Tune in Tomorrow, page 36
“What’s that now?” His voice was soft as the dawn.
“Your eyes are nuts.” She stopped waiting, bringing her mouth to his, coming in tentatively at first—what if she was wrong about him—but to her great joy, he pressed back. Mav rested his hand at the back of her head, pulling her close with a shuddering of air, as if he’d been given a great surprise. Then the kiss ended and Starr—she would be Starr forever, now—bent away from the car, hoping for more.
“At least it wasn’t on the forehead,” she said.
He chuckled. “I’m a slow mover.”
Starr watched him carefully. Wondered if he had a speech for her, the way Nico had after they’d bounced just before the live show. Instead, Mav slid his hand around her waist and pulled her close. They turned toward the daylight. His voice was warm and soft, just like his kiss.
“It’s gonna be a good day, Starr Weatherby.”
Chapter 39
Starr Spangled
“Here.” Amelia handed baby Wisteria over to Starr and grabbed her sewing kit. “It nearly fits, dear, but you have to hold still.”
She knelt on the hotel room carpet, pinching the iridescent fabric against Nora’s hip, and shrugged it down. Nora’s gown resembled a metallic rainbow and contrasted strikingly against her pale skin—but it had been purchased pre-pregnancy and no longer fit around what Mama would have called the “rear and gear.”
Pacing around the room with the baby, Starr marveled at how quickly things had changed. Yesterday she’d hung up overpriced bras in Maryland; today she was in Boston dandling the baby of her former co-stars while watching one of their wives do nip-and-tuck.
“What if I leak during the ceremony?” Nora fretted.
“Could happen. Probably will, these things take so long. Bring the pump.” Amelia spoke through pins clenched in her teeth. “Crowd’ll love it; you’re the one who ushered in the Fae baby fad, after all.”
Starr had only one ear on their chatter, entranced by the miniature features of Wisteria. She looked for Nora in the baby but saw only Mav’s high forehead and chin. Open, her eyes were pale blue but at this moment she slept, crepe paper-thin eyelids shifting as she dreamed.
“I hear they’re allowing mortal kids in the movie towns and on other shows.” Nora tossed her hair.
“Yes, dear,” said Amelia. “You’re a trendsetter. Now, my ‘it’ girl, please hold the fuck still.”
Starr and Mav had arrived in New York by breakfast, picked up Nora and co. at their apartment, then continued on to Boston. Starr had to remind herself not to stare at Amelia, the disappeared woman she’d spent so much time investigating last year. She hadn’t pictured a fifty-something woman with a long white braid running down her back. Her eyes were lively and quick, her face smooth and unwrinkled. She moved like a dancer but when she spoke—pure steel. Nora said her parents had emigrated from South Korea when she was just three. She and Nora were so easy together, giving off a welcoming, reflective glow to everyone around them.
Now they were making last-minute preparations for that night’s awards. Mav had vanished into his own hotel room for a nap after promising to escort everyone to the ballroom later, and given Starr a brief kiss before leaving. The sensation lingered on her lips—and everywhere else.
Satisfied that Nora could pass muster at the awards, Amelia waved at Starr to reveal her prom dress. Starr handed the baby off to Nora and held up the cheap old thing, a ten-year-old ruched blue satiny fabric with long sleeves and a plunging neckline.
“Well, that’s… dreadful,” said Amelia.
“It was on sale.”
“Nora—”
“On it.” Hefting the baby onto a hip, Nora withdrew a garment bag from the closet. “Always good to have an extra. This might work for you.”
Starr gaped at what emerged: a cream-colored, ethereal ankle-length dress accessorized with sparkling, candy-colored beaded shoulder straps and matching belt. The bejeweled fabric seemed drizzled in raindrops.
“Er, Nora, you’ve never been my size in your life. Where did this come from?”
“Old girlfriend,” she shrugged. “You’ll get a tour of my closet sometime.”
“Nora acquires dresses like some men put notches on bedposts. Least, she used to.” Amelia nodded at Starr. “Get your pants off.”
Nora raised an eyebrow. “Ahem.”
“Fine. Get your pants off, woman to whom I have no sexual attraction.”
