Fall of Light (37 page)

Magenta cocked her head. “There's some kind of weird sound, like one of the generators is running too fast or something, but I don't feel anything.”

“You are shielded,” Phrixos said. “Do you want to open to this?”

“Nope, no thanks,” said Magenta. “Rather sit it out, like I did yesterday.”

“As you like.” Phrixos tugged Opal with him toward the door to the trailer. She grabbed her messenger bag on the way. Rod headed toward one of the trailer's restrooms. Magenta took her duffel and followed Opal and Phrixos out, locked the door as she left the trailer.

Everyone they passed on their way to the altar looked alert and itchy, most glancing this way and that in search of something nobody seemed to find. Suspicious glances followed Phrixos.

“This is where I get off,” Opal said as they came abreast of the cast corral. Phrixos's grip on her hand tightened, then released.

“Don't go anywhere,” he said. “I need you.”

“Sure,” she said, uncomfortable. Did he really need her, or did he just want to own and control her? “Something's going to happen today.”

“If everything works out,” he said.

“It's not going to be the same as yesterday, is it?” she asked.

“No,” he whispered, and walked on, toward where Lauren, in her character's dumpy-phase clothes, stood. Lauren looked lost and sad. Corvus's stand-in, Fred, walked into the circle of light and stood facing her. They murmured to each other. Everyone glanced around uneasily.

Blaise stood in the trees, out of sight of where the cameras aimed at the moment, a pale forest dryad spying on invaders.

Magenta set her duffel on the ground and sat in Lauren's chair, her hands gripping each other in her lap.

Opal settled in Corvus's chair and closed her eyes. “What's going on?” she asked Other Opal.

Other Opal took shape in the air beside her, glanced around. “Interesting,” she said. “Gearing up.”

“For what?”

“Can't tell, but it feels like everything around us is awake.” Other Opal looked toward the ground. “We're standing on another kind of person. He lies there and smiles at us. He's glad we're here. He wants us.”

Opal stroked her shield. Part of it had opened for Phrixos's kiss, but now it gloved her. She could resist what was about to happen. As long as that door Phrixos had made in the shield stayed shut.
Damn.

“You gonna keep that shield up the rest of your life?” asked Other Opal.

“Maybe,” said Opal. She had lowered it during the kiss, though, and whatever Phrixos had done to her still resonated inside. She sighed and opened her eyes to the outside world.

Neil yelled by the altar. “Am I surrounded by dolts and donkeys? Would you all stop shaking the equipment? News flash: we're not sitting on a volcano!”

Opal went to the Props department to get a camera-eye view.

“Blocking rehearsal's over,” Joe said. “Looked good. Neil's like a cat on a hot griddle today.”

“Who isn't?” asked Opal.

“Good point.” They watched Lauren and Phrixos. The scene took place after Caitlyn had practically kidnapped Serena and forced her back to the forest, where Serena had sworn she would never go again. Caitlyn told Serena she had to help Caitlyn figure out how their mother had died. At this point, the flashback of the mother's death would show, as Serena regained her lost memory. And then the Dark God would talk her into accepting his proposal. There was a lot of verbal persuasion involved; it was one of Corvus's best scenes in the movie, all talking instead of anything that smacked of scare tactics. Opal had drowsed through the scene the night before, even as she mouthed Serena's lines, but this time she leaned in close as Phrixos and Lauren spoke the lines. Joe's TV didn't pick up sound, but as Opal watched the actors' lips, she remembered.

“Last looks,” the A.D. called.

Opal and Magenta went to check their respective charges. Phrixos's leaves had darkened, turned more realistic. Opal wasn't sure how to reverse that. “Can you step it down a notch? This is bad for continuity,” she said to him.

“I can't,” he said. “It's not in my control. It never really has been.” The green in his eyes was only half-lit, and he spoke to her in Corvus's voice. She stepped back and stared up at him. The nervous energy in the air vibrated against her shield.

“I can't wait until you get all trampy and rampagy,” Magenta was saying to Lauren. “That's going to be the fun makeup.”

“Looking forward to it.” Lauren's voice sounded tight.

From just behind Opal's shoulder, Neil said, “What's the problem here?” He touched a leaf on Corvus's cheek and grunted. “The color palette changed, eh? Why's that?”

“Um,” said Opal, “it wanted to, I guess. I don't know how to change it back, unless I cover it with something lighter, which would take a while.”

“Oh fuck oh dear.” He stepped back. “Well, maybe we can fix it in post. Prognostications for today?”

Opal shook her head.

“Damn and thunderation. All this itchy energy, too. Please. Just let us shoot the scene as written at least once, all right?”

Opal wasn't sure who he was talking to. She knew she couldn't say yes to that; like Corvus's makeup, the whole situation was beyond her control.

“Maybe if we do it quickly,” Corvus said.

“I despise
quickly
,” said Neil, “no matter how many people tell me it's important. Today, though—let's do this thing right now.”

“Clear the set,” George yelled.

