by SM Reine
She looked at the waiting autograph seekers, then back to him. “I’d like to talk with you more, though. Lunch?”
He blinked. Spark Jaxley was inviting him to lunch?
“Sure.”
“Great.” Her mouth quirked up into a smile. “Come up to the VirtuMax VIP suite. Number 504. I’ll tell my guys to let you in.”
“Yo, Spark! Time to get to work,” Vonda called, waving toward the table.
Fans were stacked up ten deep already, the ones in front giving Aran bitterly envious looks. He could practically hear them wondering who this guy was, taking up their idol’s attention and keeping her from the essential task of signing her name and making small talk with them.
“I have to go,” Spark said. “See you later.”
Wonderful. He’d be stepping into the heart of VirtuMax security, carrying secrets that could get him in serious trouble. Watching Spark swing her magenta hair back and sit down at the table, Aran found that he couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sweet music played through the shadowed meadows and shivered through the silver-leaved oaks of the Dark Realm. Perched upon her tangled throne, the Dark Queen smiled.
The nixie combing her hair beside a moonlit stream paused, then bared her rows of sharp, serrated teeth. The wisps in the brackish swamps danced and swirled, leaving blue streaks of luminescence in the air. Moths with sightless eyes on pale wings fluttered helplessly, trapped in sticky, black-stranded webs.
“Well done, Codcadden,” the queen said to the redcap goblin hunched in a bow before her. “When the moon shutters her face to the mortal world, you will fetch this human who has freely agreed to enter the realm.”
“My lady,” the goblin said. “How shall we bring him hither?”
“Send me.” The Huntsman lifted his horned head. “My hunt has brought many a mortal across that boundary, and my hounds grow restless.”
“No,” the queen said. “I do not want him to arrive fickle-minded and wits-wandering from riding with the Wild Hunt. Three goblins and the Enchanted Sack shall do. After all, the mortal is willing.”
“As my lady wishes.”
The Huntsman returned to his vigil, his red-eyed hounds curling about him. The goblin before the throne bowed even lower, until his nose brushed the silken mosses.
“Go,” the queen said. “Be assured of my favor. Your clan is welcome at the feasting tonight.”
The goblin departed, not daring to glance at his ruler’s face. The queen’s moods were fickle of late, and the wrong tilt of the head or set of the mouth could send her into a rage. Perhaps, he thought, this new mortal could set things aright.
In the shadows behind the throne, the court musicians played softly. The music quieted as a weary-faced man stilled his guitar and stepped up beside the queen.
“My lady,” he said. “Are you indeed set upon this course?”
“Bard Thomas.” The look she turned on him was full of frost and midnight. “Do you think to barter for yet another mortal’s life? Your human ways grow tiresome, and I begin to regret our bargain.”
“Forgive me. I shall not speak of it again.”
He made her a deep bow, then backed away, returning the sweet notes of his guitar to the music weaving about the court. The feasting tables were laid, platters heaped with delicacies for the ethereal and hideous denizens of the Dark Court to dine upon. Tall candelabras lined the tables, their flames unearthly still despite the night breeze. Gossamer-winged faerie maids laughed and danced, while black-haired creatures growled and slavered from the shadows.
The Dark Queen surveyed her court, then let her awareness expand to the very edge of her realm. On one side she was bounded by brightness, on the other, the newly rebuilt boundary between the Realm of Faerie and the human world.
Rebuilt, yes, but not without chinks in that obdurate wall. Her passage through might be barred for the moment, but soon enough she would hold the mortal key.
Two hours later, Spark’s hand cramped and ached from signing autographs. She’d known it would, but she still refused to use a stamp, or pre-printed photos. Sure, VirtuMax had made her their spokesmodel, but the fans were way more important to her than the company. It was important to keep the whole fame thing as real as possible—for everyone involved.
Rubbing her palm with her left thumb, she let her security guys do their job and escort her with minimal drama out of the Expo Hall. Once they reached the corridor outside, she realized how incredibly noisy it had been on the floor. Her ears still hummed from the aftermath.
She sighed, and Burt gave her a sympathetic glance.
“Two more days, Miss Jaxley.”
She wished her security team would call her by her first name, but they were sticklers for following protocol. It was one of the reasons VirtuMax hired the company in the first place. After a couple of tries she’d quit trying to argue about it.
“One day, really,” she said. “The con’s over after the big lunch panel tomorrow.”
After that, she was off to do a string of appearances at game emporiums and super-stores up and down the coast. The week of the official FullD release was packed with multiple events, plus a daytime news show interview and a guest spot at Bella Boingo’s sold-out stadium concert. SimCon was a vacation in comparison.
“Your guest has arrived, miss,” Joe, the guard at the door of her VIP suite, said. “He’s waiting inside.”
“Thanks.”
Right. She’d almost forgotten that she’d invited Aran to have lunch with her. It had been an impulse, but something about his reaction to playing Feyland had been off. And Feyland plus weirdness wasn’t something she could overlook.
Aran was reclining in a big white beanbag in the main room, texting on his messager. When he saw her, he tucked the device away and jumped to his feet. His smile really was cute, and she liked how the corners of his eyes crinkled from it.
