The Last of the Monsters (22 page)

If the movie didn’t do what they needed it to, they’d have no other choice.

“But who will protect
you
?” she whispered. “I can’t bear the idea of losing you.”

“You won’t.”

But there was hesitation in his voice.

There was nothing more they could do but pray that humans were smarter and more accepting than they had any right to hope.

Chapter Sixteen

“Akta, Akta, this way.”

Ignoring the shouts and flashes, Akta held her pose—one hand on her hip, weight on her back leg, head up. She twisted slightly, giving the photographers a different angle. Her publicist, crouched just in front of the barricade that held the photographers back, caught her eye and motioned for her to turn.

Akta took two careful steps, presenting her back to the cameras and looking over her shoulder.

She was wearing a structured white satin gown with a straight bodice, low back and slight train that faded from white to silver at the hem. With it she wore a borrowed Tiffany lariat that looked like a choker from the front, with long strings of diamonds falling down her mostly bare back. Her hair was done in retro waves with a big side bun. She wore platinum and diamond bracelets on one wrist. Her engagement ring was in her jewelry box at home.

It was the kind of outfit—and effort—that was normally put into an Oscar ensemble, but Akta knew that, for better or for worse, these pictures would become a part of history and be seen more than any other photograph she would ever be in.

Henry was five feet to her left, in a classic one-button tux with a bow tie. Her publicist had tried to coach him through posing, but he and Runako had both rolled their eyes. They didn’t need coaching—they had the kind of presence and self-assurance that translated into killer photos.

Runako was on her other side, also wearing a tux, but his was paired with a black matte shirt and dark gray silk tie.

Akta kept her slight smile in place—luckily, in photos like this a real smile usually came across as an asinine grin, so the slight curve of lips was perfect. She couldn’t have managed anything more.

She felt like throwing up. She’d never been this nervous before in her life. Normally a premiere was just an excuse for a party, and very few people really watched the movie. Tonight there would be people in the theater who hadn’t seen the movie before, but most of the audience would be cast, crew and financiers. After the movie, they’d transition to the posh premiere party—the crowd would double, but it would be people more intent on networking and being seen than on questioning and confronting her about the monsters. All that meant that she had no real reason to be nervous tonight. The preview screenings had been more important than this opening, and yet, her stomach was rolling.

Out of the corner of her eye, Akta saw handlers hustling Runako and Henry down the red carpet to be interviewed. She faced front, then, at the publicist’s direction, went to pose by one of the movie posters.

She couldn’t shake the nerves or the feeling that something bad was about to happen. Jane and Michael were gone, and Jane not being here made the premiere bittersweet. Tokaki and Jo were attending, but they weren’t doing the red carpet. Oren and Maeve had decided not to attend. Oren was worried that someone would brush up against Maeve or that she’d be overwhelmed by the sheer number of people and banshee-out. Lena, Margo and Cali were on the red carpet and giving interviews, but they were in a different area, and not the focus of the media attention. There’d been safety in numbers, but now their band of brothers was splintered, leaving Akta, Henry, Runako, Seling and Luke alone on the front lines.

“Akta.” Henry was walking toward her. The sound of shutter clicks reached a deafening level as he took her hand and bowed over it, kissing her knuckles.

“And you say you aren’t romantic,” she whispered, moving her lips as little as possible.

He smiled. “I saw it in a movie.”

At that, Akta couldn’t hold back her laugh. Henry pulled her against his side, and together they posed.

Runako joined them, and Akta felt very short between the tall, muscled men.

“We’re going in,” Henry whispered in her ear. “I love you.”

She smiled in response, squeezing his hand as he and Runako walked away, trailed by questions about his relationship with Akta.

Her publicist ran up to her. “We’re just waiting for the other Calypso owners to finish their interviews. That’s the last setup.”

Akta nodded and went back to posing. She switched positions to stand in front of the other movie poster.

There was a
pop
. Akta barely heard it over the noise of the cameras. She looked to the side to see a perfect hole in the poster
…
just beside her head. Akta took an instinctive step sideways.

“Akta, down,” someone shouted. Christian was running toward her, wrist to his mouth.

There was a second pop, and this time she heard the foamcore poster tear. Time seemed to stand still. The photographers were reacting to her—looking around to see what had put that expression on her face.

A faint voice in the back of the bleachers shouted, “You’ll kill us all!”
 

A third pop sounded, just as Christian jumped in front of her. He dropped to his knees, still shouting into the mic at his wrist.

Akta didn’t know what to do. Around her, staff and assistants were running, shouting. Someone in the stands yelled, “Gun!” and panic rippled through the photographers.

As people ducked, she saw them in the top row of bleachers—two men wearing black hoodies, right arms upraised, guns in hand.

Alex and the man who guarded Seling were trying to get to the gunmen. Akta saw them running along the bleachers, but there were people in the way. She was alone, in the middle of an open space. Christian was bleeding at her feet, and she was too shocked to move.

A roar rent the air, the sound deafening.

Akta exhaled.
Henry.

He was running as he changed, the tux shredding as his wings burst forth. His skin was black, his claws red. In the time it took to blink, he’d reached her, landing with a
thump
directly in front of her, wings outspread. The snapping sound of the membrane almost covered the continued popping sounds.

The red carpet took a collective breath, and then the photographers, uncaring of the bodily harm they faced, scrambled back into position, cameras raised.

Akta could no longer see what was happening, but Christian murmured, “They’ve got them.” He pushed to his feet, red staining his white shirt. “Ma’am, we need to move you to a secure location.”

