Celebromancy

by Michael R. Underwood

Rachel cocked her head to the side, apparently not a Battlestar Galactica fan. “Do you ever speak in English?”

  Ree crossed her heart and said, “Uy, ¡Soy Estadouidense! Babosa,” in perfect Spanish. “I’m still waiting.”

  The superstar straightened the sheets and sighed. “First, you’re going to need a mirror.”

  “Any kind of mirror?” Ree asked quickly.

  Rachel curled up her face in annoyance. “Do you want my help, or do you want to keep interrupting me every five seconds.”

  Ree chuckled, then opened her hands as if to say go ahead.

  “A mirror with a silver frame, dating back to 1950s Los Angeles. What’s important is the material and the location. It has to have been used by a female star, the higher-profile the better. A boudoir is better than a hall mirror. You’ll also need head shots of all of the previous America’s Sweethearts, dating back to Shirley Temple. I’ll write down the incantation.”

  Ree shook her head. “Even better, you come with me. You could be shitting me, and as soon as I leave, you jet off to California and call the Feds. What guarantee do I have?”

  Rachel sat back on the bed, a wicked smile spreading on her perfectly made-up face. “I don’t know, what guarantee do you have? My guards will be up any minute, and if I call security, you’ll be a fugitive now.”

  “But why help me if you’re so confident?” A part of her mind screamed It’s a trap! but then again, when didn’t it? Paranoia had become a professional necessity. Though her caffeine intake probably didn’t help.

  “Because I’m a victim here, too.”

  Ree laughed. A deep, watching-Eddie-Izzard-in-rare-form laugh. “Bullshit.”

  Rachel looked offended in a most aristocratic way, her nose upturned. It was really quite cute.

  Focus. Can’t know how much more that watch will stop.

  Rachel looked around the room, then closed her eyes and furrowed her eyebrows. The pressure in the room changed, then Ree suddenly felt more alone, like there was nothing outside the room for miles.

  “I did the ritual, but it wasn’t my power going into it.”

  “Huh?”

  Rachel said. “I don’t have much time. He’ll notice the privacy bubble within a minute.”

  So that’s what I just felt. “He? Bubble? More exposition, please.”

  “The bubble’s a minor effect. Lets stars get breathers from the attention now again. The he is the paparazzo Alex Walters.”

  The name rung a bell. “I think I met him at the press panel. Smug hipster?”

  Rachel nodded and rolled her eyes. “That’s the one. Here’s the thing about being a Celebromancer: Your power comes from being seen, known, and thought about. And whoever controls the images people think about controls the power. Walters works for Cosmic, and they have me locked in an exclusive contract, all the way down to controlling public appearances.

  “My contract dates back before the Internet, and their lawyers wrangled it so even my Internet presence is under their control. Most of the power goes to them first, and then gets lent back to me to keep delivering on their investment.”

  “How the hell does that work? I’m no lawyer, but that seems like crazy talk.”

  Rachel snarled, then looked down and away, a resigned look on her face. “You make a deal with the devil, you know it’s going to come with a price.”

  Ree thought back to the Thrice-Retconned Duke of Pwn. “Wait, a real devil?”

  Rachel looked up at Ree with derision. “No. The studio, idiot. And even if I wanted to break the contract and go solo, Walters has leverage.”

  “Like what?” Ree asked.

  “He has pictures that will hurt my side of the divorce case. If they go public, there’s no way I’ll retain custody of my daughter. And he’s got his own power. He’s especially fond of pulling monsters out of Cosmic films and siccing them on his targets.”

  “Waitasecond.” Something clicked for Ree.

  Panther-fly. Wyvern. Those sewer things. She knew they were familiar.

  “He’s a Cinemancer?” Ree asked.

  Rachel nodded. “And a good one. One of my costars tried to break her contract, and he sent a doppelganger from from one of her Cosmic roles after her until she cracked.”

  Ree winced. “He pulled a Gaslight on her with her own image?? That’s harsh.” How terrifying it would be to be haunted by your own image, doubting your sanity a bit more every day. “So they blackmail you to keep you in line, and they send Alex after you if you break faith? That’s why they’re after Jane, because she actually broke away from Cosmic?”

