by Emma Savant
“Mari,” August said.
Mari waved a hand, and the lights in the room dimmed slowly. Above us, the projector sprang to life, shooting a crystal-clear image onto the screen. Dad leaned forward in his seat.
I resisted the urge to squirm. Watching myself onscreen was a horrible experience, and hearing myself sing was even worse. I wasn’t bad—I couldn’t convince myself of that, even though a tiny voice in the back of my head tried to—but no matter how great my performance or voice might be, it was still mine, and that was enough to make my cheeks go pink.
Next to me, Clarence sat, as engrossed in the image on the screen as I was uncomfortable. My face, larger than life, faded in as I emerged from the shadows atop a skyscraper as orchestral music thrummed quietly. Behind me, stars glittered.
There hadn’t been many stars when we were shooting. It was hard to see them with all the light pollution of the city, so a faerie on August’s crew had magicked up little enchanted constellations and set them floating behind me. The effect was more convincing than I’d expected it to be.
I silently cringed as I watched myself sing. After a moment, though, I realized no one else was cringing. Clarence was sitting on the edge of his seat, focused intently on the screen. Dad was bouncing one of his knees in time with the slow music. August stood with his arms folded, looking pleased. Even Mari seemed intrigued.
So finally, halfway through the video, I leaned back into the cushioned leather seat and let myself just watch and listen.
It was good, I realized. It was better than good. I looked exactly as I’d hoped I’d look. More than that, I sounded right. The right emotions rose off me, and the enchanted film captured my glamours beautifully. The camera panned around me as I stood on the edge of a building; I lifted my arms as glamoured starlight danced across my face. My skirt billowed in a wind I’d conjured up from my own emotions.
We’d filmed two versions of this, one for Glims and one using Humdrum technology that couldn’t capture the ephemeral quality of my glamours. I could tell, though, watching this, that even the Humdrum version was going to be beautiful.
The video ended with a close-up on my blue, moonlit face. Stars glinted in my eyes, and a single reflected meteor burned a bright line down the center of my pupil like a fiery tear. The screen went dark as the streak of its flame died out.
“Damn, though,” Clarence said.
There was a long silence, while everyone seemed to consider his words and agree there wasn’t much more to be said.
“This is good, August,” I said. “Really good.”
“I know,” he said. “It turned out remarkably well.”
“It’s almost like having the talent working with you makes a difference,” I said. I bit my tongue—I probably shouldn’t still be making digs at him over the first video—but then decided that he’d more than earned it, what with all the controlling-me stuff.
He didn’t seem offended. He just nodded, still looking at the dark screen as though the whole thought of collaborating with his client was new to him. Maybe we’d accomplished something here.
“Really fantastic job,” Dad said. “This is much better than anything we could have done on our own.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” August said.
He nodded sharply at Mari. She waved her hands, and the lights in the room slowly rose to a golden glow.
Dad and August started talking about the video again, each of them agreeing that it was great, fantastic, everything they’d hoped. Clarence leaned over to me.
“You’re good,” he said.
“You sound surprised.”
“Not surprised, exactly,” he said. “Glad. I meet a lot of people in different artistic fields, and I usually tend to like their art but not love it. I looked up your music after we met, though, and I loved it, and I loved this.” He nodded up toward the now-white screen. “You’ve got something special.”
“Hard work,” I said.
“And passion,” he said. “You mean this.”
“Of course I do,” I said. “How could you sing and not mean it?”
He grinned at me, and my stomach lurched like I’d just gone over a hill.
“What do you do, anyway?” I said. “You must be in the arts.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Why do you say that?”
“I met you at Starling’s party,” I said. “One plus one…”
“Ah,” he said. “I’m not an artist. I wish I were. I’d rather like to be talented at something. Really talented, I mean, like you.”
“Do you do management?” I said. “Marketing?”
“Not really,” he said. “I don’t work in your field, exactly, I just sort of—I’m peripheral to it.”
“Peripheral.”
He shifted. He looked almost embarrassed. I braced myself, waiting to hear that, actually, he was in the adult film industry or barely-legal model management.
“My dad’s English,” he said. “I think I mentioned that. What I didn’t mention was that, um, he’s sort of a king over there.”
“No kidding?” I said. We had lots of kings and queens and princes and princesses in the Glimmering world, all descended from old monarchs or prominent faeries or members of sorcerers’ governments. The titles didn’t mean much anymore. When everyone was royalty, no one was.
But he still looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
“He’s, like, an actual king,” he said. “By which I mean to say, he’s in the Faerie Queen’s inner circle. He’s in charge of quite a big swath of western Europe.”
“Oh,” I said.
That was different.
My brain started racing a million miles an hour. If his dad was King Theodoric of the Western Nations, that made Clarence Prince Clarence, as in the prince of the entire western European magical community, including the historic faerie kingdoms of Ireland.
“Oh,” I said again.
I should have known. I should have guessed. He’d said he had an English father—King Theodoric—and American mother—Queen Raina, then—and he obviously hadn’t been raised here.
I realized I was staring at him. Gaping at him, even.
