“He’s hindering my investigation. For crying out loud, if I could’ve determined what this entity is, what it wants, how the cat figures in, we might have cleared this house tonight. This could have been a one-nighter, Michael.”
The Wantland Files never left a home until the disturbance resolved. Her track record remained 100 percent. A one-night clearing was her Holy Grail—in and out, as little disruption as possible to the family. Although she’d come close, so far she hadn’t achieved it.
“We don’t know that. Don’t get carried away.”
“Now we’ll never know. He scared Felix away, disrupted my connection, and blew my chance.”
“Everybody can relax.” Sterling sauntered into the dining room, cradling a kitten, which continued to mew in distress, eyes enormous. “Warm this little guy up, feed him, and voilà! The Felix problem is gone.” He stared her down, eyes glowing with victory, a huge grin plastered from ear to ear.
She held her hands up and shook her head. “That’s it. I’m done for the night. I’m too drained to attempt another session.”
As she turned on her heal and stormed to her trailer, she heard Michael say, “Okay, guys, let’s wrap for the night. Footage review in the morning. Shooting will resume tomorrow night, so get as much sleep as you can.”
13
Kimberly woke fuzzy-headed and with a splitting pain pounding against her temples. She dragged the extra pillow over her eyes and willed herself back to sleep.
She’d drawn the blackout drapes before she tumbled into bed at 3:00 a.m. Even the near darkness couldn’t convince her body it was still nighttime. After tossing and turning, she peeled one eye open to peek at the clock: 8:00 a.m. Great. Five hours of sleep. Her average. At least this hotel served breakfast until nine. She needed coffee. About four cups.
She showered and dressed, then shambled to the dining area. The aroma of coffee soothed her. Coffee kept her going on her worst days.
But the sight of Sterling at one of the tables ruined it. He’d already spotted her and waved her over. She continued to the urn of coffee, adding two splashes of skim milk to the cup she poured.
Resigned to sitting with him, she dropped into the seat he patted. One look at his plate turned her stomach. Rubbery scrambled eggs, a biscuit smothered in what she assumed was supposed to be gravy, a dried-out sausage patty, and a pile of glistening bacon secreting a pool of grease.
She shuddered and sipped her coffee.
“Man, I’m tired,” Sterling said between forkfuls of eggs. “How do you ever adjust to these hours?”
“You don’t.” She took a more substantial gulp.
“You must recover when you’re not taping.”
“Nope.” More coffee. “The network upped my season to twenty-two episodes. We’re on location about a week per episode, editing while traveling and researching the next site during the weeks in between. That’s forty-four out of fifty-two weeks of the year. My ‘downtime’ is spent jetting across the country for mandatory promotional interviews, radio shows, guest appearances, conventions, and anything else they throw at me. Or throw me at.” She drained the cup.
“So you’ve just adapted to going without sleep?”
“No, I’m just chronically fatigued and have a constant headache.”
“Explains your crankiness, too. The price of fame these days. Frankly, I’d trade you. Waiting for a contract renewal is the worst. I’d rather be sleep deprived by job security. Can I bring you some food?”
Cranky? He didn’t even seem to realize he’d insulted her. And then he’d offered to wait on her. She’d never understand this guy. “No, thanks. I need more coffee first. Then I’ll see if they have anything I’ll eat.” She crossed the room and refilled her mug. When she returned, an orange rested at her place.
“Bet that’s on your diet.” He flashed a grin.
She glanced at the buffet line. No oranges. “Where—” She stopped herself. He wanted to impress her. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. The pleased look on his face told her he knew anyway.
“I can conjure more than just pennies.” He spread his arms wide.
What a show-off. “Thank you. But an orange doesn’t forgive you for ruining last night’s session.”
“So that’s why you’re being aloof this morning. You’re miffed. But I didn’t ruin it. I added drama.”
“I established contact with Felix, for your information. And something else that could be behind this disturbance. You interrupted. I might’ve figured out what he wanted if not for you dragging in that stray kitten. We could’ve been done last night.”
