“So what’s with the props and those cards?” Washington asked. “There’s no way personal laser weapons have been invented without people finding out.”
Ree looked to Drake, who shrugged unhelpfully, then turned her head back to Washington. “Off the record?”
The cop shook her head, rueful. “I’m going to have to pull some major Scully on this report as is. I don’t need it getting any more complicated than necessary.”
Ree raised an eyebrow at Washington, pondering, then began. “There are many styles of magic. Drake has his technomantic Steampunk—”
“Though mine is more properly a science,” Drake said, cutting in with a smile.
They’d had this discussion more than once. By this time, Ree knew he was just giving her crap.
Ree nodded, conceding the point. “But mine works off of fandom. What’s your favorite movie?” Ree asked.
Washington cocked her head to the side. “Die Hard. Why does that matter?”
“Good choice. I love Die Hard, too. If I watched Die Hard, I could use magic to focus on how tough and inventive John McClane was, and I’d get some of that toughness, that inventiveness. I’d get to bring some of the action-movie physics he lived by in Die Hard into this world, be able to fight on when I should be moaning on the ground, maybe even get a flash of insight just in the nick of time, complete with a snappy one-liner.”
Ree took a sip of her blissfully consistent cappuccino. “Every movie or show has something I can use, but only if I have a personal attachment to it. If I watched The Expendables, all I’d get is a headache, because I hated that piece of crap and have no desire to make any kind of connection with it.”
Washington shook her head. “Never saw it.”
“Don’t. But that’s the gist. Props and one-offs like those cards work a bit differently. They draw on the collective love and nostalgia from around the world. The combined nostalgia of all the Star Trek fans makes this phaser prop a real phaser, but only in the hands of someone like me. Make sense?”
Washington’s eyes were wide, looking to Drake, then Jane, and back to Ree. “No, but I’ll take your word on it. As far as I’m concerned, we chased a perp off and weren’t able to pursue.”
Ree nodded. “So you keep the weird stuff under wraps, we get Jane back to the trailer, and we’re good?” Ree asked, begging the universe it would be that easy.
Washington leaned back in her seat, setting her cup down. She started listing off items on her fingers. “That’s the start, but we’re going to put a police detail on the set, the detectives will come back for more questions, and one of you is going to fill in the department—and by the department, I mean my captain—about what exactly is going on in this town. If your police force doesn’t know what’s going on with the magic and weird-shit community, we can’t exactly protect you.”
Ree stared into her cappuccino, hoping it would give her answers. She took a sip and waited for inspiration. Nope, only caffeinated deliciousness with a hint of hazelnut.
“It’s not going to be that easy. The magic underground is so complicated that it makes season six of Lost look like season one of Lost,” Ree said.
Thankfully, Washington nodded. Jane laughed. And Drake just shrugged.
“So we can go, then? I could sleep for a week,” Jane said.
“You think it’ll be safe?” Ree asked.
Jane nodded. “Unless whoever it is can conjure another of those things right away, I should be fine.”
“Then let’s get to it.” Washington stood, downed the rest of her coffee in one gulp, then moved for the door.
“Thanks, Mary,” she said to the barista, who nodded.
“Later, Von.”
Ree stood and hustled two quick steps to catch up. “Von?”
“Yvonne. My first name.”
“And what is your rank? It seemed like you were jerking me around earlier.”
“Just officer. Though after this, we’ll see.” Washington’s eyes sparkled with ambition. Ree recognized the look from Jane’s eyes, and from her own.
Three women driven by stubbornness and ambition, and a man driven by righteousness and curiosity.
What could possibly go wrong?
• • •
Ree left Jane at her trailer and caught a cab home, where she unlocked the door as quietly as she could then relocked everything behind her and snuck to bed. The cappuccino having barely made a dent in her fatigue, she hit the bed like deadfall.
And woke up to the sound of knocking.
“I don’t want any,” Ree mumbled. She clawed for her glasses, finding them and bringing them to bear to see Sandra in the doorway, wearing a towel around her torso and another one around her hair.
