I waved to Beth, watching her drive off before walking along the myriad of doors along this side of the building, looking for the one to Comicon. Door after door had a sign with an arrow pointing to the next door, THIS WAY TO COMICON. Finally finding it, I sighed. The standard-size office complex glass door, which looked amply wide enough for normal street clothes, looked suddenly way too narrow to walk directly through.
I looked down at my gorgeous, wide dress and back to the door, doing some mental measuring while a line formed behind me. With my panniers, I was wider front on than sideways. Maybe if…
I grabbed my skirts and turned sideways. But the door was still hard to reach past my skirts. I flailed a bit trying to grab it. Very embarrassing. And when I finally got hold of it, it was held fast in place, like some of these doors are, by a great deal of suction. Sideways as I was, I struggled to budge it, fearing it would give way suddenly and send me toppling onto my back like a beached turtle. Going through with an open umbrella would have been easier. And luckier.
Finally, a kind middle-aged gentleman dressed as an elf, realistic silicone pointy ears and all, came to my rescue and held the door for me.
I thanked him profusely and, embarrassed, stepped into the large, open foyer. I was immediately confronted with the realization that I would have to get up to the second floor and beyond to participate in a large part of Comicon. There were escalators a short distance in front of me. How was I ever going to manage an escalator?
During my stint in emergency, I'd seen too many things. One of them was a little girl who'd gotten a piece of her clothing caught in a moving escalator. The accident had left her with a permanent limp. It was lucky we'd been able to save her leg.
I glanced down at my dress again. No way. I'd have to take the elevator. But I'd take up the entire elevator all by myself.
As I looked around haplessly, someone pointed me to registration. Which turned out to be a couple of people at the bottom of the escalators handing out lanyards to hang our printed plastic badges on. The badges, which were our tickets, had been mailed to us beforehand. All I had to do was flash my ticket to get my lanyard.
I was used to medical conventions where they handed you an actual nametag. We'd had to register with our names, after all. And there was no goody bag full of brochures and samples, just a thick conference program, which I declined. Why carry that around all day when I really only wanted to go to one event and I had the app on my phone for anything I needed to know? The only other thing I might do was hit the show floor to see if anyone was selling Jamie souvenirs or gear.
I wanted to get Beth one of those cute, big-eyed, big-headed Jamie plastic pop figures that were so popular. That little plastic guy looked so adorable in his kilt and red hair. You could get the Elinor figures anywhere for around ten dollars. The Jamies had sold out quickly. The few that were now available online were sold by resellers acting like scalpers, and outrageously expensive, several hundred dollars. If I could score one for Beth, that would make her day.
"Which way is the line for the Jamie panel?" I asked the woman who handed me my lanyard.
The convention center was a sprawling complex with several buildings and additions connected by skywalks. I had assumed everything would be inside.
But the registration lady pointed out a pair of glass doors to an outside area. She eyed my dress and lack of coat skeptically. "That way. Follow the crowd control barriers and tape and you'll find the start of the line."
She glanced at my folded umbrella. "They're expecting a big crowd. It's lucky you're here early. The barricades wind around to the back of the building and in the other side. Hurry. If you're lucky, the end of the line may still be inside the building on the other side."
I nodded and hurried toward the doors, entranced and feeling like I'd stepped into another world and time. All around were superheroes, villains, comic book characters, princesses, elves, and orcs. Some of the costumes were elaborate and convincing. Others were obviously amateurish and homemade. All of them had charm in one way or another.
The bright red lanyard clashed with the red of my dress, and the badge with its printed manga theme didn't suit my period costume, but there was nothing for it. It was either wear the lanyard or carry my badge around all day and flash it whenever I wanted entrance to something. I was looking down, trying to clip the badge on my lanyard, when someone stepped directly in front of me.
As I crashed into him, he grabbed me by the arms. "Hello, beautiful. Running into you makes this my lucky day."
I looked up into the face of a man dressed like someone from a space western. He had one of those faces that was almost handsome, yet off in some key aspect that was hard to define but ruined the effect. The way he stared at me made me uncomfortable.
