Fall of Light (16 page)

She called home.

“Opal, is that you? I've been waiting to hear from you,” said her mother after one ring.

“Oh, good. I'm sorry to call so late. Glad you're up.”

“I'm not, really. Your father and I are reading in bed. What's the problem? Flint wasn't very coherent.”

“Mama, I put a face on my friend to turn him into a monster, and a monster came with it. What do I do?”

“Can you give me some real information, honey? It's hard to diagnose from this distance.”

Opal explained as much as she understood about the Invader, how the location had influenced the writing of the script, the script had dictated the nature of the monster, and the monster she had assembled had taken on a life of its own. She also talked about the Invader's blackmail scheme. “How did you make those strings that hooked us all together, Mama?” she asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“Remember Gyp's Reveal Spell, how it showed strings between us? She broke the string you had to her, and—”

“What are you talking about, Opal?” Mama asked again. “I don't remember any Reveal Spell.”

“It was at that special meeting we had before last Christmas, just before Gyp got her curses under control. Actually, it was the meeting where she figured out how to control them, and she—” Opal thought about the meeting, remembered her own astonishment when her sister and her sister's new lover had showed the family many things, most of them unpleasant.

So many things had happened during the meeting that Opal didn't remember it very clearly, but she remembered the image of her whole family draped in webs of many colors, and how her mother had spun most of the webs to snare the rest of them. Looking at the webs had told Opal so much: why her younger brothers and sisters never moved out, and how scared her mother must have been, to hang on to them so tightly.

Opal had carried the web image to the extended family party in Los Angeles after Christmas, had wished she could see the webwork among her cousins and grandparents, aunts and uncles. Mama had four sisters and two brothers, and she didn't get along with any of them. Opal had lost her special vision by then, though, and she had to guess rather than know. She had studied her grandparents afresh, noticed how Grandmère pitted her children against each other. “Well, Anise,” Grandmère had said to Opal's mother, “I hear your oldest boy is learning to use his talents in music. Sage, what's wrong with your daughter? She was studying flute last year. Why did she give it up?”

Aunt Sage had been upset. “How did you know?”

“I know everything,” Grandmère had said. And then, to another aunt: “Well, Lily, I understand your youngest daughter transitioned at last. At fifteen! I hear she has cooking talents. So sad, Anise, about your girl Gyp, having to do it all without talent—”

But that was where the party got interesting. “As to that,” Mama said, “Gyp brought her usual array of cookies and brownies to the party. We had more to share this year than usual, but I notice there are almost none left. I wouldn't say she's not talented.”

“Not talented with a capital
T
,” said Grandmère, with a tiny shark smile.

“I suppose,” Mama said brightly, “it depends on how you define talent. Gyp finally transitioned, although her talent is like Aunt Meta's.”

“What?” Grandmère spoke so loudly everyone turned to look and listen.

“Gyp has the power of curses,” said Mama, almost proudly.

Opal was surprised the whole family didn't already know. She remembered how distracted Mama had been before Christmas, and realized part of her distraction must have been due to planning how to introduce the family to this new development. Play it up? Play it down? Mama had picked the first alternative.

Opal checked for Gyp. It should have been her information to share. Gyp was talking to two of the cousins, admiring a brag book one held, maybe photographs or artwork. Like everyone else nearby, the cousins heard Mama's declaration. They stepped away from Gyp.

Opal had headed toward her. So had Flint and Jasper and Beryl. Opal slowed when she saw other cousins gathering around Gyp, asking questions, touching her arms and shoulders, one or two embracing her. Gyp was smiling.

Mama continued, “She even uses her power in cooking, though she has to have help, or what she makes comes out cursed. Don't worry. We made sure our contribution to the potluck was curse-free.”

“Curses? Curses?” Grandmère muttered.

Mama took top news honors with that information, no matter what this cousin or that cousin had managed to do with their powers last year. In fact, Grandmère was so surprised she lost control of the party for at least half an hour.

“Strings,” Mama said on the phone, bringing Opal back to the present. “I don't remember any strings.”

“Oh. Well, do you have any other good ideas?”

“I just have bad ideas, like flying up there to help you, and bringing the kids with me. Do you want any or all of us with you?”

“How would that work with your job?”

“It wouldn't be convenient, but I can escape if I have to. Do you want me to send Tobias?”

Opal's great-uncle Tobias was the family teacher. He knew more magework than any of the rest of them, and had been practicing longer than the rest of them had been alive. He was a stick in the mud, though; didn't even leave the house to accompany the family on vacations. Hell, he claimed he liked having the time alone, and he probably meant it.

“I don't know,” Opal said. “If he could come, that would be great. I don't know if we're in enough danger to warrant emergency measures, though.”

“I'll check with him in the morning,” said her mother. “Call if you need help sooner than that. Here's your father.”

“Opal? What can I do to help?” asked her father, and suddenly she felt like crying. Dad was great. But he had no more than normal human powers.

“Same deal as always, Dad. Be yourself. Listen and think. If you come up with any ideas, let me know.”

“All right,” he said. “Love you, Opal.”

“Love you,” she whispered, closed the phone, and wiped her eyes.

8

Opal peered into the restaurant—she had forgotten to watch what was happening between Norman and her friends—but everything looked the same. She opened the door and went back to the corner booth.