“Hey,” she said. “Sorry to make you wait.”
“No stress. They give you way more comfortable chairs than us peons in the volunteer room. It’s good to slack after running around all morning.”
“You’re a volunteer?”
For some reason she’d thought he was on the con staff. Maybe because of his self-assurance, or his calm manner. It was refreshing to spend time with someone her own age who didn’t freak out in her presence. The rest of the Feyguard excepted.
“Yeah,” he said, “I’m a gofer.”
“So you’re a local? Come eat, and tell me what I should see on my half-day off.”
Though part of her had considered spending her partial day off asleep, she also hated to miss seeing new places. This city, despite the dreary weather, seemed interesting.
She led him to the small table where the catered lunch was set up. Nothing special—turkey wraps with veggies, chips, and her favorite chocolate bars, imported from Belgium.
Aran snagged a soda from the assortment on the table, then took his own chair. He popped the top, the crisp sound loud in the quiet of the suite.
“Do you have an umbrella?” he asked. “A raincoat?”
“Probably.”
“You don’t know?” He shot her a look. “Or did you leave it at home?”
“It’s complicated.”
She took a bite of her lunch, suddenly embarrassed. Now that she was paying attention, she could tell Aran’s clothes were a little too worn to be fashionable. She’d bet credits that he’d worn the same jeans yesterday. Which was a normal thing, except that she knew what it was like to have one decent pair, and no money for more. And she knew that slight air of defiance that came from wearing the only presentable clothing you had.
“I travel a lot,” she said. “All over the world. When it’s winter here, it’s summer someplace else.”
“That must be prime, seeing all those countries.” His voice held a note of yearning.
She didn’t ask him if he’d traveled much. She didn’t need to. It was clear Aran wanted to go places, but hadn�
��t. Yet.
“Thing is,” she continued, “sometimes I don’t even know where VirtuMax is sending me until I get there. I have an assistant that knows my schedule weeks in advance. She packs everything I need and makes sure it’s waiting for me on arrival.”
His eyes widened. “Don’t you have anything that goes with you? Favorite shirt or something?”
“I have a few possessions, but I prefer to travel light. Makes things easier.”
She couldn’t afford to get too attached, to things or people. Two and a half years on the road had taught her that. Whether it was a broken heart when she had to leave her first boyfriend behind, or the treasured necklace that had been stolen from her bags, she’d had to learn how to let go.
“Since you were coming here, I’m sure you have a raincoat,” he said. “Dig it out, because the best parts of this city are outside.”
As they finished eating lunch, Aran described the highlights of his home town: the outdoor fair, the famous skyscraper, the hidden cove by the sea, reachable only by walking along old train tracks.
“And of course,” he said, “no visit is complete without sampling the ice cream stands all over the place.”
“Isn’t it a little cold for that?” She pushed her empty plate away and started unwrapping one of the chocolate bars, the purple foil smooth under her fingers.
“We don’t care.” He grinned at her. “That’s why they’re combo vendors. Ice cream and coffee. Or hot chocolate, if you prefer.”
“I do.” She broke a square off the bar and offered it to him. “How could you tell?”
“Lucky guess.”
He accepted the chocolate, then reached over and took her hand. It was a natural gesture, and she was too surprised to pull away.
“You’ve been rubbing your palm this whole time,” he said. “Let me.”
“I have?” She knew her hand ached, but hadn’t paid much attention.
It was bold of him to reach out like that, yet it made her feel normal—like she wasn’t the untouchable sim star everybody else saw. She’d stop him if he pushed her boundaries too far, but the novelty of his gesture kept her silent, and strangely content.
His fingers wrapped around the back of her hand, strong and warm, while his thumb massaged her open palm. It was a delicious feeling, in all kinds of ways. Blood rushed through her, while the ache in her hand eased. She let out a long breath, and he stopped.
“Too hard?”
“No—it’s perfect.” She probably should ask him to stop, but it felt so good.
Not just the massage, which was great, but the sensation of touch, of someone’s skin against her own. She felt like a drooping plant getting much-needed water.
Finally, he stopped and pulled his hand away. It was hard to tell with his dusky skin, but she thought he was blushing.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much. Maybe I should hire you to come on tour as my hand massager. Put you on the VirtuMax payroll.” She was only half joking.
Something flashed through his eyes, and he sat back a little. She didn’t know what she’d said, but the closeness she’d felt between them was gone.
“I need to get back to work,” he said, tugging on the badge slung around his neck. “Thanks for lunch.”
Disappointment curled through her, along with the realization she hadn’t had a chance to ask him more about his time in Feyland.
“Can’t you stay a bit longer?”
He stood. “Sorry—my shift is about to start and I don’t want to be late.”
Clearly she didn’t have time now to ask probing questions about his in-game experience, but she wasn’t going to let this go. As a member of the Feyguard, she couldn’t.
“Are you free tonight?” she asked.
“Maybe.” His tone was cautious.
“VirtuMax is throwing a party,” she said, trying to sound casual. “If you want, I’ll put you on the guest list. Bring a friend.”