Sandra Wilson (Strength 15, Dexterity 13, Stamina 13, Will 12, IQ 17, and Charisma 13—Geek 3 / Scholar 3 / Dancer 1 / Teacher 1 / Waitress 1 / Chef 2 / Professional 1) was six feet tall and change, and built like a Themysciran from the George Perez era. On the days that Ree felt down about her own looks, having a roommate like Sandra did not help. But she was kind, funny, financially stable, and giving to a fault.
“What’s up?” Ree asked.
“It’s eleven. Are you getting up at all today?”
“Do I have to?” Ree asked, trying to remember.
“I haven’t seen you in three days. Is everything okay?” Sandra asked.
“This pilot is kicking my ass. And yesterday was crazy at work.” Like Charlie, Sandra thought Ree worked at a private catering service, since magic gamer bar/hangout wasn’t exactly going to fly without a lot more explanation.
“Well, do you have time for brunch with the gang?”
“Only always,” Ree said. She ignored the voice in her head that said she needed to be making plans, checking sources, and replenishing her armory. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t let the hero gig ruin her life, and damned if she was going back on that. The Rhyming Ladies had always been there for Ree, as long as she’d known them. Plus, brunch was code for “societally-approved opportunity for gorging on both breakfast and lunch foods.”
Ree rolled out of bed and stretched, noticing she was still wearing last night’s clothes, burned shoulder and all.
You don’t notice the weird, Ree willed at her friend while trying to act nonchalant. You want to get brunch. “Let me get a quick shower, and I’m game. Where are we going?”
“Anya and Priya are meeting us at Top O’ the Morning.” Top O’ the Morning was an intentionally kitschy Irish brunch place that took the Applebee’s approach to interior decorating, narrowed the focus to gaudy Irish cultural artifacts and served it all up with a heavy dose of snark. It was Ree’s kind of Irish joint.
Ree hauled herself into the shower and started daydreaming about the chocolate chip pancakes, the local sausage, and the heavenly scrambled eggs. The restaurant also served a fine selection of beers, ciders, and hangover cocktails, which they had over nearly every brunch place in existence.
A few minutes later, she had done her best to wash away the night, popped a handful of ibuprofen for good measure, and packed herself a small badass bag in case there was trouble. She delayed just long enough to watch a few minutes of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to pull a quick Occulus Reparo on her glasses, and then set off for brunch.
• • •
Top O’ the Morning was filled to the brim with brunchers: the sickeningly cute young couples, college students sobering up after a wild night, and, of course, Ree Reyes and the Rhyming Ladies. Despite all of her efforts, Ree had failed to get them to be a band.
When she and Sandra arrived, they saw that the other half of their quartet was already there—and seated. Ree wasn’t sure who Anya and Priya had killed to get a table for four, but Ree would gladly help move the bodies.
Anya stood from the table to wave them over. Anya Rustova (Strength 7
, Dexterity 12, Stamina 15, Will 15, IQ 16, Charisma 15—Musician 5 / Geek 2 / Scholar 4 / Opera Diva 3) was six feet of bombshell in a five-two figure. Today she was wearing an elaborate folded-over-itself pearl necklace and a leopard-print shirt, in concession to her Russian fashionista heritage.
Ree’s heart split in two when she saw the fourth of their merry band, Priya. Priya Tharakan (Strength 8, Dexterity 13, Stamina 12, Will 14, IQ 17, and Charisma 15—Geek 3 / Professional 3 / Seamstress 4 / Steampunk 3 / Goth 2) was not your typical Steampunk—she wore black on black on black, instead of the subculture’s native brown. Today she had a black turtleneck, a broad black belt bedecked with gears, and a pair of pour-yourself-in black skinny jeans.
She looked marvelous, especially because of the big smile on her face. Which made Ree think about Drake, then Jane, then how idiotically high school the whole thing had become. But that was a matter for another conversation.
She’s happy, let her be happy. You cannot handle a boyfriend and a girlfriend. Seriously, no.
