Spark - ARC (6 page)

Aran blinked. The conversation had just gone completely surreal. He was
not
having a chat with a character in-game about how to hack the game. No way.

“Aren’t you supposed to give me a quest or something?” he asked.

“I offer you a way into the Realm. Into the world that lies beyond this one.” The goblin waved his clawed hand at the cottage and peaceful meadow. “Do you accept?”

The wind stilled, the singing of birds muted. Aran’s heartbeat sounded loud in his ears. For some reason, the question felt way more important than a simple step in a game.

“I do,” he said. The words rang out like the clang of bells, hanging in the air, and he flinched.

“Good.” The goblin bared his sharp teeth. “At the dark of the moon we will come and show you the way. Be ready, mortal. Midnight approaches.”

Before Aran could say anything, the goblin disappeared. The wind went back to ruffling the grasses, and birds chirped merrily at the edge of the forest. Lungs tight, Aran made himself take a deep breath. That had been the weirdest gameplay he’d ever experienced.

And he still hadn’t cracked a single line of Feyland’s code.

Desperation edging his thoughts, he called up the keyboard interface and entered every possible hack he could think of. Nothing—not even that weird flicker he’d gotten earlier. It was as if the game was built on some kind of entirely new operating system, configured in ways he couldn’t quite grasp.

“Ready to come out?” Vonda asked, her voice still broken by static.

Not at all, but what else could he do?

Fingers heavy, he gave the command to log out of Feyland. That same golden light flared, making his stomach twist. Then his ordinary senses returned. He was sitting in the FullD sim chair, the hubbub of the Expo Hall rising as the convention-goers flooded in.

He pulled off the helmet and stood. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he grabbed the back of the sim chair to steady himself. The fluorescent lights were too bright, and he squinted against the glare.

A long line of people waited to try the gaming systems. Spark stood by the main VirtuMax table, holding a stack of glossy images: promo pics of herself, simming. Seeing that he was off the system, she set them down and came over.

“What did you think of Feyland?” she asked.

“It was… really different.” He shook his head, trying to clear it.

Her dark blue eyes fixed intently on him. “How so?”

“The immersion was amazing. I felt like I was actually there, you know?”

“I know. What else?”

He dropped his gaze to the dull beige carpet, avoiding her scrutiny. No way was he going to confess he’d spent his time in-game attempting to hack behind the interface.

“Um. Unexpected creatures.” Total understatement.

“Did you get to any questlines?”

“Hey.” He glanced back up. “I need to check in at the volunteer center. And you have about a million autographs to sign.”

She looked at the waiting autograph seekers, then back to him. “I’d like to talk with you more, though. Lunch?”

He blinked. Spark Jaxley was inviting him to lunch?

“Sure.”

“Great.” Her mouth quirked up into a smile. “Come up to the VirtuMax VIP suite. Number 504. I’ll tell my guys to let you in.”

“Yo, Spark! Time to get to work,” Vonda called, waving toward the table.

Fans were stacked up ten deep already, the ones in front giving Aran bitterly envious looks. He could practically hear them wondering who this guy was, taking up their idol’s attention and keeping her from the essential task of signing her name and making small talk with them.

“I have to go,” Spark said. “See you later.”

Wonderful. He’d be stepping into the heart of VirtuMax security, carrying secrets that could get him in serious trouble. Watching Spark swing her magenta hair back and sit down at the table, Aran found that he couldn’t wait.

CHAPTER
FIVE

S
weet music played through the shadowed meadows and shivered through the silver-leaved oaks of the Dark Realm. Perched upon her tangled throne, the Dark Queen smiled.

The nixie combing her hair beside a moonlit stream paused, then bared her rows of sharp, serrated teeth. The wisps in the brackish swamps danced and swirled, leaving blue streaks of luminescence in the air. Moths with sightless eyes on pale wings fluttered helplessly, trapped in sticky, black-stranded webs.

“Well done, Codcadden,” the queen said to the redcap goblin hunched in a bow before her. “When the moon shutters her face to the mortal world, you will fetch this human who has freely agreed to enter the realm.”

“My lady,” the goblin said. “How shall we bring him hither?”

“Send me.” The Huntsman lifted his horned head. “My hunt has brought many a mortal across that boundary, and my hounds grow restless.”

“No,” the queen said. “I do not want him to arrive fickle-minded and wits-wandering from riding with the Wild Hunt. Three goblins and the Enchanted Sack shall do. After all, the mortal is willing.”

“As my lady wishes.”

The Huntsman returned to his vigil, his red-eyed hounds curling about him. The goblin before the throne bowed even lower, until his nose brushed the silken mosses.

“Go,” the queen said. “Be assured of my favor. Your clan is welcome at the feasting tonight.”

The goblin departed, not daring to glance at his ruler’s face. The queen’s moods were fickle of late, and the wrong tilt of the head or set of the mouth could send her into a rage.
Perhaps
, he thought,
this new mortal could set things aright
.

In the shadows behind the throne, the court musicians played softly. The music quieted as a weary-faced man stilled his guitar and stepped up beside the queen.

“My lady,” he said. “Are you indeed set upon this course?”

“Bard Thomas.” The look she turned on him was full of frost and midnight. “Do you think to barter for yet another mortal’s life? Your human ways grow tiresome, and I begin to regret our bargain.”

“Forgive me. I shall not speak of it again.”

He made her a deep bow, then backed away, returning the sweet notes of his guitar to the music weaving about the court. The feasting tables were laid, platters heaped with delicacies for the ethereal and hideous denizens of the Dark Court to dine upon. Tall candelabras lined the tables, their flames unearthly still despite the night breeze. Gossamer-winged faerie maids laughed and danced, while black-haired creatures growled and slavered from the shadows.