He dropped his head backward and pretended to fall asleep. “Snooze. That’s too easy. Your viewers want to see you struggle. Fight for it. The audience is going to love it.” He crammed a piece of bacon in his mouth and licked his fingers. “Just watch me conjure ratings.”
“That kitten is not Felix.”
“I know. There is no Felix. I was only stirring things up a bit. It’ll pay off. You’ll see.”
She scowled a little harder. But she picked up the orange and peeled it.
“So what will we do today?” he asked as he cut a bite of soggy biscuit.
“Review footage from last night mainly.” She yawned. “Reassure the family. Nothing too exciting. Then another session tonight, of course.”
He put his fork down and scrubbed his mouth with a napkin. “Listen, I wanted to ask you—” His phone rang. He glanced at the number, smiled, and took the call. “Hi, Amber. Great to hear from you. How are you this morning, sweetie?”
Unable to stomach his glib gloating, she refilled her coffee again. His countenance changed in the short time she was away.
“Well, I . . . I don’t know. I can look into it, I suppose.” When he paused, she could hear Amber’s brittle voice chirping on the other end but couldn’t make out any words. “Yes, but . . . I’m pretty busy this week with Wantland Files—” He fell silent as Amber’s voice interrupted again. He offered a smile, then turned away, speaking barely above a whisper. “Listen, I can’t really talk right now. We’ll have to discuss this later—” More shrill chattering. “Of course I want you to be happy. Yes . . . I know . . . okay, I have to go. Talk to you later. Bye.” He hung up quickly as though afraid to let Amber speak again.
“How’s Amber?” She tried to hide her delight in knowing something wasn’t so perfect in the relationship he insisted on rubbing in her face.
“Can I ask you something? About Amber?” He stared at the table, voice soft.
Unexpected. She took another gulp of coffee, wondering if this was merely another ruse to make her look foolish again. “Okay.”
“You mentioned . . . you said she’s just a gold digger, and I should break it off. Why do you think that?”
“She’s more than a gold digger. And I know because . . . I read her spectrum and I could just tell. It’s what I do.”
“What does that mean? Her spectrum?”
“Her chakras. You know what chakras are?”
“I’ve heard of them. And heard you talk about them. More silliness.”
“It’s not silliness. We all have them. Colorful, spinning energy sources that align along the spine.”
“What?”
“Here.” She scooted her chair closer to his and held her hand over his lap. “Here at the base of your spine, behind the groin, is the red chakra. It’s the seat of your basic survival instinct as well as greed and lust.” She moved her hand slightly higher. “Above that is the orange chakra, which allows us to feel intimacy and connection with others. Creativity flows from the orange chakra. Above that is the yellow chakra, where we gain our confidence and self-control. And humor.” She paused to gauge his reaction.
His eyes danced.
She moved her hand up to his chest. “Next is the green, or heart chakra, which governs love, forgiveness, and compassion. Here at the throat is the blue chakra, which is the seat of communication. The indigo chakra sits between the
eyes, thus it’s often referred to as the third eye, and offers intuition and our sixth sense. Often ignored.” She glanced at him again, waiting for him to comment on her barb. But he didn’t. He must be waiting to pounce at the end of her lesson. “And then the violet chakra, here at the top of the head, connects us to the divine, to a state of bliss.”
He lifted his hand to catch hers from where it hovered in front of him. His dark eyes bore into her.
Unnerved by his silence, she offered another opening to joke at her expense. “You didn’t know you were a walking rainbow, did you?” She attempted to smile even though her heart pounded against her chest.
“No, I didn’t,” he murmured, his voice rough with a husky rasp she hadn’t heard before.
She retracted her hand and scooted back to her place at the table, hoping her face wasn’t turning pink.