“You’ve been shot.” The words felt surreal.

“I’m okay, but I heard another shot. Henry might be hit.”

“Henry,” Akta said, touching his back, terrified that he was injured, “we need to go.”

Henry looked over his shoulder at her, then scanned the crowd again.

“Wait,” Akta said. Her heart was beating so loud she could barely think, but this was it, this was the moment they’d all dreaded—everything had gone wrong. Henry was exposed, vulnerable. He’d been forced to shift to protect her.

She let out a deep breath, but when Margo’s guard rushed over to guide her and Christian to safety, she motioned at him to help Christian. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet.

Ducking under Henry’s wing, she touched his waist. “Henry.”

She was painfully aware of the frantic click of cameras, the stuttered “I think someone’s been shot, and the actors are here, in costume. But, but it’s not a costume. I saw them become monsters” of the E! reporter.

“Henry, are you hurt?”

“No.” His voice was a low rumble.

“I think you were shot.” She touched his side, a place level with her head. Her fingers came away red. She made sure to hold them up, so everyone could see.

Then, in the very best Hollywood tradition, Akta let herself fall into a graceful swoon. Henry caught her, lifting her into his arms.

“Akta, Akta,” he said, jiggling her a little.

“Don’t do that,” she hissed, letting her head roll so no one would see her lips moving. “Pose.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

The ground rumbled under them, and Akta could feel the presence of the others.

“Everyone here?” she asked Henry.

“Yes.”

“Henry, was she hit?” Runako asked, rage and concern clear in his voice.

“No. She’s faking it.”

“Don’t say that so loud,” Akta hissed.

She lifted her head, then raised a hand to Henry’s face. Hopefully she was the only one who saw him roll his eyes.

“Put me down,” she whispered.

Henry lowered her to her feet.

They were a solid wall of monster—Henry, Runako, Luke and Seling. They relaxed as she stepped away from Henry, nodding to each of them to indicate she was fine. She was only glad Tokaki and Michael had stayed away.

She was also glad that each of them had—just in case—worn the special high-stretch shorts under their suits.

She waved over a paramedic, who looked confused. Taking a sterile pad from him, she pressed it to Henry’s waist. While she was faced away from the cameras, she muttered. “Pose, you idiots.”

They looked at each other, then at her. One by one, they folded their wings, wrapping them around their shoulders like cloaks of red, black and cobalt. Only Henry kept his wings spread as she finished taping the bandage in place.

Akta turned to face the cameras, made a show of wiping her hands on a cloth provided by the paramedic.

“I don’t…know how to treat him,” the poor man said.

Akta smiled at him. “He’ll be fine. You can go now.”

“Uh, okay.”

“The show must go on,” she said, loud enough to be heard.

There was a moment of silence while everyone adjusted to her words, her attitude. Then the questions started, shouted so loud and so fast Akta couldn’t make out any of them. Instead, she stepped back, positioning herself between Runako and Henry, and smiled. If she’d been dwarfed by them before, it was nothing compared to this.

“The world is watching,” she told them. “Smile. Except, Luke, you shouldn’t smile. You’re really scary when you smile.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

Runako laughed, and if it was a tad hysterical, no one beyond the five of them would be able to tell.

Akta’s publicist was sitting on the ground, seemingly stunned, but when one of the PR firm’s employees ran up to her, whispering furiously in her ear, they both jumped into action. The red carpet slowly filled with the staff, PAs and wranglers who were usually there. Akta was acting like nothing was wrong, and everyone else was following her lead. Publicists started directing poses, pulling each of the men aside for interviews with stuttering entertainment reporters who’d just been handed the interview of the century.

“Akta, Akta! So it’s true, they’re real,” a cameraman shouted.

Akta winked. “I’ve been telling you so. I can’t help it if no one believes me.” She smiled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my bodyguard and my fiancé were both just shot, so I think we’re going to head in.”

Taking Henry’s hand, she led him down the red carpet into the premiere.

“Vodka, just bring me vodka.” Akta’s hands were still shaking.

“Water,” Henry corrected. “Bring her water.”

“With vodka in it,” she yelled after the server.

It was nearly 3:00 a.m. Venue staff were cleaning up around them, pulling down the decorations and taking away what was left of the food from the party.

Akta, her friends and the monsters were trapped in here. Michael and Jane had made it out during the chaos, and so far no one was looking for them, though eventually someone would think to ask where the screenwriter and fifth Calypso Productions owner was.

It was possible that they would never see Jane or Michael again. They’d all been careful not to talk about Jane’s pregnancy in public because they didn’t want to be overheard, but it was the large diapered elephant in the room. Now that everything had gone wrong, they were probably enacting one of the three emergency plans. They’d made multiple plans so that they’d be ready for anything, and also so that no one, not even Jane’s best friends or Michael’s Clansmen, would know for certain where they were.

Jo and Tokaki had run interference, talking to the cops who showed up to arrest the suspects. Tokaki should be safe since he’d never been identified as one of the actors, and Jo wasn’t one of owners. Still, if things got worse it would be safest if they took Madoka and ran for it. Oren and Maeve were at Oren’s place, and if anyone came looking for them, Maeve could take them both into the alternate dimension where she’d stored the guards.

“I hope they got out,” Akta whispered.

“Who?”

“Jane and Michael.”

Henry touched her shoulder. “Maybe we’re not the ones who are meant to bring the monsters and humans together. Maybe in another generation their child will do what we could not.”

“Do you think we failed?”