“Better.” Nora settled Wisty into a portable carrier. A hotel-arranged sitter would watch her for the duration of the show, which meant Amelia could attend. Jason had provided wards on the room to prevent mythic baby-snatchers.
Starr wriggled into the dress, which was far too long and utterly un-zipperable in the back. She’d just hoisted the second shoulder strap when someone knocked. Nora darted over.
“You are more generous upstairs than I’d estimated,” Amelia tutted.
“I’m generous all over,” said Starr. “Allow me.” She reached into the bust; often she could slide herself into a dress with sturdy stitching and a decent zipper if she manipulated the girls first.
“Ladies,” came Nico’s smooth, assured voice from the hallway.
Starr froze, one hand in the process of lifting a breast.
“Jumpin’ Jesus, Nico Reddy as I live and breathe,” said Nora. “Where in tarnation have you been hiding yourself?”
“I had a few projects to complete,” he said. “Am I correct in hearing that Ms. Starr Weatherby is in your party?”
Starr peered around a corner. Nico was fenced off in the hallway by Nora’s outstretched arm. His hair was shorter and he’d grown a beard. He looked older, and though she imagined it impossible, more swoonworthy.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said.
Sweetheart! Starr wanted to throw a shoe at him. All the sympathy she might have had for his rough landing in the new world had evaporated after the show had been over for a month. He’d vanished. And before that, he’d chosen to help Fiona out of the pit rather than sit with her and her sliced-up hand. Starr ducked back around the other side of the wall and sank to the floor, bending her head over her knees.
Nico took a beat. “OK, then. Glad we’re all present and accounted for. See you downstairs.” A soft smacking sound as Nico parted with a kiss to Nora’s cheek. “I am looking forward to meeting your little one.”
The door closed.
Nora loomed over Starr. “Get up, you. Stop wrinkling that dress. And no crying. There are no hairies or makeup Fae for touch-ups tonight.”
Outside, the penthouse balcony was cool, the air fresh and the view unparalleled. The wind played with Starr’s curls as she searched for manic pixies on the horizon.
Nora emerged in a shawl, sliding the glass door closed. “Wife and baby down for the count. It’s Miller time.” She paused. “That was a feat of magic, getting a panel sewn into that dress, I must say.”
“You’ve both been so good to me. I haven’t thanked you.”
“I’ll take what’s on offer.” Nora leaned on the railing. “We both owe you some thanks for putting a crowbar under that crone and getting her to move on. Retirement’s the least punishment Fiona should get after all she did.” She paused. “Still …”
“We got the tumor, but the patient died.” Starr thought again of Laurel and Hardy. Of the small grape-colored cough drop.
“Let’s say life support,” said Nora. “Guess we get the diagnosis soon. I don’t know how much hope there is; Dakota’s in charge of the balloting this time, which would have been good for us before the live show, but she split with Cris so…” She shrugged. “You do know Cris is gone, right?”
Starr shook her head.
“They had a new slot for him on a reality competition show in Patagonia or Paraguay or one of those places and he took it. Never loved the show like Jason did. Better for Dakota in the long run, I guess, since she’s running the magazine and Helena is out on her big ol’ ass.”
“I’m sure Helena will rebound,” said Starr. “The bad ones always seem to.”
Nora shrugged. “Folks rarely get what they deserve. It’s easier to be mean and selfish. But easier ain’t always better. Having Wisty puts things in a new light for me. I want her to have a clean slate, and good role models.”
“Gosh, Nora, if you start being wholesome and sweet it’s going to be pretty dull around here.”
Nora squinted. “For you, I’ll be a jerk. You like trouble.”
“Not always.”
“About that.” Nora leaned closer. “I don’t like getting involved in other people’s crap. Had too many nosy parkers doing that to me when I lived back home. But I’ll say this: don’t play with Charlie. He’s one of the good ones. If you’re not sure—if you’re one of those chicks who gets off on the attention—let him go now.”
“Wait,” said Starr. “How did you know?”
