Fall of Light (10 page)

Opal packed her makeup suitcase for the walk across the parking lot to the soundstage. She was conscious of Corvus's body hovering above her, of the absence of his spirit and the presence of someone else's. She wasn't sure how to handle that. She wanted to rescue Corvus, bring him back to himself, but—what if she confronted the new guy and lost? She had never been the most powerful person in her family. She had no idea how to kick a spirit out of a body where it didn't belong. No way could she act like an exorcist. No religious training. She used her power to alter appearances, not to change the cores of things.

Her options were to try something desperate that might not work or wait him out. See if the new guy could act. Maybe the new guy was the character, and wouldn't need to act.

The new guy had been present before, and Corvus had returned to the body without any damage but lost time. Maybe the new guy had a time limit on how long he could stick around. Although the fact that he had sucked something out of Kelsi and left her asleep didn't bode well. Powering up, stealing energy, it looked like. If he could do that to Kelsi, he could probably do that to other people. Opal wondered how hungry he was, and how far he'd go.

Kelsi was still breathing. That was good.

Opal had done her best to leave the magic out of changing Corvus into the Dark God this time, but she had let a little trickle in at the last moment, and the new guy had brought his own. Looking at the Green Man face on him, she didn't think it was latex any longer.

Corvus didn't trust her. This wasn't going to help.

She needed to figure out how to deal with the new guy. Though she had known some roughhousing techniques when she was younger—she had needed them to deal with aggressive siblings and unkind cousins—she was out of practice.

She had a cell phone in her pocket. As soon as she got a minute—and there were lots of hurry-up-and-wait minutes on the set—she'd call home, see if her relatives had any ideas on how to deal with this.

She turned toward the door, and the thing in Corvus's body said, “Just one taste,” pulled her to him, pressed his lips to hers.

His mouth had a flavor like a ripe, juicy peach, something she had never tasted in a kiss before. She struggled with several impulses: slap him and maybe mess up four hours' work, cost the picture who knew how much time and money to repair the face. Relax into it: she'd dreamed Corvus would fall for her, in the way of hopeless fantasies. Her sensible streak said it would never happen naturally (it could be made to happen without much effort, she knew), and she wouldn't force it. This wasn't Corvus, though; it wasn't even someone she liked. This was the opposite of her fantasy, an unpleasant reality she didn't want. While she debated, she felt him drawing power from her. Not good. She needed to cut him off. She could change herself into something without a mouth and break the connection. Shock him away from her. Slide sideways—

Light flashed, a camera's shutter clicked, and then more flashes and clicks. “Work it, work it,” said Erika from the door.

Opal gripped the Dark God's shoulders and pushed him away. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Stop.”

“This is terrific stuff,” Erika said, staring at the screen on her digital camera. “Couldn't have asked for anything better—bye, now!” She raced away as Opal advanced on her, and just then, Opal's Ear crackled. “Where are you?” asked one of the A.D.s.

Opal glared at the new guy. “You're coming,” she said, grabbed her suitcase, and headed down the stairs.

Laughing, he followed her.

5

The new guy in Corvus's body went to the altar set for blocking rehearsal with Blaise and Lauren, and Opal slumped into a chair next to Magenta, who watched a monitor as the cast ran the scene.

“You probably don't need to hear this again,” said Magenta, “but he looks absolutely awesome.”

“Thanks.”

“You getting ideas about him?”

“What?”

“I am. I thought he was weird-looking at first, but man, he's hot, in or out of makeup. I usually skip the stars—can't deal with those messed-up egos, and most of them don't respect us—but him, there's something about him—”

“I know.”

“There's a rumor you were in his room last night.”

“I was.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Business. I put him to bed. But just now, Erika shot us kissing.” Her hands closed hard on the chair arms. “It's not just us in an awkward moment,” she muttered, “it's the makeup. Nobody's supposed to see that until the trailers. If she leaks any of those—”

“Uh-oh,” said Magenta. “What were you doing, messing around when you were due on the set? How could you do that when he's already in makeup?”

“It wasn't my idea. He just grabbed me.”

“Whoa. He doesn't seem like the type.”

“He's kind of schizo. I like the other one, not this one.”

“He musta grown up weird, had to deal with all kinds of body image shit from other people. No wonder he split himself in two.”

“Hmm,” said Opal. She pulled out her cell phone, but just then, someone called out, “Last looks!” She grabbed her suitcase, and she and Magenta went to the set.

“Can he act?” Opal muttered to Lauren as she passed her.

“Enough,” Lauren answered, then tilted her head to catch light so Magenta could look her over and see if she needed powdering or lipstick repair. Rod hovered near Blaise, who looked amazing, an angel, though her expression was marred by some form of distaste. Rod said something to her and her face cleared. She closed her eyes as he whisked powder across her nose and cheeks.

Opal faced the new guy. “Come on down, big guy,” she said. “Let me check your looks.”

Obligingly, he bent over. She studied her Polaroids from the night before against his face. He looked better today, though nothing substantial had changed—continuity should be all right. She touched one of his horns, and it felt solid and rooted into his forehead. The point of his chin, the built-up brow ridges had the heat and solidity of living skin. There was no rubbery give to them.