“Well,” I said, trying to sound composed. “That’s… pretty cool.”
He made a face like he’d just tasted something bitter.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s awkward, isn’t it?”
“No,” I said. He gave me the most deadpan look ever, and I laughed. “Okay, yeah, it’s… weird.”
“Yeah, well, you’re Dior Miller, so that’s weird, too.”
“Not even on the same level.”
“Not yet,” he said. “We’ll chat again once this music video goes out.”
“So, Dior, do I have your approval?” August asked, cutting in. I was kind of glad he hadn’t seemed to hear our conversation. He hadn’t given any indication of knowing who Clarence was, and I got the feeling August would want to capitalize on my royal connection. I didn’t want anyone to capitalize on this. Not until I’d at least started to process it.
I mentally reviewed the video, trying to remember if anything had seemed off. I couldn’t come up with anything. It had been perfect.
“I’m totally on board,” I said. “It’s fantastic. You outdid yourself.”
“You outdid yourself,” he said, flashing his pearly teeth. “I’ve almost booked you for an interview on one of the Mirrornet talk shows.”
“Which one?” Dad said.
August shrugged, rather grandly. “I don’t know yet,” he said. “They’re in a bit of a bidding war for an exclusive interview. It’s down to The Rapunzel Show and Spellbound Tonight.”
My eyes widened. These were not local shows. They were filmed here in Portland—as one of the country’s Glimmering hubs, that wasn’t unusual—but they were broadcast across the entire country and up into Canada.
“That’s great news,” Dad said. “Dior, isn’t that great?”
“That’s ama
zing,” I said. “Keep me posted.”
“You can be assured of that,” August said. “Mari, see that Dior schedules an appointment with my team for later this week.” He folded his arms and put his hand to his mouth, examining me. “You’re already a splendid musician. We’re going to turn you into a star.”
Chapter 10
We stepped out of the elevator. Sadie hiked her purse strap higher onto her shoulder, and Briana let out a low whistle.
“This is, like, fancy,” she said.
“Very opulent,” Sadie said, in a voice that implied she didn’t think opulence was the same as good taste. Sadie’s preferences leaned more toward white Scandinavian minimalism, and August’s black-and-gold marble-filled lobby reminded me of a hotel she had once described as “what passes for classy among people who think classy is an un-ironic concept.”
“You weren’t kidding about the receptionist,” Briana muttered under her breath. Mari was behind the desk as usual, looking polished in a black sheath dress.
“Hi, Mari,” I said. I smiled brightly at her, and got only a thin, polite smile in return.
“Mr. Rumpel is running late this morning, but his stylists are ready for you,” she said. She glanced at Briana and Sadie. “If your guests could sign in?”
She pushed a cream-colored paper on a black clipboard across the desk. Briana scribbled her name on the first line, and Sadie wrote hers neatly underneath it.
Mari led us back past the elevators and through a sparkling-clean glass door framed in gold. All the black doors in this hallway were closed except for one. Mari stopped just inside it and waved us into a bright room with large windows that looked out onto the street below.
“This is Mr. Rumpel’s head stylist, Calista Gilmore,” Mari said. “Calista, this is Dior.”
She ignored Briana and Sadie, who hung behind me.
Calista was a curvy woman with layered ashy hair and smoky eyeliner, and she carried herself with the confidence of a woman who owned whatever space she occupied. She walked up to me, looking at me like she was trying to memorize everything she saw, and held out a hand.
“Good to meet you,” she said. “You’ve got nice zygomatic bones.”
That was a new one.
“Thanks,” I said, hoping that was the right answer.
Her eyes skimmed over my friends and landed back on Mari.
“I’ll take it from here,” she said.
“Mr. Rumpel will be here in approximately an hour,” Mari said.
Calista pressed her lips together. “I’m sure he will,” she said. “He’s left remarkably clear instructions, as always.”
“As always,” Mari echoed. She turned and left. I heard her heels clicking on the floor back down the hallway.
Calista walked further into the room, waving at us to follow.
“Have a seat,” she said, without looking back. She waved vaguely toward a stylist’s chair that was set up in front of an array of mirrors, lit along the edges from behind.
This room was gorgeous, just like the rest of August’s offices. The black and gold theme had been toned down to white and gold here. The floor was a beautiful warm hardwood, and the walls and furniture were creamy white. Gold accent pillows sat on a sofa pushed up against the walls, and daylight streamed through the windows. Sadie sat carefully on the white cushions of one of the sofas, and Briana flopped down next to her.
Calista stepped into a closet on the other side of the room from my chair. Its open doorway showed racks of clothes carefully organized by color. I watched Calista run her fingers expertly along the hangers, and she pulled out a small selection of garments. She hung them on a wheeled rack just outside the closet, then came to stand behind me.
“August wants glamour,” she said. “Not the faerie kind, though I’m sure he’ll expect plenty of that from you, too.”
“I always use glamours in my shows,” I said.
“Looks like you’ll be ahead of the game, then,” she said dryly.