“Give me a little credit. I saw you this morning. And I saw you every day on set. I know what that glow looks like. Anyhow, I’m the only person you know who’s been married to Nico. Longest three months of my life, remember?” She reached for the sliding glass door. “All I’m saying is, be as sure as you can be.”
Starr remained on the balcony a while longer, chewing on everything. She thought she’d put a solid fence around her feelings during the show, but it turned out she’d been transparent all along.
Sweetheart.
Mav resonated with her. They danced the same dance. But being with Nico was a passport to everywhere, no limits.
A person with all the time in the world doesn’t have to restrict herself at life’s banquet.
Eventually, Starr let herself back inside. Nora and Amelia were napping in one of the two queen beds, curled around one another like commas. Like spoons.
Like love.
Chapter 40
Starr Fruit
Awards shows occupied a special place in Starr’s heart; they were one of the rare times she had spent in Mama’s presence for multiple hours, consecutively. Together they spent every show cackling at crazy outfits or awful facial hair while eating pizza and popcorn while the winners clutched their chests and embraced peers as they hurried to the stage to cheer God and their agents (not necessarily in that order) before striding backstage to face the press.
Starr had fully expected that kind of awards show tonight.
But after passing through the hotel’s ballroom doors with her castmates, plus Jason and Emma, she had no idea why she’d ever set the bar that low. The entire room was a glamour, glammed up beyond any glam she’d ever witnessed before.
“Let the party begin,” said Jason, leading his cast through the doors and along a low rocky cliff overlooking a vast green meadow framed by thick walls of evergreen trees. Above, soft azure skies streaked with rose-violet clouds canopied an open field—which stretched far beyond the true footprint of the ballroom. The air smelled of jasmine, gardenia and pumpkin bread.
Mav gestured at the scene before them. “Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?”
Down on the meadow proper, where Starr had expected to see a stage and rows of chairs, there was nothing of the sort. Instead, hundreds of actors and mythics spun and twirled around a small circular platform, like pilgrims on hajj worshipping Mecca’s black Kaaba. The field was filled with their whirling, synchronized dance, a hypnotic kinetic sculpture that took her breath away. Leaving the cliff and joining the dancers would be like being caught in a whirlpool.
Starr paused and set a hand on Jason’s arm. “Thank you for finding me. Twice.”
Blushing, Jason covered her hand with his own. “Believe me, I was torn the second time. A terrible, awful part of me needed to blame someone for the loss of my show.”
Starr nodded, tears in her eyes.
Jason frowned so hard that even his outfit—the exact combination of clothing he had worn on the day of the live show, from the white-and-blue striped jacket to the iridescent boots—sagged. “But Emma helped me see things clearly.”
“Indeed,” the werepanther purred, slinking up behind them in a Will-o’-the-Wisp-studded cobalt blue gown, whisking her tail back and forth. “I reminded him that humans are not spells. They do not ‘fix’ things in an instant. They come with pointy bits and curved surfaces and squishy, delicious hearts. Human creativity keeps immortality interesting. But that creativity can lead to unexpected consequences.”
“I just asked some questions,” said Starr. “I didn’t mean to ruin everything.”
“If asking questions was all it took to sink the show,” said Jason, “clearly, we were halfway to being the Titanic. I’ve always known that hiring you was utterly brilliant on my part.” He pressed a splayed hand across his chest. “I shall never doubt you, or me, again.”
A fairy the size of Starr’s head descended from the trees. She unveiled calla lilies from beneath her wings and handed them out to the cast, then cupped her hands together and poured a fizzy blue concoction directly from her palms into each lily. The drinks glowed in the soft twilight.
Emma raised her flower glass. “Sláinte. Skol. Gan bei! Na zdraví! Proost! Santé! Salute—”
“Yes, yes, wordcat.” Jason nudged her with his shoulder. “Drink before the bubbles disappear, my dears!”
Tipping the flower into her mouth, Starr swallowed fizz and citrus, champagne without the burn. The drink raced through her body like an electric jolt and her eyes widened. Everyone else was still sipping when her lily was empty, though she’d noted Nico hadn’t touched his.
“What was that?” She burped. “Whoops.”
