Henrik called, “Last looks!” and Julian stood up, texting again.
I brushed the sand off my butt and decided to go for it. “Julian, do you have a girlfriend?”
“Did someone say I did?” He put his phone away fast. “Off the record,” he added as if I were a reporter, “Elora’s not my girlfriend. She’s my fiancée.” His grin shone twenty watts brighter than I’d ever seen. “Wow, it feels great to say that aloud. Shoshanna knows too. Although really, don’t tell anyone.”
I surprised myself by having zero jealousy. “Why is it a secret?”
“Elora doesn’t want the attention. My fans are intense.”
“I understand that.” I stared at the jeweled water, waves cresting white. Henrik hollered again, and I added, “Remember, you’re talking to yourself. Your saddest self.”
“Got it.” Julian squeezed my shoulder and headed over to Roxy and her makeup case. I watched him take off his sunglasses and leather jacket, turning into waifish, starved Evyn.
Cate caught eyes with me across the beach. She nodded as if she already knew that I’d done something good. I hoped she was right.
BURN, BABY, BURN FANTASY INFERNO
My third golden sunset in Ireland found me alone, which might not seem noteworthy except that I was never alone. Ryder was still helping craft services, the crew was preparing for the one-take burn of Maedina’s tree on the pinnacle, Eamon was somewhere being Eamon—and I was playing Annie on the cliff walk I’d pioneered with Cate that morning.
I sat on the rocky edge, the gravel beach only ten feet below. Not too scary this time, but not negligible either. Baby steps.
Yesterday I’d told Eamon that I wanted to play my guitar where no one could hear me. No responsibilities, no elves. Strangely enough, I had the first part—and I already wanted to make an exception for the second, as long as it was a scrappy, fast-talking Eamon elf.
For once, I didn’t feel like strumming an energetic, belting song. I warmed my hands and tuned, discovering a lovely fingerpicking pattern that made me feel like an honest-to-God songwriter. I tried to put words to it, but they weren’t there yet, so I sang the notes. Slow and quiet at first, but then I let the melody out.
All around me, Ireland felt like a private world. No people. A few gulls. The wind tugged at my braid and fishing boats dotted the bluest horizon. Some part of me felt at home here, and that had me reaching for Grandma Mae. For my sole memory of her, walking in the park by our house. My dad had refused to come, and she’d held my hand, which made me nervous because I didn’t know her.
I changed two notes in my fingerpicking pattern, and the song brightened and filled with sadness—the good kind, not the messy, pent-up stuff. It made me smile and hum my nonwords a little louder. What is this song about? Being alone. Cut free from all of this nonsense.
I thought about Eamon’s childhood portal-searching. I wish I’d told him that I’d felt like that too, and the way he’d described being small and lonely had kissed a nerve. Particularly his The Subtle Knife reference. I wanted to tell him I loved Will and Lyra, but that love was buried so far down in the muck of my regrets I’d never be able to bring it to the surface.
Eamon said fantasy stories were about helping people connect to reality, not bury it or escape it. But then, when it came to the Thorne family, I didn’t even know what was buried. And when it came to me, I didn’t know how to ask for anything except escape.
• • •
That night, I stood near the pinnacle as the crew prepared to burn the massive fake tree. The wind whipped cold off the black water, and I was downright excited. I hadn’t actually watched the cameras roll yet.
Tonight I would.
Everyone was charged. The whole “one-take” deal was more pressure than I could have imagined, and the hustle and bustle of the crew was nervously wired. I stood back and watched it all unfold, worrying something might go wrong and that the cost of remaking the tree would bankrupt the production. Not that I wanted that to happen, but I couldn’t stop my imagination from going there. Did anyone else see the worst-case scenario in everything? Or was this a Jaded Iris specialty?
The crew set up a perimeter for fire safety. Ryder ran by, and I grabbed his elbow. “There’s a cliff right there and thousands of wires on the ground. I don’t want you to move when they light that tree up, you hear me?”
He tugged away. “Yes, mother!”
I froze. In all my years of taking care of Ryder, he’d never pulled that one on me. Before I could respond, Eamon approached, filming the behind-the-scenes with his little camera.
“Don’t worry. I’ve not got you on video,” he said, staring through the screen.
“Are you really making these videos to boost fan support?” I asked, my voice rough from trying to hastily pull it together after Ryder’s stunning outburst.
“Cate says we need the Thornians to band together as soon as possible.”
“Julian said they’re banding together against the film,” I said. “I’d like to smack them.”
“Careful, Iris Thorne. Someone might think you’re pulling for us to succeed.” He winked sassily and shut his camera with a sigh. “The studio could cancel the film at any time. Send it straight to DVD or sell it to the Syfy channel. Right now it looks like the sequels will get axed.”
Ryder gasped. “They couldn’t! The first book is only the beginning of the story!”
“They’ve done it before.” Eamon’s tone was stiff. “Look at The Golden Compass.”
“When do you…get your big break?” I asked.
He dropped his camera in his bag. “We’re moving lock, stock, and barrel to Killykeen Forest tomorrow. That’s where I’ll have my first scene.”
“Nervous?” I asked.
He glanced at me and quirked a tight smile. “What do you think?”
“I think you are,” I murmured. They were dousing the tree with flammable liquid, and I got a bad feeling. It had to do with the whip of the wind and the grass field all around…but a costumed woman eclipsed all of that. I hadn’t seen her since that first day, and up close, I couldn’t believe the nerve of Cate Collins.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I pointed at the woman. She had long, dark hair and a face I’d recognize anywhere—and not because she was a famous actress.