I caught Briana’s reflection in the mirror. Her eyebrow was raised, and she did not look impressed by this stylist. I hoped she’d keep her mouth shut, at least until this woman was done with me. It felt like a bad idea to be anything but extremely polite to anyone who was about to take full control over how my hair looked.
“Has August gone over his style choices with you?” she said.
“Not in too much detail,” I said. “He said he wants a sophisticated, upscale look.”
“Yes,” Calista said. “Because that’s what makes teen pop idols relatable.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help myself.
She caught my eye in the mirror, and I saw the corner of her mouth quirk up.
“As I’m sure you’ve surmised, we are all at Mr. Rumpel’s disposal,” she said. “You have any strong opinions about how you look at the end of this?”
“No,” I said. “I want to be in charge of the music. I’ll wear whatever August wants as long as it’s not cheetah print.”
“I heard about that,” Calista said.
“She won’t go blond, either,” Briana volunteered. “And she will literally kill you before you can get her into lavender.”
“Figuratively,” Sadie corrected.
“It makes me look like a zombie,” I said.
“No cool pastels for you,” Calista said. “You have nice, rich coloring. Lavender or anything like it will drain you.”
She washed my hair in the sink next to the counter, then began combing it out and cutting it with sharp scissors. She and Briana and I chatted as she worked, while Sadie quietly observed. Calista layered my hair and then ran her fingers through it, infusing magic that would keep it healthy and shiny for a few weeks.
“You’ll need a touch-up every month or so,” she said. “It’ll be the hair of your dreams as long as the charm lasts. As soon as it stops being perfect, come back to me and I’ll smooth it back out.”
“Could you do that for me?” Briana said.
Calista nodded and waved her over. She did Sadie’s, too, and even her always-immaculate hair looked better once the charm had worked through.
She’d blown out my hair and clipped it back to work on my makeup when August arrived.
The atmosphere changed immediately. Calista straightened up, and the warm smile that had slowly grown on her face over the last hour froze in place.
“Mr. Rumpel,” she said. “I’m still working on Ms. Miller. I’d be happy to come get you when we’re ready.”
“No need,” August said. He waved at her, and she rotated my chair so he could see our progress.
“Hair’s done,” I said.
He nodded, but continued reviewing my face as closely as if it were his own.
“A nice muted lip, I think,” he said. “Glossy, since people will focus on it when she sings, but not too much.”
“Of course,” Calista said.
“This is coming along nicely,” he said.
I wasn’t sure if this meant my makeover or me.
“You’re a treasure of raw material, Dior,” August said. “I’m going to spin you into pure gold.”
“Dior’s already pure gold,” Briana said.
August turned, startled, as if he hadn’t noticed them before. “You must be Dior’s friends!” he said, as though nothing in the world had ever brought him more delight. “Such a pleasure.”
He shook their hands. They both seemed skeptical of him at first, and then their expressions softened.
I sent August a sharp wave of energy. He turned. I gave him a stern look, and he mouthed, Sorry, sorry, and took his attention off them.
We’d have to have a chat about him using his particular gifts on my friends and family.
“You look great,” August said. “Calista, she looks fantastic. This new look is going to suit you, Dior. You have such natural grace, and this style is going to showcase you without being too overbearing.”
I sat up straighter. I’d heard that phrase before, natural grace, u
sually before a vocal coach or dance teacher reminded me that it’d be more visible if my posture improved.
August gave me a final once-over, and then he told us he’d be in his office and left. Calista seemed to breathe more deeply once he was gone. She finished my makeup without saying too much more, then went to the clothes she’d pulled out earlier.
“This one,” she said. She tossed me a black dress. I’d changed in front of Briana and Sadie millions of times, and I’d never known a stylist who cared about seeing me in my underwear, so I quickly shimmied out of my clothes and into the dress, which was sleeveless and came down to my feet but had long sheer black panels running down the sides of my legs.
“Clarence is going to lose his mind,” Briana said. “You look amazeballs.”
Sadie, who usually did not approve of women dressing to interest men, nodded her agreement.
“Who’s Clarence?” Calista asked.
“A friend of mine,” I said, quickly.
“Dior’s crazy about him,” Briana said. “He’s ultra gorgeous and kind of a big deal.”
“And he’s just a friend,” I said firmly.
A friend I’d been mirroring every night for the last week. We both kept busy schedules, but still kept finding time to exchange texts and meet up for lunch.
I turned around so Calista could zip up the dress.
“You don’t like him like that?” Calista said, fastening a slim silver belt around my waist. She unclipped my hair and let it cascade down my shoulders.
I thought about lying, but I was a faerie and my face would give me away in a hot second.
“Oh, I like him,” I said. I slipped into the heels Calista offered. “Damn, these are high. I just can’t really get involved with anyone right now. My career is the main thing, and August’s been talking about sending me on tour. Long distance relationships are the worst.”
“Hello, you are a Glim,” Briana said. “It’s not like he couldn’t find ways to visit you.”
“It’s still weird,” I said. “Even if he can cut down on travel time with a magic carpet or whatever, that’s an awkward expectation to put on anyone. ‘Hi, I’m so important, please drop everything you’re doing to follow me around.’”