  “She had a better lawyer from the start, thanks to Yancy. But when they left, Cosmic wouldn’t let it go. As she was getting ready to make a bid for Sweetheart, they came to me. I didn’t have a choice. If I don’t play my part, they’ll rig my divorce case, and I’ll never see my daughter again.”

  “So you’re willing to let a woman die and a whole production company crumble so you don’t get fucked over in divorce court?”

  “I get to keep my little girl, for one. You’re not a parent, so that you can’t understand. And Alex said if I stopped the ritual and helped him deal with Konrad, they’d modify my contract so I get more autonomy, more power, more money, as long as I stayed exclusive with Cosmic.”

  Ree shifted her weight, checking her phone one more time. Better wrap this up. “So why are you telling me all of this? How do I know you’re not lying?”

  “I would kill to protect my daughter, but not like this, not for them. They’ve run my life for nearly thirty years. If you take them down, I get freedom. Real freedom.”

  “Okay, that’s a good answer,” Ree said. “Write down the ritual, and while you’re at it, how about the names of the America’s Sweethearts. I’d rather not have a woman’s life be dependent on me hashing out whether it was Greta Garbo or Hedy Lamarr as America’s Sweetheart in 1940 or whatever.”

  The star scoffed. “Everyone knows it was Garbo, but sure. I’d have thought Jane would go for someone a bit smarter.”

  “Bitch, please,” Ree said, dismissive. “Can you tell me the THAC0 for a seventh-level Cleric with 18/51 Strength?”

  That got another blank stare.

  “So there. We all have our specialized knowledge. And mine includes being able to kick your ass around this Egyptian cotton bed if you don’t hurry up.”

  Rachel wrote quickly, and Ree checked her phone. Almost there . . . The cops would be banging down the door any time now, considering the fact that they were on the penthouse floor and this was that posh of a hotel. The nearest precinct was a five-minute drive away, but Ree didn’t know if the hotel security would try to break down a door in response to gunfire. That’d be a hell of a thing. Better to just GTFO before she had to find out.

  The star handed Ree a paper that showed a list of names on top, then several paragraphs that read like a mix of Hollywood Babylon and a Mage: The Ascension spell description.

  Ree looked the star in the eye. “And this will do it, no catches, no ifs, ands, or what the fucks?”

  “I swear,” Rachel said. “Now get the hell out of my room.”

  “With pleasure.” Ree backed out of the room, still holding the shotgun. No reason to push my luck.

  Ree thought better of stealing a firearm and left it on a marbled counter, making her way to the floor-to-ceiling windows and their southern exposure.

  And, time.

  Ree pushed the send button on her phone and fetched the balaclava out of her duffel. The sunset was painting the sky in tones from rose to violet, and the beauty of the scene was almost enough to dispel the crazy and the violence.

  Until the door was kicked open and a quartet of officers stormed into the room.

  Awww, fuck. Couldn’t you have waited one minute? But if Rachel was really committed to helping her save Jane’s li
fe, she wouldn’t compromise her identity. And the balaclava would do the trick. At least, once she did the other trick.

  “Hands in the air!” they shouted. Ree raised her hands slowly, plucking a single card out of the top of her bodysuit, where it had gone slick with sweat. She held it over her head, bringing her hands together.

  “Drop it!” another guard said.

  Ree smiled and tore the card, a Shadowcat from the 1989 Fleer series. Ree turned in place, hearing a familiar hiss of steam, then saluted the guards and started running toward the window.

  “Fire!” the guards said, and they did. Ree saw bullets pass through her in tight bursts, but she didn’t feel anything.

  Now just have to make sure I can shut it off . . . Ree dove through the bullet-cracked glass out into the colored sky of twilight . . .

  And right on time, she saw Drake Winters in his aerothopter, hewing close to the building, climbing as he approached. Drake poured on the steam (literally), and Ree focused on shutting the magic of the card off as she reached out to grab the side of the magitech vehicle. And all the while, she tried not to look down.