Opal and Magenta hid behind the backdrop. Someone yelled for quiet on the set. The bell rang, sound rolled, the camera assistant called scene and take number, the slate was bumped, Neil yelled, “Action,” and the lines ran.

20

Corvus spoke with a clarity that brought the lines to her even this far from the set. Was she hiding in the shadows still? No, people were looking at her in the light, more than she was comfortable with. She wanted to fade into the background again.

Which was hard when everyone was aware of her now. She glanced at Magenta, Blaise, random other not-working-at-the-moment crew. Everyone was silent while the scene played out, but none of them were reading, puzzle solving, distracting themselves today. They all stood listening, and many of their gazes rested on her.

Were they remembering her as half of the center of yesterday's tossed human salad? Or was everyone remembering she was a witch equivalent?

Oh, come on,
thought Dark Opal,
it's not always about you.

It's almost never about me,
thought Opal.
That's the way I like it
.

Are you saying I
want
to be the center of attention?

Every little once in a while,
thought Dark Opal.

Opal straightened, pushed her shoulders back, and took a deep breath.
Okay. Yesterday was enough of that for now. Agreed?

Dark Opal laughed.
You got it, sister.

Maybe everyone was tense because of the ubiquitous hair-raising, nerve-tingling energy, its pitch rising, that tightened the air until it was hard to breathe.

Barefoot, an almost unrecognizable Erika came to stand beside Opal. This Erika's hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore not a single camera around her neck. She had on some kind of springy, flower-laden dress and wore an unfamiliar nongloating smile.

Brainwashed,
Opal decided. “You okay?” she whispered.

“I'm so happy,” Erika murmured. “I've found my true happiness.”

“Cut. Print,” called Neil and two bells rang.

“Weren't you happy before?” Opal asked Erika. “Taking pictures and torturing people?”

A shadow of Erika's triumph smile flashed across her face. “Yes,” she said. Then she looked confused. “This is different.”

Handmaiden,
thought Dark Opal.
She's a total handmaiden. Don't go there. I'm sick of being a handmaiden.

The cast and the director came off the set. Phrixos took his own chair. Lauren retreated to the cast trailer.

Neil grabbed a cold frappuccino from the Craft Services cooler and came over to Opal. He said, his gaze directed between Opal and Phrixos, “The master shot is in the can. Three takes, at least one of which is good enough, if we revert and follow the original script, and ignore everything that happened yesterday, which, at this point, I'm inclining toward.”

She wasn't sure why he was telling her this, or how to respond. She tried a smile.

He scowled and strolled off to where Blaise was lurking, then wandered back to watch people position equipment. Lauren returned from the trailer and sat in her chair.

The undertone of frenzy intensified.

“What is it?” Opal asked Phrixos. “What's going to happen?”

“It takes the right trigger,” Phrixos said.

“And then what?”

“I'll ask you a question. I'll ask everyone a question.”

“What's the question?” Magenta said from beside Lauren's chair. Lauren looked anxious and sweaty. She was drinking orange juice.

“You have to wait for it.”

“Waiting is driving us all crazy,” said Lauren.

“Only a little longer, and all the steps will be complete,” said Phrixos. He closed his eyes and leaned back, cutting off the conversation.

The next shot was of the Dark God, speaking seductively to Serena, or, more realistically, directly into the camera. Lauren wasn't in the shot, but she stood nearby to speak her lines off camera. Opal hovered behind one of the cameras filming the shot.

The energy erupted while the Dark God spoke.

His voice, Corvus's best voice, reasonable, enticing, seductive, was everywhere. Opal heard it in her ear, felt it sliding through the clearing and even into the trees. Her heart raced. Heat flooded her face. She yearned toward him, almost stepped past the camera, then recalled herself, glanced at the cameraman and the focus puller, and saw that they were leaning forward, too.

He held out his hands, palms up. His voice was irresistible. The green rose from the ground, coruscating around his hands and face. He smiled, turned to look straight at Opal, then swept the crew with his gaze.

“Yes,” said Lauren, her line, but “yes,” cried everyone else, everyone, boom mike operator, electricians, grips, director, cameramen, set dressers, wardrobe, props, supervisors, writers, everyone.

Opal opened her mouth, a “yes” shaping her lips. Dark Opal invaded her muscles and changed her response to “No!” spoken in a whisper.
No! You don't need him to make you whole. You have me! You have all of us. Frozen baby, marble child, your internal forest, all those rooms you haven't looked in, all the yous you've locked up, and even Flintfire that's you and not you. I can help you out of the shadows.

Oh, yes,
thought Dark Opal.
You know I can.

After the chorus of “Yes!” swept the clearing, the Dark God laughed and held out his hands. Green rushed from him, enveloped each one of them and sank under their skin. It tried to enter Opal. She could feel its promises and whispers: warmth, love, safety, the death of worry, the comfort of being cared for. She held out a hand, but it shone faintly orange—shielded—against the invading green.

“You are mine now,” said Phrixos. He turned and stared at each of them in turn.
Not in the script
. “I thank you and welcome you. We will do great things together.”