“Fermented hummingbird extract,” said Jason. “Not made of actual hummingbirds. It’ll keep you—”
A faint restlessness stirred in Starr’s feet and began traveling up her legs. “Humming.”
Mav leaned over. “Might want to slow down a bit on the next one. This is your first rodeo.”
“Is this being streamed?”
Emma leaned over and shook her head. “You have the night off to both get down and/or get funky, without fear of being observed.”
Jason returned to the cast. “Let the Endless begin, my honey delights! Eat, drink and be merry because after tonight—there may be no more Tomorrow!”
He led the actors down a set of carved stone steps onto a pebbled path, gentle sounds surrounding them with every step. Music wasn’t quite the right word; Starr picked out the rhythm of a waltz, the epic soar of an opera, the earworm of a pop tune and the brutal power of a shredding guitar solo all at once. Rather than a cacophony, it was glorious. It was everything at once. Her ears wanted to weep, her eyes wanted to hear, her skin tingled as it drank in the notes. She was totally pixilated on beauty.
I must be in the dance. Right this minute.
Mav was one step ahead of her, eyes shining. “This way, little lady.” He held out a hand.
Starr took it.
Days passed, or seemed to pass. The sky remained in gloaming for an extended stretch, then the clouds parted to reveal a sky studded in white flickering stars. Wills illuminated the edges of the dancing horde as night fell, after which… twilight reappeared, replaced by another crisp, clear night sky. Starr lost track of how often this happened. No days, no sun—only eternal dusk, followed by night.
The song never finished; one could only abandon the dance for a time. At the flick of a finger a fairy would descend with another calla lily glass filled with something fizzy, fruity and colorful. With one sip, Starr felt restored. She spun in the circle with Mav, his steps confident and attentive; then Emma, accepting Starr’s hands in her handpaws, ebony fur silky as mink. For a time, Starr twirled with Jason and together they seemed to float through the crowd. Later she spun with Amelia and Nora together, and sometimes with total strangers from other ‘reality’ shows—After Yesterday and Forever Paradise. Eventually, Mav returned to her.
Awards… happened. At random intervals the musical layers faded, then dropped to near-silence and the dancers slowed to a stop as if the machinery keeping them turning had run out of steam. The first time this happened, Jason lifted Starr’s hand to point at the sky as a small, pearlescent white hot air balloon slipped through the pink-purple clouds. It was piloted by a mouse in a flat-cap that leaned over the attached basket as if searching for a place to land, directing the balloon with small bursts of hot gas. Finding its happy place, the mouse dug into a sack and tossed a cloud of maroon dust into the air that re-formed into flashing, bright words suspended above the center stage: Most Charming Performance by an Actor in Boots.
“That’s a very specific category,” Starr murmured.
“I can’t wait to see those boots!” cried Jason. “Anyway, nobody knows what they’re nominated for until tonight, and many of the categories shift each year. All we know is, you wait for the mouse in the balloon. Then you discover what you won, and what for.”
“So, it’s totally nuts.”
“The human method of doling out awards is much more mundane,” he said.
The mouse heaved a scroll into the crowd, which tumbled into the hands of an actor Starr had danced with earlier from After Yesterday. The moment the scroll touched his fingers, the words in the air changed and flashed: Lyon Addison.
Lyon raised a fist in the air and a cheer rose from select paused dancers. Everyone else applauded politely.
“Squirrel nut zippers, I thought Nico had that one in the bag,” Jason groused. “After Yesterday is nothing but flash and trash.”
That made Starr realize she hadn’t seen Nico since they’d come down from the cliff. Not that I really need to see him. She was still irritated with his distance over the past months yet yearned to tell him of that irritation to his face. She wanted to hear his excuses, find out who he’d shacked up with once he didn’t have all the time in the world. Because it sure hadn’t been Samantha Wornicker.
Over the next several hours, the mouse returned to distribute more awards. Mav earned Most Ingenious Use of a Flowerpot, referring to the moment he’d clocked his wayward on-screen brother with such an item. Nora won Outstanding Emotional Blackmail, which Starr thought could apply to anything Beatrice ever did. Starr thought she’d have a shot with Most Glittering Newcomer but lost to someone else on Forever Paradise. Jason kissed the top of her head in condolence.