“Thanks for grabbing the table,” Ree said as she leaned in to hug Priya. Girls before bros, she thought, affirming her choice. Then her stomach grumbled, which gave her much better things to think about. Ree hugged Anya and then took her seat while the restaurant bustled around them.
“What’s got you so happy?” Sandra asked as she wiped the condensation sweat off of her water glass.
Again, Ree was split in two. She mirrored Priya’s embarrassed smile while jealousy danced a traditional seis in her stomach.
“A gentleman caller has not only survived the Are You a psycho date but has served as eye candy at the gallery show,” Anya said, jostling Priya with her elbow.
Priya’s cheeks were rosy, beaming with the happy of infatuation.
Ree reconsidered her choice to not order a drink. She already had a cocktail of emotions swimming around her stomach, why not a real one?
Their server, an Irish guy with hair curly enough to be a Hobbit came by and took Ree’s order for a screwdriver and Sandra’s for coffee.
“So, how did it go?” Sandra asked Priya, continuing.
“Good. It was good.”
“Good? I can’t sell good. Give me copy, woman!” Anya said, affecting a J. Jonah Jameson voice and mock-shaking her friend.
Normally, Ree would be the one doing the JJJ routine so Anya could play Robbie, but cognitive dissonance and fatigue forced her to sit this one out.
Priya let slip that Drake had slept over, but nothing had gone past second base—per his insistence, rather than hers. Sandra called foul and told her to run, but Anya disagreed. When asked to tiebreak, Ree abstained, claiming that since Drake used to visit Café Xombi, she should stay neutral.
The banter and gossip continued throughout the meal, and rather than evading the awkwardness by drinking, she zeroed in on her heaping mound of pancakes, trying to focus on the normalcy and calm that came with her friends instead of the big bag of awkward that was the rest of her life.
• • •
Charlie came through again with two MacKenzie sightings less than five minutes apart, dated to half an hour before Ree left the brunch.
Enriched by chocolate chip pancakes and only most of a screwdriver, she excused herself while the ladies chatted a bit more. She hustled home assembled some war tools, and sat down for her media charge-up.
Smart money said MacKenzie would be at the park for the better part of the afternoon, so she should have enough time to get her genre mojo working to pull off the plan she’d been cooking up ever since the Market.
Ree sat down with a mug of coffee, her Force FX lightsaber in her lap, and pressed play on Episode IV.
All right, MacKenzie, you have no idea how pwned you are about to be.
Chapter Fifteen
Sunday in the Park with George (Lucas)
America’s Sweetheart Rachel MacKenzie is fresh off her Golden Globe win and filming another drama, this time alongside action veteran Julian Douglas.
Rachel made a splash with Downtown Girl then built her reputation working with sitcom geniuses Isabell Grant and Xavier de Cruxes. After a standout performance in the ensemble Thanksgiving, Rachel has gone from hit to hit. But will her upcoming divorce throw a roadblock in Rachel’s seemingly sure path to becoming an all-time star in the firmament of Hollywood?
—Vlada Janczuk, StraightDope.com, May 19, 2012
Ree arrived at Miner Park just after 3 PM, which made it all too easy to get lost in the crowd. She knew this park, knew where people went boating, where they picnicked, where they hid to get naked, and the one place where someone could be truly alone, as long as that someone had bodyguards to enforce it.
She spotted the first bodyguard fifteen feet off the path, near the western edge of the park. He wore a black hoodie, but underneath the hoodie was a starched white shirt, and his shoes could have walked right off of Fifth Avenue.
John Williams’s music played on loop in her mind, the energy of her boundless love for Star Wars taking musical form as soundtrack for the coming ass-kickery. How awesome is this? Was it like this for you, too, mom? Did you have your own London Symphony Orchestra in your head when you went a-Jedi-ing? Something else she wished she could ask her mom.
Ree spotted a guy she recognized from the set.
But for now, you are first, my un-Sith friend.