He pressed his hand over hers as she felt his face. His palm was warm, the gesture gentle. Had her problem solved itself? Unlikely, with her latex acting alive.

“Corvus?” she said, hoping anyway.

He smiled, but didn't answer.

“Clear the set. Let's go, people. Starting marks. Starting marks.” Opal and the others fled back to the chairs in the outer darkness.

“Blaise is a bitch,” Magenta whispered to Opal as they settled. “I'm lucky she wants Rod to do her. ‘Nothing but the best,' ” she mimicked.

“Do you like Lauren?” Opal whispered back.

“She's not fussy. She looks good, too—not much to correct for.”

“Quiet,” yelled one of the assistant directors. “We're on bell. Roll sound, roll camera, please.” The starting bell for filming rang. Casual conversation died. The voices of the actors spoke their lines from behind the walls of the altar set.

Opal wished she could go outside and phone her family, but now was when she had to be present and silent, in case anything went wrong. She slid a notebook out of her suitcase, opened it to a blank page, and wrote down everything she knew about the person who was not Corvus but wore his body.

It wasn't much of a list.

What if Magenta was right, and this was a case of multiple personality, some other facet of Corvus taking charge? She didn't have to like him, she just had to work with him. It would explain Corvus Prime's lost time, but not the new guy's use of magic. He could be a natural, she guessed. But Corvus had never behaved anything like this on
Dead Loss
.

Option two: local phenomenon. Bethany's story about how she wrote the screenplay added weight to this option. They were messing with sites that might hold old history, old tragedy, old power. Opal had heard stories about places of power. She knew how to send power into objects. Maybe someone had sent power into the ground at the altar location, and Corvus had accessed it somehow. She hadn't seen that happen before, but it seemed plausible.

Option three: some inimical and possibly noncorporeal person was stalking someone on the movie, and picked this weird way to get at them. She, Opal, seemed like the most likely candidate for a haunting, since Corvus had spent the bulk of his haunting time with her. She couldn't remember anything she had done recently that would have upset anyone magical. Since magical people tended to hide their talents, she could have offended someone with power and never noticed. She never set out to offend people, though.

Maybe the power was haunting Corvus. Maybe Corvus had a curse on him, and this was how it manifested. Maybe he'd angered someone who could do this sort of thing. Hard to imagine. His reputation was solid: a professional in every way, easy to work with, someone who would put up with a lot and give you a good performance even in adverse conditions. She'd never heard a negative story about him.

“Cut!” yelled Aldridge. “Dark God, could you play this a bit more sinister?”

“Of course,” said the new guy.

Opal closed her notebook and went to the Prop Department monitor. They were shooting a master shot, an overview of the scene, with everyone in frame; the viewpoint was from the foot of the altar stone. Dark God stood at the head of the altar stone, with Serena (Lauren) to his left and Caitlyn (Blaise) to his right. Magenta joined Opal and Joe.

The slate moved into frame: Roll 32 Scene 23A Take 2, FOREST OF THE NIGHT Dir. Neil Aldridge Cameraman: T. Yamanaka.

SERENA holds her wrist above the altar stone, turns it so the underside is up. She pulls a knife from a sheath at her waist. It gleams. She touches the tip to her skin.

He takes her hand.

The Dark God took the knife from Serena. “Wait a sec,” Magenta whispered. “That's not in the script.” She glanced at Opal and Joe, but they shook their heads. Opal had read the script, but not recently. She supposed she ought to read the scenes listed on the call sheets, but her job didn't change; the Dark God had pretty much one look all the way through the film; she just had to make sure it was consistent. The only question from day to day was whether he'd be in close-up or distance shots, which governed how much of the other prostheses and body makeup she applied and how long the call sheet budgeted for application.

“Are you ready?” the Dark God asked, with peculiar intensity.

“That's in the script,” Magenta whispered.

On the set, Caitlyn said, “Wait. This isn't right. She's supposed to cut herself.”

“Not in the script,” muttered Magenta.

The Dark God said, “Do you presume to tell me my business?”

“Not script.”

Caitlyn: “But the book says—”

“Not script.”

“Serena,” said the Dark God.

“I'm ready,” Serena replied.

“Script,” whispered Magenta.

The Dark God drew the tip of the blade from Serena's palm a little way up her arm, and blood welled in its wake. He leaned forward and licked the blood, his eyes half-closed in ecstasy. Serena swayed, held upright only by his grip on her arm. Her eyes closed. Her face showed something that could be pain or absolute joy.

“Ick,” whispered Magenta. “
So
not script.”

Opal jumped to her feet, galvanized by a fear come to life. How could they trust someone else inside Corvus's body? There was no indication he cared about the same things everyone else cared about. Why should he?

If he wasn't following the script (and she didn't remember—but Magenta did), he must have his own agenda. He was a power person, and she didn't trust him. Her great-uncle Tobias, her family's magic teacher, said blood carried power and could be used in both good and bad ways to transfer energy and other influences. She strode toward the set, marshaling her resources.