“Your eyes are nuts.” She stopped waiting, bringing her mouth to his, coming in tentatively at first—what if she was wrong about him—but to her great joy, he pressed back. Mav rested his hand at the back of her head, pulling her close with a shuddering of air, as if he’d been given a great surprise. Then the kiss ended and Starr—she would be Starr forever, now—bent away from the car, hoping for more.
“At least it wasn’t on the forehead,” she said.
He chuckled. “I’m a slow mover.”
Starr watched him carefully. Wondered if he had a speech for her, the way Nico had after they’d bounced just before the live show. Instead, Mav slid his hand around her waist and pulled her close. They turned toward the daylight. His voice was warm and soft, just like his kiss.
“It’s gonna be a good day, Starr Weatherby.”
Chapter 39
Starr Spangled
“Here.” Amelia handed baby Wisteria over to Starr and grabbed her sewing kit. “It nearly fits, dear, but you have to hold still.”
She knelt on the hotel room carpet, pinching the iridescent fabric against Nora’s hip, and shrugged it down. Nora’s gown resembled a metallic rainbow and contrasted strikingly against her pale skin—but it had been purchased pre-pregnancy and no longer fit around what Mama would have called the “rear and gear.”
Pacing around the room with the baby, Starr marveled at how quickly things had changed. Yesterday she’d hung up overpriced bras in Maryland; today she was in Boston dandling the baby of her former co-stars while watching one of their wives do nip-and-tuck.
“What if I leak during the ceremony?” Nora fretted.
“Could happen. Probably will, these things take so long. Bring the pump.” Amelia spoke through pins clenched in her teeth. “Crowd’ll love it; you’re the one who ushered in the Fae baby fad, after all.”
Starr had only one ear on their chatter, entranced by the miniature features of Wisteria. She looked for Nora in the baby but saw only Mav’s high forehead and chin. Open, her eyes were pale blue but at this moment she slept, crepe paper-thin eyelids shifting as she dreamed.
“I hear they’re allowing mortal kids in the movie towns and on other shows.” Nora tossed her hair.
“Yes, dear,” said Amelia. “You’re a trendsetter. Now, my ‘it’ girl, please hold the fuck still.”
Starr and Mav had arrived in New York by breakfast, picked up Nora and co. at their apartment, then continued on to Boston. Starr had to remind herself not to stare at Amelia, the disappeared woman she’d spent so much time investigating last year. She hadn’t pictured a fifty-something woman with a long white braid running down her back. Her eyes were lively and quick, her face smooth and unwrinkled. She moved like a dancer but when she spoke—pure steel. Nora said her parents had emigrated from South Korea when she was just three. She and Nora were so easy together, giving off a welcoming, reflective glow to everyone around them.
Now they were making last-minute preparations for that night’s awards. Mav had vanished into his own hotel room for a nap after promising to escort everyone to the ballroom later, and given Starr a brief kiss before leaving. The sensation lingered on her lips—and everywhere else.
Satisfied that Nora could pass muster at the awards, Amelia waved at Starr to reveal her prom dress. Starr handed the baby off to Nora and held up the cheap old thing, a ten-year-old ruched blue satiny fabric with long sleeves and a plunging neckline.
“Well, that’s… dreadful,” said Amelia.
“It was on sale.”
“Nora—”
“On it.” Hefting the baby onto a hip, Nora withdrew a garment bag from the closet. “Always good to have an extra. This might work for you.”
Starr gaped at what emerged: a cream-colored, ethereal ankle-length dress accessorized with sparkling, candy-colored beaded shoulder straps and matching belt. The bejeweled fabric seemed drizzled in raindrops.
“Er, Nora, you’ve never been my size in your life. Where did this come from?”
“Old girlfriend,” she shrugged. “You’ll get a tour of my closet sometime.”
“Nora acquires dresses like some men put notches on bedposts. Least, she used to.” Amelia nodded at Starr. “Get your pants off.”
Nora raised an eyebrow. “Ahem.”
“Fine. Get your pants off, woman to whom I have no sexual attraction.”