Did he have a girlfriend? She didn’t like how the thought stabbed. Well, she’d find out—and it wasn’t like she could start dating the guy herself. She was leaving first thing Monday morning.
“That would be great,” he said, and sounded like he meant it.
She walked him over to the door. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, not quite touching.
“See you later, then,” she said. “It’s in suite 204.”
“Okay. Later.”
He met her gaze, and something in his dark eyes made a little flame flicker to life in the middle of her chest. Then he was gone, closing the door softly behind him.
Dammit. She was not falling for some cute gamer guy she knew nothing about. Even if he seemed nice and had rubbed her hand.
Spark leaned her forehead against the closed door, feeling the vibrations of the con rumbling through the building. She didn’t want to turn around and go back into the empty suite, breathe in the stale air of loneliness, and eat the rest of the chocolate by herself.
But she did.
Aran’s feet were sore from working the Expo Hall the rest of the afternoon. At five o’clock, he and two other volunteers walked through the big room, announcing they were closing up for the night. All the convention-goers needed to leave before the main doors locked at five thirty. The vendors would have one door available to them, but that would close at six.
“Doors reopen at ten,” Aran called. “Everybody out.”
Two gray-haired guys were arguing at a table filled with old-school RPG books and board games. One of them picked up a figurine and brandished it.
“The introduction of the Elbeck was the worst idea, ever! From then on, the game totally dived.”
“Lies. Without the Elbeck, the entire storyline makes no sense. Dude, you’re an idiot.”
Aran leaned forward, ready to intervene if things got violent. The one guy raised his hand, and Aran started to sprint over, only to relax as the Elbeck-hater clapped the other fellow on the back.
“Come on,” he said, tossing the figurine down on the table. “Let’s go get a beer.”
“Right on.”
The two men headed for the exit, still arguing companionably. Behind them, a couple sporting tufted ears and long, striped tails darted, playing a growling game of tag on their way out.
Gamers. Aran shook his head, but couldn’t help smiling. These crazy people were his tribe—even though he’d gone over to what some of them would call the dark side. He felt too stuffy, dressed in his jeans and SimCon shirt. Tonight, the blue streak was going back in his hair.
He met Bix at the info table up front, the Expo Hall strangely quiet as the vendors closed up.
“I’m so ready for fun,” Bix said. “Think we can get into some more parties? Maybe we’ll meet up with Cyndee and Pema again.”
Aran had to think for a second, “Right—warrior princess and robo-enforcer-girl.”
“You have to admit, they were pretty flawless.”
There was only one girl on Aran’s mind, and nobody else at the convention could even come close.
“If you want to go to a party,” he said, “how about VirtuMax’s?”
Bix snorted. “Right. You have to be on the list for that one. No sliding in just because of our shirts and badges.”
“I got us on the list.”
“What?” Bix stared at him, his eyes comically wide. “Not true.”
“Yes true.”
“Woot!” Bix started dancing around, waving his long arms. “I can’t believe it—this is so prime!”
Aran couldn’t help smiling at his friend’s excitement. He shared it, though he drew the line at dancing like a maniac.
It would be good to see Spark one more time before the con ended. And she had mentioned her half-day off. If he invited her to see the city with him, would she come? His pulse sped at the thought.
Bix finally stopped dancing. “When does the party start?”
“I’m not sure. Not too early.”
“What should we wear?
Like, costumes, or just normal clothes? Do you think Spark Jaxley will be there?”
“No doubt. Come on.” Aran headed for the exit.
Somehow, the moment to reveal his budding friendship with Spark had come and then gone. Now it felt too late.
“I think I’ll be NinjaQuad,” Bix said. “I can use my brother’s costume.”
“Will it fit?” Outside the Expo Hall they took a right, back toward Gofer Central.
“I’ll make it fit. What are you wearing?”
“Let’s grab our stuff and go home,” Aran said. “We can figure out it out, eat something, and get back here within a couple hours. The party won’t get going until then, anyway.”
He didn’t feel like arguing with Bix about wearing a costume. It would be enough to re-dye his hair and wear his Tinz shirt—his favorite band. He’d actually bought the shirt, though he’d climbed the fence with a couple of friends to sneak into the concert. Good times.
So, no costume. For one thing, he didn’t have one, and for another, he wanted Spark to recognize him. He had a feeling she’d be herself, too—though the room would probably be full of magenta-haired gamer girls.
Which meant going as Spark Jaxley was the perfect disguise.
CHAPTER SIX
Loud music throbbed through suite 204, along with flashing lights from the temporary dance floor. Spark sipped a glowing cup of VirtuMax-red punch, watched the multicolored lights play over the partygoers, and tried not to stare at the door. Just because Aran said he’d come didn’t mean he would. Or that it meant anything if he did. Being put on the guest list wasn’t the same thing as actually going on a date.
Get it together, she told herself, heading to the refreshment table. It was ridiculous to waste time dreaming over a guy. Even if he was cute, and good company.
She grabbed a plate and put a couple of cookies on it to give herself something to do, then went to lean against the wall again. Luckily, in the semi-dim light, it was hard for people to see that she was the actual Spark Jaxley. So far she’d counted eight other people dressed like her—and not all of them were women.