I realized he'd stepped in front of me on purpose. It was his clumsy way of hitting on me.
"Excuse me." I tried to step around him.
He easily blocked my attempt. "Not so fast. I haven't gotten to know you yet. What's your name?" His gaze slid over me lewdly.
There are men you're happy enough to let undress you with their eyes. He wasn't one of them.
"Sorry. I'm in a hurry." I tried again to maneuver around him.
Once again, he blocked my exit.
My damn dress kept getting in the way. I needed three times the space.
"Whoa, little lady. Slow down. I'm a friendly space cowboy." He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me into him as close as he could, given the girth of my dress.
I was suddenly thankful for that.
"A little too friendly." I didn't want him soiling my dress with his sweaty hands. I grabbed his hand to throw it off my waist.
He held on tighter. "Come on. Chill. Is this your first Comicon?"
"Seriously! I don't have time for twenty questions." I tried again to free myself, but his grip was tight.
"Give me your number and take a selfie with me and I promise I'll escort you wherever you're going."
Austin
"Damn," I said beneath my breath as the last of the workshop attendees left the room.
Now that they were gone, I dropped my prop sword and brought my injured hand into the open. I hadn't wanted our audience to see how badly I'd been hurt. It wasn't my intent to put them off cosplay weaponry. Exactly the opposite.
I clutched my right hand with my left. The hand was already looking bruised. One finger was possibly jammed. And my baby finger stuck out to the right at an odd, unnatural angle at the first knuckle, completely dislocated from its joint.
My head throbbed. Too many kilt lifters last night. We were all feeling the effects this morning. The hangover had slowed my reaction time during the mock battle.
Jeremy shut the door behind the last of the attendees and rushed to me. "Let me have a look."
I held my hand out.
He winced. "Ouch. That orc volunteer from the audience really got you."
I nodded. "Volunteers can be so unpredictable. His costume was so good, I thought he'd be skilled at mock swordplay."
"Yeah, man," Jeremy said. "He was rough and blundering. No finesse. Those kind are dangerous."
I sucked in a deep breath. My eyes watered from the pain. "My finger caught in the hilt of my sword when he wrenched me around. The bastard didn't even notice, just swung harder and kept going." I took another deep breath. "Fuck. I need ice."
Jeremy nodded gloomily.
"Screw it," I said. "After we see Stan Lee. Grab your stuff. Let's go spell Cam and Dylan in line."
Last night after Connor left us, we'd developed a complicated plan to see both Stan and Connor's panels. It involved a lot of switching out of places in line. Many "trips to the men's room" during the Jamie panel and substitutions so that one of us was in the Stan Lee line at all times and would do the forbidden seat saving once he got in. Jeremy and I were supposed to relieve Cam and Dylan in Stan's line so they could check out the Jamie VIP waiting area.
As I took a step forward, I grabbe
d my pinkie, thinking I'd snap it back into place. As I moved it, I saw stars and the room started to fade. I sat down on the nearest chair and put my head between my knees. This wasn't going to work. Cam, who was a real warrior, would have sworn a blue streak and berated me mercilessly for weak behavior. Fortunately, Jeremy was gentler and more sympathetic.
"Austin?" Jeremy kneeled beside me. "You need help. You need to see a medic or a doctor. How are you going to type to code with a damaged right hand? It's an occupational hazard. You can't risk a permanent bent finger."
"I'm fine. Just give me a minute."
"Don't be a hero, Austin." Jeremy touched my shoulder.
"No medics. No doctors. I won't miss either panel. This is our big day. I've waited too long for it to miss out now." I took a deep breath.
Jeremy stood and texted someone.
"What are you doing?" I said through clenched teeth.
"Texting Dylan to bring help."
"I'll be fine."
Jeremy's phone chimed. He glanced at it. "He's on it. He'll be here in a minute. Just sit tight. Cam's holding our spot. Let me take a look at that finger. Maybe I can get it back into place."