“Better.” Nora settled Wisty into a portable carrier. A hotel-arranged sitter would watch her for the duration of the show, which meant Amelia could attend. Jason had provided wards on the room to prevent mythic baby-snatchers.
Starr wriggled into the dress, which was far too long and utterly un-zipperable in the back. She’d just hoisted the second shoulder strap when someone knocked. Nora darted over.
“You are more generous upstairs than I’d estimated,” Amelia tutted.
“I’m generous all over,” said Starr. “Allow me.” She reached into the bust; often she could slide herself into a dress with sturdy stitching and a decent zipper if she manipulated the girls first.
“Ladies,” came Nico’s smooth, assured voice from the hallway.
Starr froze, one hand in the process of lifting a breast.
“Jumpin’ Jesus, Nico Reddy as I live and breathe,” said Nora. “Where in tarnation have you been hiding yourself?”
“I had a few projects to complete,” he said. “Am I correct in hearing that Ms. Starr Weatherby is in your party?”
Starr peered around a corner. Nico was fenced off in the hallway by Nora’s outstretched arm. His hair was shorter and he’d grown a beard. He looked older, and though she imagined it impossible, more swoonworthy.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said.
Sweetheart! Starr wanted to throw a shoe at him. All the sympathy she might have had for his rough landing in the new world had evaporated after the show had been over for a month. He’d vanished. And before that, he’d chosen to help Fiona out of the pit rather than sit with her and her sliced-up hand. Starr ducked back around the other side of the wall and sank to the floor, bending her head over her knees.
Nico took a beat. “OK, then. Glad we’re all present and accounted for. See you downstairs.” A soft smacking sound as Nico parted with a kiss to Nora’s cheek. “I am looking forward to meeting your little one.”
The door closed.
Nora loomed over Starr. “Get up, you. Stop wrinkling that dress. And no crying. There are no hairies or makeup Fae for touch-ups tonight.”
Outside, the penthouse balcony was cool, the air fresh and the view unparalleled. The wind played with Starr’s curls as she searched for manic pixies on the horizon.
Nora emerged in a shawl, sliding the glass door closed. “Wife and baby down for the count. It’s Miller time.” She paused. “That was a feat of magic, getting a panel sewn into that dress, I must say.”
“You’ve both been so good to me. I haven’t thanked you.”
“I’ll take what’s on offer.” Nora leaned on the railing. “We both owe you some thanks for putting a crowbar under that crone and getting her to move on. Retirement’s the least punishment Fiona should get after all she did.” She paused. “Still …”
“We got the tumor, but the patient died.” Starr thought again of Laurel and Hardy. Of the small grape-colored cough drop.
“Let’s say life support,” said Nora. “Guess we get the diagnosis soon. I don’t know how much hope there is; Dakota’s in charge of the balloting this time, which would have been good for us before the live show, but she split with Cris so…” She shrugged. “You do know Cris is gone, right?”
Starr shook her head.
“They had a new slot for him on a reality competition show in Patagonia or Paraguay or one of those places and he took it. Never loved the show like Jason did. Better for Dakota in the long run, I guess, since she’s running the magazine and Helena is out on her big ol’ ass.”
“I’m sure Helena will rebound,” said Starr. “The bad ones always seem to.”
Nora shrugged. “Folks rarely get what they deserve. It’s easier to be mean and selfish. But easier ain’t always better. Having Wisty puts things in a new light for me. I want her to have a clean slate, and good role models.”
“Gosh, Nora, if you start being wholesome and sweet it’s going to be pretty dull around here.”
Nora squinted. “For you, I’ll be a jerk. You like trouble.”
“Not always.”
“About that.” Nora leaned closer. “I don’t like getting involved in other people’s crap. Had too many nosy parkers doing that to me when I lived back home. But I’ll say this: don’t play with Charlie. He’s one of the good ones. If you’re not sure—if you’re one of those chicks who gets off on the attention—let him go now.”
“Wait,” said Starr. “How did you know?”
“Give me a little credit. I saw you this morning. And I saw you every day on set. I know what that glow looks like. Anyhow, I’m the only person you know who’s been married to Nico. Longest three months of my life, remember?” She reached for the sliding glass door. “All I’m saying is, be as sure as you can be.”