  Ree slammed into the side of the aerothopter, and the vehicle wobbled with the impact. It was all pipes and engines, no hull to speak of. Drake offered a hand, which Ree flailed for, trying to partition off the large portion of her brain that was screaming in pants-wetting terror. She could tell the magic wouldn’t last long enough for her to hit the ground still insubstantial and climb up. It was a leap of faith or nothing.

  Her hand found Drake’s, and they both pulled. The aerothopter wobbled again, but she got a leg onto a hot pipe. She felt a blister rise on her skin as she pushed off of the pipe to clamber into the passenger seat of the aerothopter, such as it was.

  She adjusted the duffel bag behind her to form a rough seat cushion. “Great timing, as always. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

  Drake chuckled. “I trust you mean for us to leave, Ms. Ree?”

  “Of course I mean for us to leave. Did you see the guys with guns!” Ree waved an arm in a vaguely hotel-y direction. Ree turned herself around to sit in the uncomfortable bucket seat and caught the police standing by the cracked windows, watching with bewilderment.

  “Sayonara!” Ree said, waving to the police as Drake urged the aerothopter west, away from the hotel. In a minute, the Doubt would wipe the aerothopter from their minds or recast it as a helicopter, or maybe they’d remember her base-jumping to freedom. As long as Rachel didn’t give her up, the guards didn’t know her face, and they wouldn’t be able to follow her. That would have to do for now. Plus, once she broke the curse, Jane could cover it all up again, couldn’t she?

  Drake steered the aerothopter through downtown Pearson, and Ree did her best to find a comfortable position to be a puddle of exhaustion.

  “I owe you one, man,” she said as they flew toward the sunset.

  “I do admit, when you first told me of the plan, I knew that it might be one of the most daring escapes I’ve ever had the honor of participating in. Though there was the time when the Mistress and I liberated the prize griffon from the aerie of the Duke of the Northern Sky. Quite a spirited beast, that one.”

  Ree chuckled, because she couldn’t bring her body to do much of anything else. “Don’t ever change, Drake-y boy. Except learning more pop culture. It’ll be years still before you properly appreciate my humor, and I feel bad for you.”

  “As you wish, Ms. Ree.”

  Her heart did a triple Salchow into a faceplant. “As you wish . . .” That’s the second time he’s said that. I don’t think he means what I think he means.

  Ree pushed the thought from her mind and did her best to zone out as they made their getaway.

  • • •

  Drake set the aerothopter down on a three-story apartment building a few blocks from the university district.

  “You sure the cloaking wooj covered us all the way back?”

  Drake shrugged as he shut down the aerothopter. “Not entirely. But I doubt that the constabulary had resources in place to pick us up once it did wear off, given that we were flying too low for the radar systems and that you’d already done several impossible things leading up to our departure.”

  Ree hopped out of the vehicle and grabbed her duffel bag before the aerothopter could start to collapse in on itself. When they were both free, the pipes hissed and shrunk, folding in on themselves bit by bit until it was no more than the size of a suitcase, which Drake hefted with a smile.

  “What is next?” he asked.

  “First step is food. Lots of food. And all of the caffeine. Step two is me going shopping. You’re welcome to come along, and I won’t even make you wait while I try things on.”

  Drake quirked an eyebrow at the comment, which made him look entirely too much like Mr. Spock. And with that, the clumsy ice-skater feeling in her chest bubbled back up again.

  They climbed down the fire escape, which was close enough to a reasonable thing for two people to be doing, even if one of them was in a bodysuit and the other looked like he was perpetually late for a gears-and-gadgets Mad Hatter tea party.

  The lines anywhere would be crazy, but she had other plans, even if they didn’t involve milkshakes.

  • • •

  Turbo’s Pizza was packed to capacity, with families and college students crowding every table in the joint. Turbo’s was the best sit-down pizza joint in Pearson, famous for the space-jockey mascot Turbo the dog, who graced all of their to-go boxes.

  Ree nudged her way through a dozen people waiting in the entranceway for tables. But when Joni, the main hostess, saw Ree, her eyes lit up.