Blair
I shoved against the big lout, who kept the lens of his phone camera pointed at us in prep for taking a selfie. The last thing I wanted was to end up on his profile page somewhere.
I'd worked in emergency rooms. Been hit on by drunks and worse. I could handle myself. But I didn't want to resort to drastic actions in this dress and be kicked out of Comicon without seeing Connor Reid and Sam Roberts. Beth would be so disappointed.
I was assessing my chances of a good, strong blow to the top of his foot to startle him enough to let me go. But he was wearing boots. And I was wearing dainty French heels that were little more than slippers as far as strength. My odds of success were long. I was tempted to try it anyway, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a nearly identically dressed space cowboy appeared. He grabbed my captor by the shoulders and pulled him off me with apparent ease.
"Randy Dickless." The newcomer hissed the name as he faced the original space cowboy.
Oh, boy. Beth was going to enjoy herself way too much when I told her the story of two cowboys getting into a showdown over me.
The newcomer pointed to a standing sign behind me. "Stop harassing the lady. Can't you read? Cosplay is not consent. It's right there in black and white." He shoved me behind him protectively and faced off against Randy. "That's been the rule for years."
"Dylan." Randy glared back at him. "Mind your own business. The lady and I were having a friendly conversation."
"Didn't look that way to me." Dylan glanced at me for confirmation. "It looked like you were harassing her into taking a photo with you."
"I need to get in the Jamie line," I said with my chin up.
Dylan nodded. He was a big, strong-boned man. Handsome and fit. He had a good four or five inches on Randy Dickless.
"As it turns out, I have a friend waiting for me in that line," Dylan said. "I'll show you where it is." He gave Randy a seriously threatening back-off-and-scram glare.
I nodded and took the arm the second cowboy offered me. "Thank you."
"I'll get you for this, Dylan," Randy said. "You'll be sorry you tangled with me."
"Promises. Promises," Dylan said.
"You and your little app are going down." Randy's voice was full of venom and the impotent fury of a foiled toddler.
"He really is aptly named," I whispered to Dylan with a wink.
Dylan's laugh boomed. "That he is."
We walked off, leaving Randy to scowl after us and stomp off.
"I take it you two know each other?" I said.
"We have a long, unhappy, competitive history," Dylan said calmly. "You can see how he copied my costume."
"Tried to copy your costume," I said, admiring Dylan's. "Yours is gorgeous. Very authentic."
The big man's answering grin was charming. "I'll be sure to tell him how much you like mine next time I see him." Dylan frowned. "Which, unfortunately, I will. His real name is Randal Dixon. He goes by Randy. And Dickless suits him better."
"Oh, I agree," I said.
"He's a fellow programmer. He likes to think he's an app designer, too. But he hasn't had one that's taken off. Not like my buddies and me."
I swore his chest puffed out at the mention of the app. "What kind of app?" I said. "Do I know it?"
"It's a dating app," Dylan said, and told me about it.
"I know that app!" I said, impressed. That was one of the hottest ones in the store. "No wonder he's jealous."
"He's doubly jealous now." Dylan laughed and turned to me. "I have to make a quick stop by the medical desk. My friend is hurt and needs help. It'll just take a second."
I turned to him, horrified that we were wasting time with casual chatting. "What kind of help? Is it an emergency?"
The big man shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Not life threatening or anything. He needs an icepack. He hurt his hand during some swordplay in his workshop."
"Take me to him," I said, making a split-second decision.
Dylan frowned.
"I'm a doctor," I said.
Dylan nodded. "I'd appreciate it. This way." He offered his hand.
I grabbed it and we were off. He had long, quick strides, and was an imposing enough figure to make his way through the crowds without effort. I struggled to keep up with him, letting him pull me along like a child.
We quickly reached a workshop room.
Dylan pulled open the door and called out, "Austin? Jeremy? You still here? I brought help."
There was a muffled response from inside. Dylan held the door open and stepped aside to let me in.