“Thanks for the offer, Lauren,” Corvus was saying when Opal settled next to Magenta again. “I'll ask Opal to run lines with me.” He turned to Opal. “You'll spend the night, won't you?”

“What?”

“You'll stay with me tonight.”

Immediately she felt like saying no. Did he think a declaration of love made her stupid or weak? Did he think it gave him permission to order her around?

“Please,” he said.

“Sure,” she said, shaking her head.

“And on that note, maybe we better get back to town,” he said, “so I can practice and get some sleep.”

“I'll want my toothbrush and a change of clothes,” said Opal.

“Of course.”

Corvus paid for everybody, and linked arms with Lauren on the way out. They swept past a frowning Norman. Lauren never even looked at him.

Across the parking lot at the budget motel, Magenta bid them goodnight and went to her room. Lauren and Corvus followed Opal into her room. Having Corvus there made Opal conscious of how low the ceilings were, how small the room really was. She liked his room better, despite the brown gingham and chintz, and the sense of the house watching.

“How much should I pack?” she asked. If Corvus had an agenda, she wanted to know what it was.

“Doesn't that kind of depend on who he is after shooting tomorrow?” asked Lauren. “You don't want to move in with D.G., do you?”

“Good point.” Opal packed essential toiletries, the oversized T-shirt she wore as a nightgown, and one change of clothes. It all fit into her messenger bag.

She drove them both back to Lapis. A car followed them—Lauren pointed it out.

“Don't worry,” Opal said. “I can take care of this.”

As soon as they reached town, Opal parked and conjured an image of their car, while hiding the real car in unreal shadows. The imaged car drove on past them.

“What was that?” Lauren asked as she watched the image of a car drive away from them, with Norman's car following. She leaned forward in the backseat, gripping Opal's seat.

“An illusion,” said Opal.

“But how—Oh. You can do that?”

“It's light. I can work with light. That's my gift.”

“If you can do that—you could make your own movies. Without the benefit of actors or sets.”

“Not interested,” said Opal. “At least, not at the moment. Where are you staying, again?”

Lauren was quiet as Opal drove her to her host family's home, speaking only to give directions. She gripped and released Opal's shoulder before she climbed out of the car. “Later.” Opal watched as Lauren went up the front walk and into the house. One light burned beyond the front door; the rest of the house was dark.

No other cars drove down this street. Opal pulled out and drove slowly back to the bed-and-breakfast, watching for Norman's car, but her illusion car had apparently led him far from downtown Lapis. All to the good.

At the B&B, Corvus took her bag out of the backseat and carried it up. The house didn't feel menacing tonight, more curious. Again, when they reached the upstairs hall, the director glanced out of his room as their footsteps sounded. He frowned and shook his head, disappeared back into his room without a word.

“Who's he shacking up with?” Opal asked as a woman murmured beyond the wall Corvus's room shared with Aldridge's.

“They're very discreet,” said Corvus. “I've never seen her, only heard that voice. Can you tell from listening?”

Opal leaned her ear against the wall, but couldn't make out the words, only the tone. She glanced at Corvus.

“I think it's Blaise,” he said. “Trav and Beth just rewrote a key scene and gave her five more lines. They cut Lauren's part by three lines. Lauren was looking over her new pages while you were on the phone. She's mad.”

“She should be. Serena's the main character,” Opal said.

“That could change.”

It was true. Lots of things could change during production, and even more drastic changes sometimes took place in postproduction.

“That sucks,” said Opal.

“We'll see what happens,” Corvus said. “From everything going on, nobody knows how this will play out. Too many wild cards. Will you read lines with me?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said. “I have to brush my teeth.”

“Go on. I'll change.”

She changed into the T-shirt nightgown she usually didn't wear—when she was alone, she slept naked—and wrapped herself in a man's triple-X corduroy work shirt, the closest thing she had to a bathrobe. She washed up.

When she came out of the bathroom, Corvus was lounging on an overstuffed brown and white gingham couch; it was big enough to support him without parts of him hanging over the edge. He wore blue pajamas and his reading glasses, and he was studying the script. Love swept through her, startling and inconvenient. He glanced up at her over the tops of his glasses, and her throat tightened. He could immobilize her with a look; better not let him know. She forced herself to walk forward and sat on the bed across from him.

“It's only six lines,” he said. “I think I've got it. Would you help me?”

“Sure.” She took the script from him and read the parts of Young Serena and Young Caitlyn. The Dark God was already sharpening up the rivalry between them, pretending he favored one, then the other.

Opal was intrigued by the young girls' parts. They had seen this monster accept the sacrifice of both their parents. Well, according to Beth and Travis, Serena had seen her mother sacrifice her father to him, and both of them had witnessed their mother's suicide on the Dark God's altar. Why were they even talking to him? Neither of them seemed scared of him. Young Serena even clung to his hand. By the end of the scene, he had stooped and gathered her to him. Young Caitlyn stood outside of the embrace, her face cold.

Did this make psychological sense? Opal wasn't sure it did, but then, maybe it didn't need to. Most horror movies she'd worked on weren't that long on sense. People always wandered off alone in time to get killed, when any sensible person would cling to the others and head for someplace with lots of light.

“Both of you may be my handmaidens and help me,” said Corvus, “but I will always love one above the other.” He was almost whispering by the time he finished.