She downed the remainder of her coffee. “Anyway, Amber’s red chakra completely dominates her actions. She’s controlled by greed, desire, lust. Everything she does is to ensure her survival, no matter the cost to anyone else. I detected virtually no influence by the other chakras. No warmth or compassion, no humor or sympathy. No love. And there’s something else. Difficult to describe. A dank, ancient residue about her.”
Sterling cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “I don’t believe that stuff. But you’re right that she asks for a lot of things. Designer purses, crazy-expensive new shoes, shopping sprees for entire new wardrobes every week. New gadgets. If it catches her eye, she wants it. And wants me to buy it for her. Now she wants me to take her on vacation to a private island in the Bahamas. I’m trying to watch my expenses. If my show isn’t renewed, I’ll be unemployed. I’m not broke, but . . .”
“A vacation to a private island for someone you’ve only been dating a few weeks? Doesn’t that sound unrealistically demanding? This proves my point. She’s—” She stopped, unwilling to open herself up to his criticism.
“Go ahead and say it. Only after my money. And maybe the attention of dating someone on television. She loves when the paparazzi start snapping pictures. Sometimes I think she calls to tell them where we are.” He pushed his plate away and propped his chin on his fists. “Why would anyone date me if I didn’t have my own show?”
His tone tugged at her heart. She knew, knew for sure, she was asking for ridicule. He wouldn’t believe her and would probably laugh at her. But she preferred his laugh to the gloom. “It isn’t your fault. You’re a victim here. Amber is . . . a succubus.”
A glimmer sparked in his eyes. “A what?”
“A succubus.”
“You mean, like a witch?”
“More like a demon, really. They prey on men, sucking them dry. She won’t stop until you have nothing left. Or until you break it off, which is extremely difficult if not impossible if you’ve slept with her. A succubus uses sex as a means of control. The fact that you’re even discussing this leads me to think you haven’t slept with her yet.”
He squirmed. “I don’t . . . that isn’t . . . look, that’s just nonsense. A succubus?” He forced a laugh.
“Believe me or don’t. Just don’t go to bed with her. The sex will be unbelievable, but afterward you will find her irresistible—every request, every whim—until she bleeds you dry. And then, when she abandons you, you’ll be ruined. Not just financially but emotionally and mentally. You’ll spend the rest of your life unsatisfied, feeling like something is missing. No sex is worth that.”
“Sorry. I don’t believe in mythical creatures. Show me one tangible shred of proof that witches, demons, spells, any portion of any myth is at all true. You can’t. I’ve looked and never found a thing.”
“You can’t see ultraviolet radiation, either, but it will burn you if you don’t wear sunscreen.”
“How can you . . . that’s not . . . you’re comparing scientifically proven radiation to the existence of a succubus?”
“I’m suggesting you put on some sunscreen. Tell her no. To everything. No vacations, no gifts. And absolutely no sex. If she likes you, she won’t need those things. She’ll want to spend time with you, get to know you, do things for you. And if she doesn’t, why would you want to be with her anyway?”
He sat motionless.
She stared into her empty mug.
“You’re right,” he finally said. “Not about the ridiculous succubus thing, but she is extremely demanding. Greedy, even. Better to break it off now than to wait for her to decide my bank account isn’t big enough to buy her everything she wants and dump me. Better to dump than be dumped.”
“Not exactly what I was getting at, but if that helps you feel better about it, then okay.” Her stomach growled, and she decided to look for oatmeal or whole wheat toast or something somewhat healthy.
His phone buzzed again, a single ping this time. He picked it up and grinned. “Yes! Our video is trending. And I’ve gained about a thousand Twitter followers already. Fantastic.”
“What are you—” The video he’d made. He must have uploaded it. “Are you talking about the video from yesterday? With me in it?”
“Yep! Did you see it? I tagged you.” He turned his phone to her, beaming, seemingly quite pleased with himself. “Exactly what I’d hoped for.”
“No, I didn’t see it. And I don’t want to. I thought you planned to have someone upload that anonymously.”
“I did. But then I realized if we get good publicity out of this, Hoffmeier and company will want to know who did it. And I want to be able to take the credit. Decided it was worth the risk of getting in trouble for posting without permission.”