A man in a superhero costume stood over another man who was seated. I could only see the seated man from behind, but I had a good enough view of what the superhero was doing to know the result wasn't going to be anywhere near super at all.
"Stop!" I said. "You can't set a dislocated finger that way! You'll do permanent damage. That finger will be crooked for life."
The man froze and looked up from what he was doing. The other man, who was redheaded and dressed in a kilt, turned around.
I froze, stunned. "Jamie? Connor Reid?"
I put my hand to my heart. This was like a fantasy of fantasies coming true. I was so excited and flustered, my whalebone corset was making it hard to breathe.
The superhero laughed. "Now that she thinks you're Connor, you just got a whole lot better looking. Don't let it go to your head."
I gathered my skirts and forced my feet to move to the patient.
The Highlander's gaze followed me as I came up beside him.
He stared at me, clenching his teeth against the pain of his injury. "Austin. Sorry to disappoint. Common mistake."
The superhero shook his head. "Common mistake!" He made a funny sound like a horse snorting. "Don't believe it. Connor is much better looking." He put on a fake Scottish accent. "Much hotter."
"Connor has prettier legs. That's a fact," Dylan said as he came up beside us.
The two men broke into laughter. Austin might have laughed if he wasn't in pain. It was hard to tell. As it was, he winced.
I held out my hand to him. "Let me have a look at that."
He held his hand protectively against his side as he studied me.
"It's all right," Dylan said. "She's a doctor."
The superhero looked at him. "I send you for a medic and you have to one-up me and bring a doctor." His gaze went to me. "Are you sure she's a doctor? Have you seen her license?"
"Stop fooling around," I said. "The man's in pain."
"Stop being a baby. Let her see your boo-boo, Austin." Dylan laughed.
Austin scowled at him and held his hand out to me. The pinkie finger of his right hand bent out to the side at the top joint. Seeing the finger dangling and at such an unnatural, disturbing angle, Dylan winced.
"I take it you haven't seen his
injury until now?" I said as I gently took Austin's large hand in mine. His hand was already bruising around the joint. But I knew at a glance I could reset it without problem. I'd done this hundreds of times.
The men were crowded close.
"Hurry and fix him," the superhero said. "We're supposed to be at the Jamie panel soon. Our friend Cam is saving our place in line for another panel. Someone needs to spell him soon."
Dylan elbowed the superhero. "Jeremy just wants to get back to flirt with the ladies."
"Give her a break," Austin said. "Let her have time to work. If it's so important, you two can head over. I'll catch up later."
"No, Austin, buddy. No," Dylan said. "We aren't leaving one of our own behind. Not to fight off the crowds alone. You haven't seen the throngs waiting to get into Jamie. Those women are vicious." He winked at Jeremy.
"Give me some room to work," I said, shooing Jeremy and Dylan away.
I turned back to Austin, heart thumping. He was the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen. Tall and solid muscle. Just as heart stopping as the fictional Jamie was onscreen. It didn't matter that he wasn't Connor Reid. To my eye, he was just as perfect. Being so near him made me feel flustered. I called up my professional training and pushed those feelings aside.
"This will hurt when I pop it back in," I warned him. "But only for a moment. Then it will feel better." I prepared to set it.
He watched me steadily, rattling me.
"You'd better look the other way," I said, not sure I could work properly with him watching me like that. "Take a deep breath. On the count of three. One. Two…"
I popped the finger back into its joint without waiting for three. This was a common trick of the trade. But it took a fair amount of strength to pull off properly.
He gasped. And then relaxed.
I wiped a bead of sweat off my brow. "It's all right. All done. You can look now."
He studied his hand and grinned the most wonderful grin when he saw his finger was back to normal. It lit his green eyes in a way that was breathtaking. "Amazing. There's no more pain."
I took a deep breath. "There will be. Once the shock wears off. Ice it and keep it immobile for a while. It really should be taped to the finger next to it. If I had my supplies with me…"
Almost Jamie (The Jet City Kilt Series) (Volume 1) Page 5