indeterminate past. “Though the powers that be may have just given up when the first of the torture ships crested over the horizon and began shelling the capital.”

Jane and Washington looked at Drake like he was a crazy person.
Well, maybe he is, but no crazier than I am.
Ree tried not to explore the implications of her claim and moved on.

“So what’s with the props and those cards?” Washington asked. “There’s no way personal laser weapons have been invented without people finding out.”

Ree looked to Drake, who shrugged unhelpfully, then turned her head back to Washington. “Off the record?”

The cop shook her head, rueful. “I’m going to have to pull some major Scully on this report as is. I don’t need it getting any more complicated than necessary.”

Ree raised an eyebrow at Washington, pondering, then began. “There are many styles of magic. Drake has his technomantic Steampunk—”

“Though mine is more properly a science,” Drake said, cutting in with a smile.

They’d had this discussion more than once. By this time, Ree knew he was just giving her crap.

Ree nodded, conceding the point. “But mine works off of fandom. What’s your favorite movie?” Ree asked.

Washington cocked her head to the side. “
Die Hard
. Why does that matter?”

“Good choice. I love
Die Hard
, too. If I watched
Die Hard
, I could use magic to focus on how tough and inventive John McClane was, and I’d get some of that toughness, that inventiveness. I’d get to bring some of the action-movie physics he lived by in
Die Hard
into this world, be able to fight on when I should be moaning on the ground, maybe even get a flash of insight just in the nick of time, complete with a snappy one-liner.”

Ree took a sip of her blissfully consistent cappuccino. “Every movie or show has something I can use, but only if I have a personal attachment to it. If I watched
The Expendables
, all I’d get is a headache, because I hated that piece of crap and have no desire to make any kind of connection with it.”

Washington shook her head. “Never saw it.”

“Don’t. But that’s the gist. Props and one-offs like those cards work a bit differently. They draw on the collective love and nostalgia from around the world. The combined nostalgia of all the Star Trek fans makes this phaser prop a real phaser, but only in the hands of someone like me. Make sense?”

Washington’s eyes were wide, looking to Drake, then Jane, and back to Ree. “No, but I’ll take your word on it. As far as I’m concerned, we chased a perp off and weren’t able to pursue.”

Ree nodded. “So you keep the weird stuff under wraps, we get Jane back to the trailer, and we’re good?” Ree asked, begging the universe it would be that easy.

Washington leaned back in her seat, setting her cup down. She started listing off items on her fingers. “That’s the start, but we’re going to put a police detail on the set, the detectives will come back for more questions, and one of you is going to fill in the department—and by the department, I mean my captain—about what exactly is going on in this town. If your police force doesn’t know what’s going on with the magic and weird-shit community, we can’t exactly protect you.”

Ree stared into her cappuccino, hoping it would give her answers. She took a sip and waited for inspiration.
Nope, only caffeinated deliciousness with a hint of hazelnut.

“It’s not going to be that easy. The magic underground is so complicated that it makes season six of
Lost
look like season one of
Lost
,” Ree said.

Thankfully, Washington nodded. Jane laughed. And Drake just shrugged.

“So we can go, then? I could sleep for a week,” Jane said.

“You think it’ll be safe?” Ree asked.

Jane nodded. “Unless whoever it is can conjure another of those things right away, I should be fine.”

“Then let’s get to it.” Washington stood, downed the rest of her coffee in one gulp, then moved for the door.

“Thanks, Mary,” she said to the barista, who nodded.

“Later, Von.”

Ree stood and hustled two quick steps to catch up. “Von?”

“Yvonne. My first name.”

“And what is your rank? It seemed like you were jerking me around earlier.”

“Just officer. Though after this, we’ll see.” Washington’s eyes sparkled with ambition. Ree recognized the look from Jane’s eyes, and from her own.

Three women driven by stubbornness and ambition, and a man driven by righteousness and curiosity.

What could possibly go wrong?

•   •   •

Ree left Jane at her trailer and caught a cab home, where she unlocked the door as quietly as she could then relocked everything behind her and snuck to bed. The cappuccino having barely made a dent in her fatigue, she hit the bed like deadfall.

And woke up to the sound of knocking.

“I don’t want any,” Ree mumbled. She clawed for her glasses, finding them and bringing them to bear to see Sandra in the doorway, wearing a towel around her torso and another one around her hair.

Sandra Wilson (Strength 15, Dexterity 13, Stamina 13, Will 12, IQ 17, and Charisma 13—Geek 3 / Scholar 3 / Dancer 1 / Teacher 1 / Waitress 1 / Chef 2 / Professional 1) was six feet tall and change, and built like a Themysciran from the George Perez era. On the days that Ree felt down about her own looks, having a roommate like Sandra did not help. But she was kind, funny, financially stable, and giving to a fault.

“What’s up?” Ree asked.

“It’s eleven. Are you getting up at all today?”

“Do I have to?” Ree asked, trying to remember.