Throwing back her (brown) hoodie, Ree caught the bodyguard’s attention. The man raised his hand, stepping forward.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, this part of the park is closed.”
Bullshit, she thought, but kept the invective in. Instead, she passed her hand in front of the man’s face and said, “You need to go get a coffee.”
The man’s eyes glazed over, and in a monotone voice, he said, “I need to go get a coffee.” The bodyguard looked right past her and walked back toward the path. The nearest coffee hut was a five-minute walk away, on the opposite side of the park. Boom.
Ree guessed where Rachel would be luxuriating, and cut wide, moving through the outer brush of a copse of trees, looking for the other guard. Ree figured she’d have at least two, maybe three with her, and the more she could neutralize before confronting MacKenzie, the fewer moving parts in play, the lower her chances of this turning into a written-by-Jared-Sorensen-style Fiasco.
She spotted the second guard pacing around an old pine tree, checking his phone.
Your lack of professionalism is your weakness, she thought in her best Luke Skywalker voice.
Ree thought of the scene where Obi-Wan snuck his way to the tractor beam controls as she tried to mask her movements. The soundtrack still loomed large in her mind, the volume only having dimmed from a 9 to about an 8 after her mind trick. She was still figuring out some of the fine details of Geekomancy, but it meant she still had pleasant surprises now and then.
Note to self: Watching Star Wars from infancy means you get more bang for your watching buck.
As she watched, she realized the bodyguard was far enough out of the way that she could afford to do . . . this.
Ree pulled out a blaster rifle prop used by a storm trooper and set it to stun. She waited for the guard to turn and face her, just because it was fun, then squeezed the trigger. A zwap sound accompanied the blue circles of light, and the guard dropped to the ground, his phone bouncing along the ground. Ree retrieved the phone, stripped the battery, and slipped it into her hoodie.
Two down. Now, is there a third?
Ree stopped and reached out with her mind, trying to sense the other minds in the area. As soon as she concentrated, she was hit by a wave of sensation, like she’d turned the TV on with the volume left on max. She stumbled back, her concentration broken. The music dimmed to a 6, and Ree wrote that approach off of her Usable Tactics list.
Since ESP was out of the question (Ree stopped to marvel at how awesome a thought that was), she continued with t
he sneaky-sneak approach, this time unassisted, and tried to watch for snatches of black clothing or fancy shoes as she circled back through a populated area, with picnickers and slightly-too-much-PDA-ers to a bend where the lake fed a river down and to the east.
Ree stepped along the edge of the river, keeping her eyes peeled. By her best guess, she’d come nearly three-quarters of the circle around toward the path where she’d started picking off the guards, and called it good as her inner orchestra faded down to about a 5, moving from “Binary Sunset” to “The Imperial March.”
It’s go time.
Ree picked her way through the brush, trying to give herself the densest cover as she approached. She came in from the east, hoping MacKenzie would be facing the sun.
Another gentle push of magic to guide her silently through the trees . . . and she saw through to Rachel MacKenzie’s hideaway.
America’s Sweetheart reclined on an alpaca blanket, wearing a yellow floral-print sundress. As Ree suspected, she faced the sun.
Ree knew she only had a second or two before MacKenzie noticed her. She scanned the glade to make sure there wasn’t another bodyguard lurking, then stepped into the clearing and activated her lightsaber, saying, “Are you ready for your close-up?”
Rachel flipped over, pulling her sunglasses up to look at Ree. “What the hell?” she said, then sat up and reached for her bag.
Ree had no idea what was in her bag but didn’t feel like risking it. She reached out to Rachel’s bag and became the envy of thousands of geeks (including Silent Bob) as the purse leaped from the blanket and into Ree’s outstretched hand.
That’s so cool! Ree thought, trying to keep her serious face on as she stared MacKenzie down, dropping the purse to the ground.
MacKenzie stood, one hand out to her side. The superstar drew her glasses down with her other hand. Ree had never seen Celebromancy used offensively, but she wasn’t prepared to write anything off. Hence the purse sitting at her feet.
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