She stood and left him glowing in his own brilliance to peruse breakfast options.
He followed her. “But I’ll share the credit with you. Seriously, you should retweet it. You can’t buy this kind of publicity. We can both say it was our idea. Together.”
“I don’t want that kind of publicity. Whatever you may think to the contrary, my show is not a circus.” She flipped through the instant oatmeal packets. “Don’t they have anything that isn’t loaded with sugar?” She flipped through the container a second time, slapping the envelopes against one another.
Sterling raised a hand in front of her face, a packet of plain oatmeal between two fingers like a playing card, smile stretched across his face.
“How . . . where . . . ?” She clenched her jaw. Once again, she’d played right into his hands before she caught herself.
“A good magician never reveals his secrets.” He was brimming with delight.
She snatched the packet from his hand. She wanted the oatmeal more than she wanted to refuse him the victory. She grabbed a bowl, ripped open the envelope, dumped the oatmeal in, and depressed the lever on the hot water dispenser.
“You just can’t stand to think someone has the upper hand, can you?” He leaned closer as she fished a spoon from the cutlery tray and stirred her oatmeal. “We’re partners now. We watch out for each other, right? You watch out for crazy gold diggers, and I watch out for your bizarre dietary demands.”
She clutched the bowl and turned to face him. “We’re not partners. You’re a guest on my show. I’ve built this show from nothing, on my own, and without any inflammatory, desperate, blatant attention-mongering like you’re attempting.”
She stalked back to her seat, Sterling close on her heels.
“This week is my chance to win over my network. To convince them to renew for another season. Please? Look, it works for you, too. My show gets renewed, I go away. Won’t bug you anymore. No more challenges, no more comments on your show. I promise. Let’s blow up the Internet. Get everyone talking about our awesome episode. And us. Money follows attention. We both win from an alliance.”
She stared at her bowl, stirring the oatmeal. Those eyes of his really were too much. She found it difficult to think clearly when he looked at her like that.
Sterling had been antagonizing her online with his claims of fraud and challenges to let him debunk her show for mo
re than a year. Here was a chance to get him off her back. All she had to do was help him this one week, then life could go back to normal. Better, since he would no longer harass her.
“Fine. I’ll help you this week. Just stop trying to trip me up. You may enjoy drama and conflict, but I don’t. And I know what you did. You took the only plain oatmeal and hid it so you could conjure it for me.”
He held his hands out and shrugged. “Did I? Or was it magic?” He winked at her and turned to leave.
“Happen to have any honey or cinnamon on you?”
He spun around and reached into a pocket.
She sat forward. No way. If he gave her cinnamon and honey for her oatmeal right now, she’d forgive all his transgressions.
He whipped his hand from his pocket with a flourish. They both stared at it.
Empty.
“Sorry,” he said. “Magic only works for true partners, not temporary allies.”
He bowed and left.
14
Kimberly watched her crew clustered around laptops and cameras, headphones pressed to their ears, blank stares indicating deep concentration, sheer exhaustion, or both. Analyzing last night’s footage would take most of the day, but it would be worth it. Anything they could glean would help guide tonight’s session.
Rosie rushed to Kimberly’s side. “Girl, you are all over the Internet. I didn’t want you to find out from anyone else.”
“Sterling told me at breakfast. That reminds me.” She thrust a hand into her quilted burgundy Michael Kors bag and pulled out her phone. She tapped on the Twitter app and scrolled through—Good grief, how many notifications?—to find Sterling’s video.
Rosie peeked over her shoulder. “You did not just retweet that!”
She pursed her lips and said nothing.
“Well, at least do it right. Hashtag it wantlandfilesdrama and include at sterlingspookbuster so it shows up with the others.”
“The others what?”
“You’re a thing. Look.” Her stylist pointed to the side of the phone, where “#wantlandfilesdrama” headed the trending topics.
The Wantland Files Page 8