“I haven’t seen you in three days. Is everything okay?” Sandra asked.

“This pilot is kicking my ass. And yesterday was crazy at work.” Like Charlie, Sandra thought Ree worked at a private catering service, since
magic gamer bar/hangout
wasn’t exactly going to fly without a lot more explanation.

“Well, do you have time for brunch with the gang?”

“Only always,” Ree said. She ignored the voice in her head that said she needed to be making plans, checking sources, and replenishing her armory. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t let the hero gig ruin her life, and damned if she was going back on that. The Rhyming Ladies had always been there for Ree, as long as she’d known them. Plus,
brunch
was code for “societally-approved opportunity for gorging on both breakfast and lunch foods.”

Ree rolled out of bed and stretched, noticing she was still wearing last night’s clothes, burned shoulder and all.

You don’t notice the weird
, Ree willed at her friend while trying to act nonchalant.
You want to get brunch.
“Let me get a quick shower, and I’m game. Where are we going?”

“Anya and Priya are meeting us at Top O’ the Morning.” Top O’ the Morning was an intentionally kitschy Irish brunch place that took the Applebee’s approach to interior decorating, narrowed the focus to gaudy Irish cultural artifacts and served it all up with a heavy dose of snark. It was Ree’s kind of Irish joint.

Ree hauled herself into the shower and started daydreaming about the chocolate chip pancakes, the local sausage, and the heavenly scrambled eggs. The restaurant also served a fine selection of beers, ciders, and hangover cocktails, which they had over nearly every brunch place in existence.

A few minutes later, she had done her best to wash away the night, popped a handful of ibuprofen for good measure, and packed herself a small badass bag in case there was trouble. She delayed just long enough to watch a few minutes of
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
to pull a quick Occulus Reparo on her glasses, and then set off for brunch.

•   •   •

Top O’ the Morning was filled to the brim with brunchers: the sickeningly cute young couples, college students sobering up after a wild night, and, of course, Ree Reyes and the Rhyming Ladies. Despite all of her efforts, Ree had failed to get them to be a band.

When she and Sandra arrived, they saw that the other half of their quartet was already there—and seated. Ree wasn’t sure who Anya and Priya had killed to get a table for four, but Ree would gladly help move the bodies.

Anya stood from the table to wave them over. Anya Rustova (Strength 7, Dexterity 12, Stamina 15, Will 15, IQ 16, Charisma 15—Musician 5 / Geek 2 / Scholar 4 / Opera Diva 3) was six feet of bombshell in a five-two figure. Today she was wearing an elaborate folded-over-itself pearl necklace and a leopard-print shirt, in concession to her Russian fashionista heritage.

Ree’s heart split in two when she saw the fourth of their merry band, Priya. Priya Tharakan (Strength 8, Dexterity 13, Stamina 12, Will 14, IQ 17, and Charisma 15—Geek 3 / Professional 3 / Seamstress 4 / Steampunk 3 / Goth 2) was not your typical Steampunk—she wore black on black on black, instead of the subculture’s native brown. Today she had a black turtleneck, a broad black belt bedecked with gears, and a pair of pour-yourself-in black skinny jeans.

She looked marvelous, especially because of the big smile on her face. Which made Ree think about Drake, then Jane, then how idiotically high school the whole thing had become. But that was a matter for another conversation.

She’s happy, let her be happy. You cannot handle a boyfriend and a girlfriend. Seriously, no.

“Thanks for grabbing the table,” Ree said as she leaned in to hug Priya.
Girls before bros
, she thought, affirming her choice. Then her stomach grumbled, which gave her much better things to think about. Ree hugged Anya and then took her seat while the restaurant bustled around them.

“What’s got you so happy?” Sandra asked as she wiped the condensation sweat off of her water glass.

Again, Ree was split in two. She mirrored Priya’s embarrassed smile while jealousy danced a traditional
seis
in her stomach.

“A gentleman caller has not only survived the
Are You a psycho
date but has served as eye candy at the gallery show,” Anya said, jostling Priya with her elbow.

Priya’s cheeks were rosy, beaming with the happy of infatuation.

Ree reconsidered her choice to not order a drink. She already had a cocktail of emotions swimming around her stomach, why not a real one?

Their server, an Irish guy with hair curly enough to be a Hobbit came by and took Ree’s order for a screwdriver and Sandra’s for coffee.

“So, how did it go?” Sandra asked Priya, continuing.

“Good. It was good.”

“Good? I can’t sell good. Give me copy, woman!” Anya said, affecting a J. Jonah Jameson voice and mock-shaking her friend.

Normally, Ree would be the one doing the JJJ routine so Anya could play Robbie, but cognitive dissonance and fatigue forced her to sit this one out.

Priya let slip that Drake had slept over, but nothing had gone past second base—per his insistence, rather than hers. Sandra called foul and told her to run, but Anya disagreed. When asked to tiebreak, Ree abstained, claiming that since Drake used to visit Café Xombi, she should stay neutral.