  “How’s it going?” Ree asked.

  Joni gave a polite smile, looking down at her map of the restaurant, smeared with grease-pencil marks. “Busy as ever.”

  “How’s the filming, Ms. Speaking Role?” Joni had a small part in Rachel MacKenzie’s Blog Wars. It wasn’t much, just two lines, but it was a huge step up from extras work, where Joni had been stuck since she got into the acting gig. There were only so many roles for a tiny cute girl if you weren’t already famous.

  The market was pretty well filled for most roles. In a more reasonable world, Joni should have been a star, but Ree still had hope. After all, she’d gone from frustrated screenwriter to possibly-not-doomed-debut-screenwriter in a matter of months.

  Joni beamed. “It’s amazing! Rachel is a marvel. She has such range. She can say yes in fifteen ways without blinking.”

  Ree smiled for Joni’s sake. There was no reason to take the idol away from Joni. Not yet, at least.

  “That’s awesome! Any trouble getting time off from the pizzameister?” Ree asked.

  Joni shook her head. “Of course not. Did you see the sign?” Joni pointed to a sign on the host podium.

  It showed a head shot of Joni and a note written in Cole’s hand. “Proud home of rising film star Joni Smith.”

  Ree smiled, this time without reserve. “That’s awesome. Any chance of us getting a table for two?”

  Joni looked down at the table list, then squinted. “Give me just a minute, we’re pretty backed up.”

  Ree shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  Joni flitted off, an extra spring in her already-springy step. Ree turned to Drake, who watched the crowd, looking more the transplant from Faerie among the crowd. “We will of course order the marvelous frites, yes?”

  Ree clapped her companion on the shoulder. “Sorry, Drake, they’re all out.”

  The inventor was crestfallen, his shoulders slumped. Ree squeezed his shoulder. “Just kidding! Of course we can get the fries. I wouldn’t torture you like that.”

  Drake sighed in relief. “It may seem particularly trivial given the stakes of our pressing engagement, but that dish is like unto none other I’ve found on this plane. Badass, as you would say.”
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  “I would say!” Ree chuckled, then turned as she heard Joni return.

  “Follow me and look like you’re important.”

  “When don’t I?” Ree joked, lifting her arm from Drake’s shoulder. “After you, wheelman.”

  Joni led the pair through the packed restaurant, weaving through red-and-white-checkered tables, worn but comfy booths, and stained-glass lampshades. They passed unguarded laughter, the glorious smells of melted cheese and sauce, and the satisfied sounds of noshing.

  Ree drank it in as they went, added the feelings and memories to her bank of joy, just in case she’d need to draw from it for some supernatural effort or to dig deep to keep going. Having Drake with her helped all by itself, but Ree tried not to dwell too much on why, deluding herself into thinking it was the reassurance of having someone at her back, and not those marvelously unselfconscious smiles or the way he bit his lip during a fight . . .

  Focus.

  Joni escorted them past the tables and into the back office, where Cole Lutz sat in front of a pile of paperwork.

  The pizzeria owner stood to greet Ree, seeming all-too-happy to leave the papers behind.

  Cole Lutz (Strength 10, Dexterity 13, Stamina 11, Will 14, IQ 15, Charisma 13—Cook 4 / Entrepreneur 3 / Pizza Master 5 / Dad 2 / Geek 2) was a well-preserved fiftysomething, with a full head of white hair and a trim build despite basically living in a pizzeria.

  “Ree!” he said, wrapping her up in a big hug that smelled of grease and cooked dough.

  “Do we care what the health inspector would say about this?” she said with a single eyebrow raised.

  “She was just here last week. Take my seat. I need to get back out there anyway.”

  “Didn’t you say those forms were due tomorrow first thing?” Joni asked.

  “I recall saying nothing of the sort. Now back to the hostess stand. I wouldn’t want to think your star turn has gone to your head,” Cole said with a wink.

  “You’re still paying me more than the movie is,” Joni said with equal levity. “I know where my rent money comes from.” The small woman turned in place, letting Drake through before she left.