Starr remained on the balcony a while longer, chewing on everything. She thought she’d put a solid fence around her feelings during the show, but it turned out she’d been transparent all along.
Sweetheart.
Mav resonated with her. They danced the same dance. But being with Nico was a passport to everywhere, no limits.
A person with all the time in the world doesn’t have to restrict herself at life’s banquet.
Eventually, Starr let herself back inside. Nora and Amelia were napping in one of the two queen beds, curled around one another like commas. Like spoons.
Like love.
Chapter 40
Starr Fruit
Awards shows occupied a special place in Starr’s heart; they were one of the rare times she had spent in Mama’s presence for multiple hours, consecutively. Together they spent every show cackling at crazy outfits or awful facial hair while eating pizza and popcorn while the winners clutched their chests and embraced peers as they hurried to the stage to cheer God and their agents (not necessarily in that order) before striding backstage to face the press.
Starr had fully expected that kind of awards show tonight.
But after passing through the hotel’s ballroom doors with her castmates, plus Jason and Emma, she had no idea why she’d ever set the bar that low. The entire room was a glamour, glammed up beyond any glam she’d ever witnessed before.
“Let the party begin,” said Jason, leading his cast through the doors and along a low rocky cliff overlooking a vast green meadow framed by thick walls of evergreen trees. Above, soft azure skies streaked with rose-violet clouds canopied an open field—which stretched far beyond the true footprint of the ballroom. The air smelled of jasmine, gardenia and pumpkin bread.
Mav gestured at the scene before them. “Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?”
Down on the meadow proper, where Starr had expected to see a stage and rows of chairs, there was nothing of the sort. Instead, hundreds of actors and mythics spun and twirled around a small circular platform, like pilgrims on hajj worshipping Mecca’s black Kaaba. The field was filled with their whirling, synchronized dance, a hypnotic kinetic sculpture that took her breath away. Leaving the cliff and joining the dancers would be like being caught in a whirlpool.
Starr paused and set a hand on Jason’s arm. “Thank you for finding me. Twice.”
Blushing, Jason covered her hand with his own. “Believe me, I was torn the second time. A terrible, awful part of me needed to blame someone for the loss of my show.”
Starr nodded, tears in her eyes.
Jason frowned so hard that even his outfit—the exact combination of clothing he had worn on the day of the live show, from the white-and-blue striped jacket to the iridescent boots—sagged. “But Emma helped me see things clearly.”
“Indeed,” the werepanther purred, slinking up behind them in a Will-o’-the-Wisp-studded cobalt blue gown, whisking her tail back and forth. “I reminded him that humans are not spells. They do not ‘fix’ things in an instant. They come with pointy bits and curved surfaces and squishy, delicious hearts. Human creativity keeps immortality interesting. But that creativity can lead to unexpected consequences.”
“I just asked some questions,” said Starr. “I didn’t mean to ruin everything.”
“If asking questions was all it took to sink the show,” said Jason, “clearly, we were halfway to being the Titanic. I’ve always known that hiring you was utterly brilliant on my part.” He pressed a splayed hand across his chest. “I shall never doubt you, or me, again.”
A fairy the size of Starr’s head descended from the trees. She unveiled calla lilies from beneath her wings and handed them out to the cast, then cupped her hands together and poured a fizzy blue concoction directly from her palms into each lily. The drinks glowed in the soft twilight.
Emma raised her flower glass. “Sláinte. Skol. Gan bei! Na zdraví! Proost! Santé! Salute—”
“Yes, yes, wordcat.” Jason nudged her with his shoulder. “Drink before the bubbles disappear, my dears!”
Tipping the flower into her mouth, Starr swallowed fizz and citrus, champagne without the burn. The drink raced through her body like an electric jolt and her eyes widened. Everyone else was still sipping when her lily was empty, though she’d noted Nico hadn’t touched his.
“What was that?” She burped. “Whoops.”
“Fermented hummingbird extract,” said Jason. “Not made of actual hummingbirds. It’ll keep you—”
A faint restlessness stirred in Starr’s feet and began traveling up her legs. “Humming.”