The Dark Queen surveyed her court, then let her awareness expand to the very edge of her realm. On one side she was bounded by brightness, on the other, the newly rebuilt boundary between the Realm of Faerie and the human world.

Rebuilt, yes, but not without chinks in that obdurate wall. Her passage through might be barred for the moment, but soon enough she would hold the mortal key.

***

Two hours later, Spark’s hand cramped and ached from signing autographs. She’d known it would, but she still refused to use a stamp, or pre-printed photos. Sure, VirtuMax had made her their spokesmodel, but the fans were way more important to her than the company. It was important to keep the whole fame thing as real as possible—for everyone involved.

Rubbing her palm with her left thumb, she let her security guys do their job and escort her with minimal drama out of the Expo Hall. Once they reached the corridor outside, she realized how incredibly noisy it had been on the floor. Her ears still hummed from the aftermath.

She sighed, and Burt gave her a sympathetic glance.

“Two more days, Miss Jaxley.”

She wished her security team would call her by her first name, but they were sticklers for following protocol. It was one of the reasons VirtuMax hired the company in the first place. After a couple of tries she’d quit trying to argue about it.

“One day, really,” she said. “The con’s over after the big lunch panel tomorrow.”

After that, she was off to do a string of appearances at game emporiums and super-stores up and down the coast. The week of the official FullD release was packed with multiple events, plus a daytime news show interview and a guest spot at Bella Boingo’s sold-out stadium concert. SimCon was a vacation in comparison.

“Your guest has arrived, miss,” Joe, the guard at the door of her VIP suite, said. “He’s waiting inside.”

“Thanks.”

Right. She’d almost forgotten that she’d invited Aran to have lunch with her. It had been an impulse, but something about his reaction to playing Feyland had been off. And Feyland plus weirdness wasn’t something she could overlook.

Aran was reclining in a big white beanbag in the main room, texting on his messager. When he saw her, he tucked the device away and jumped to his feet. His smile really was cute, and she liked how the corners of his eyes crinkled from it.

“Hey,” she said. “Sorry to make you wait.”

“No stress. They give you way more comfortable chairs than us peons in the volunteer room. It’s good to slack after running around all morning.”

“You’re a volunteer?”

For some reason she’d thought he was on the con staff. Maybe because of his self-assurance, or his calm manner. It was refreshing to spend time with someone her own age who didn’t freak out in her presence. The rest of the Feyguard excepted.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m a gofer.”

“So you’re a local? Come eat, and tell me what I should see on my half-day off.”

Though part of her had considered spending her partial day off asleep, she also hated to miss seeing new places. This city, despite the dreary weather, seemed interesting.

She led him to the small table where the catered lunch was set up. Nothing special—turkey wraps with veggies, chips, and her favorite chocolate bars, imported from Belgium.

Aran snagged a soda from the assortment on the table, then took his own chair. He popped the top, the crisp sound loud in the quiet of the suite.

“Do you have an umbrella?” he asked. “A raincoat?”

“Probably.”

“You don’t know?” He shot her a look. “Or did you leave it at home?”

“It’s complicated.”

She took a bite of her lunch, suddenly embarrassed. Now that she was paying attention, she could tell Aran’s clothes were a little too worn to be fashionable. She’d bet credits that he’d worn the same jeans yesterday. Which was a normal thing, except that she knew what it was like to have one decent pair, and no money for more. And she knew that slight air of defiance that came from wearing the only presentable clothing you had.

“I travel a lot,” she said. “All over the world. When it’s winter here, it’s summer someplace else.”

“That must be prime, seeing all those countries.” His voice held a note of yearning.

She didn’t ask him if he’d traveled much. She didn’t need to. It was clear Aran wanted to go places, but hadn’t. Yet.

“Thing is,” she continued, “sometimes I don’t even know where VirtuMax is sending me until I get there. I have an assistant that knows my schedule weeks in advance. She packs everything I need and makes sure it’s waiting for me on arrival.”

His eyes widened. “Don’t you have anything that goes with you? Favorite shirt or something?”

“I have a few possessions, but I prefer to travel light. Makes things easier.”

She couldn’t afford to get too attached, to things
or
people. Two and a half years on the road had taught her that. Whether it was a broken heart when she had to leave her first boyfriend behind, or the treasured necklace that had been stolen from her bags, she’d had to learn how to let go.

“Since you were coming here, I’m sure you have a raincoat,” he said. “Dig it out, because the best parts of this city are outside.”

As they finished eating lunch, Aran described the highlights of his home town: the outdoor fair, the famous skyscraper, the hidden cove by the sea, reachable only by walking along old train tracks.

“And of course,” he said, “no visit is complete without sampling the ice cream stands all over the place.”

“Isn’t it a little cold for that?” She pushed her empty plate away and started unwrapping one of the chocolate bars, the purple foil smooth under her fingers.

“We don’t care.” He grinned at her. “That’s why they’re combo vendors. Ice cream and coffee. Or hot chocolate, if you prefer.”

“I do.” She broke a square off the bar and offered it to him. “How could you tell?”

“Lucky guess.”

He accepted the chocolate, then reached over and took her hand. It was a natural gesture, and she was too surprised to pull away.

“You’ve been rubbing your palm this whole time,” he said. “Let me.”

“I have?” She knew her hand ached, but hadn’t paid much attention.

It was bold of him to reach out like that, yet it made her feel normal—like she wasn’t the untouchable sim star everybody else saw. She’d stop him if he pushed her boundaries too far, but the novelty of his gesture kept her silent, and strangely content.

His fingers wrapped around the back of her hand, strong and warm, while his thumb massaged her open palm. It was a delicious feeling, in all kinds of ways. Blood rushed through her, while the ache in her hand eased. She let out a long breath, and he stopped.