Mav leaned over. “Might want to slow down a bit on the next one. This is your first rodeo.”
“Is this being streamed?”
Emma leaned over and shook her head. “You have the night off to both get down and/or get funky, without fear of being observed.”
Jason returned to the cast. “Let the Endless begin, my honey delights! Eat, drink and be merry because after tonight—there may be no more Tomorrow!”
He led the actors down a set of carved stone steps onto a pebbled path, gentle sounds surrounding them with every step. Music wasn’t quite the right word; Starr picked out the rhythm of a waltz, the epic soar of an opera, the earworm of a pop tune and the brutal power of a shredding guitar solo all at once. Rather than a cacophony, it was glorious. It was everything at once. Her ears wanted to weep, her eyes wanted to hear, her skin tingled as it drank in the notes. She was totally pixilated on beauty.
I must be in the dance. Right this minute.
Mav was one step ahead of her, eyes shining. “This way, little lady.” He held out a hand.
Starr took it.
Days passed, or seemed to pass. The sky remained in gloaming for an extended stretch, then the clouds parted to reveal a sky studded in white flickering stars. Wills illuminated the edges of the dancing horde as night fell, after which… twilight reappeared, replaced by another crisp, clear night sky. Starr lost track of how often this happened. No days, no sun—only eternal dusk, followed by night.
The song never finished; one could only abandon the dance for a time. At the flick of a finger a fairy would descend with another calla lily glass filled with something fizzy, fruity and colorful. With one sip, Starr felt restored. She spun in the circle with Mav, his steps confident and attentive; then Emma, accepting Starr’s hands in her handpaws, ebony fur silky as mink. For a time, Starr twirled with Jason and together they seemed to float through the crowd. Later she spun with Amelia and Nora together, and sometimes with total strangers from other ‘reality’ shows—After Yesterday and Forever Paradise. Eventually, Mav returned to her.
Awards… happened. At random intervals the musical layers faded, then dropped to near-silence and the dancers slowed to a stop as if the machinery keeping them turning had run out of steam. The first time this happened, Jason lifted Starr’s hand to point at the sky as a small, pearlescent white hot air balloon slipped through the pink-purple clouds. It was piloted by a mouse in a flat-cap that leaned over the attached basket as if searching for a place to land, directing the balloon with small bursts of hot gas. Finding its happy place, the mouse dug into a sack and tossed a cloud of maroon dust into the air that re-formed into flashing, bright words suspended above the center stage: Most Charming Performance by an Actor in Boots.
“That’s a very specific category,” Starr murmured.
“I can’t wait to see those boots!” cried Jason. “Anyway, nobody knows what they’re nominated for until tonight, and many of the categories shift each year. All we know is, you wait for the mouse in the balloon. Then you discover what you won, and what for.”
“So, it’s totally nuts.”
“The human method of doling out awards is much more mundane,” he said.
The mouse heaved a scroll into the crowd, which tumbled into the hands of an actor Starr had danced with earlier from After Yesterday. The moment the scroll touched his fingers, the words in the air changed and flashed: Lyon Addison.
Lyon raised a fist in the air and a cheer rose from select paused dancers. Everyone else applauded politely.
“Squirrel nut zippers, I thought Nico had that one in the bag,” Jason groused. “After Yesterday is nothing but flash and trash.”
That made Starr realize she hadn’t seen Nico since they’d come down from the cliff. Not that I really need to see him. She was still irritated with his distance over the past months yet yearned to tell him of that irritation to his face. She wanted to hear his excuses, find out who he’d shacked up with once he didn’t have all the time in the world. Because it sure hadn’t been Samantha Wornicker.
Over the next several hours, the mouse returned to distribute more awards. Mav earned Most Ingenious Use of a Flowerpot, referring to the moment he’d clocked his wayward on-screen brother with such an item. Nora won Outstanding Emotional Blackmail, which Starr thought could apply to anything Beatrice ever did. Starr thought she’d have a shot with Most Glittering Newcomer but lost to someone else on Forever Paradise. Jason kissed the top of her head in condolence.