“That’s Maedina. I mean, her real name is Nell Waterson,” Eamon said. “Classically trained and used to West End. I think Alec Guinness was more comfortable cruising around with a wookiee than she is in that getup.”
“Doesn’t she look familiar?” I asked.
He shrugged. “She looks a little like M. E. Thorne. Like you.”
“A little?” I asked. “It looks like Cate Collins scoured the planet for my grandmother’s doppelgänger. This is too far!”
“Why? It’s Maedina. You think your grandmother didn’t name a character after herself? That’s got to be on purpose. Look”—he motioned to Ryder’s nodding—“he agrees with me because he’s read the books.”
“You get your pretty from Grandma Mae, Iris,” Ryder piped in. “That’s what Dad says.”
“He’s right,” Eamon said, and for once I didn’t mind the connection. I might’ve even enjoyed it.
Henrik called for “Quiet on the set!” and everyone turned to stone. Even Ryder.
Shoshanna stepped out of a group of people who had been fussing over her makeup. She looked like a fantasy refugee, all wraps of cloth and wild hair. They started in the middle of a scene, Shoshanna—Sevyn—charging out of the tree before Maedina.
“You ruined me!” Sevyn yelled. “And then you tried to take me in like a pet.” A foghorn blared and the actresses glanced at the sky, imagining the CGI lightning we’d been promised.
“I never meant to hurt you. Not when you were a babe or now. There is much you don’t know.” Maedina glanced around. “We’re
not alone. You must sense that.”
Maedina reached for her, and Shoshanna screamed like a feral creature. I had to admit it; the girl was good. Anger sparked from her skin without digital enhancements.
A searing flash dazzled my eyes, and when I’d blinked away the brightness, the tree was already burning. It lit up the actresses, who dashed away. It lit up the branches and the cliff’s edge, and then far below, it drew an orange halo on the dark water. The fire grew and cackled and surged into the sky, and I looked around at the delighted faces of a hundred people.
On my left, Ryder’s joy was pure wonder, and on my right, Eamon was boyishly charmed. He glanced at me, and I waited for the smile. A smile always came with him. Only this time, his lips stayed still, and I felt his fingers slip against mine.
And then we were holding hands. Together. In front of everyone. Only no one was looking, and we both turned back to the blaze. Sort of. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He stood close; he always did. Was that an Eamon thing or a liking-me thing?
“Cut!” rang through the night, and as fast as the fire had caught, it burned out. A huge hose appeared, dumping foam over the brittle remains of the tree. White floodlights replaced the orange madness, and the crew cheered when they checked the gate and announced success.
I stole my hand back from Eamon before anyone noticed.
“I’ve got to help Mr. Donato hand out cake!” Ryder said, but I held on to him before he could scamper away. “Listen and don’t mess anything up,” he said for me. “I know! That’s all you ever say.”
My brother stomped off, and I stared after him. “He’s mad at me.”
“He’s mad at you,” Eamon agreed.
“He’s never been mad at me before. Not like this.”
Eamon didn’t hold back. “You embarrassed him last night when you yelled at him in front of everyone.”
“He scared the crap out of me! And this is a ridiculous double standard. If I were his real mom, no one would question how I parent him.” My mouth hung open after the last word, stunned.
Eamon wasn’t fazed. “Come with me,” he said. I started to object, and he continued. “You’re going to say you can’t because you’ve got to keep an eye on Ryder, but he’s doing his job now and he needs some space, and so do you, so come with me and see what I found today because I think it’ll delight your musician’s heart.”
My nerves lit up like that tree and not in a bad way either. “I think that’s the most Irish you’ve ever sounded.”
“You liked it,” he quipped.
I did.
Eamon led me down the cliff walk until the celebratory sounds of the crew died away in favor of the rushing surf over gravel. He walked ahead, and the floodlights ebbed until his back and shock of hair sealed into one lean shadow.
“Eamon, are you going to move to LA?” I called out.
“Why would I do that?” He looked back over one shoulder.
“Because you’re going to be a famous actor when this comes out. Don’t you want to do other movies? LA is the heart of film.”
“I haven’t thought that far out.” He waited for me, and I took a few hurried steps to catch up. “Iris, will you play guitar for me if I promise not to say anything?”
“I don’t play in front of people.”
“Never? Why?”
I sighed. “That’s how you lose control. My dad loves each and every story he writes. Loves them fiercely. Then he sends them to his editor who comes back with notes, and then my dad starts hating them. He doesn’t even open the boxes of finished copies when they arrive anymore.”
“That’s awful sad, Iris, but that’s your da. Not you.”
“You don’t know how similar we are. It’s like a curse.” I honestly couldn’t believe I’d said the words. They were too fantasy. Too true.
Eamon dug his hands in his pockets, and we walked in silence.
“How was your date with Julian Young?” he asked out of the blue.
Hello, jealousy.
“I never said it was a date. I was helping him for Cate. Besides, Julian has a fiancée.” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”
“Oh, I’ve known since I met him. What’s the American saying? He’s losing his religion.”
“If that’s American, it’s not from my side of America. You mean that old REM song?”
“Means he’s so far gone on this girl he’d lose his religion for her. My best friend Charlie went Protestant for his lady.” He looked at me. “Have you ever done that?”
“Gone Protestant? No way. The Thornes are strict atheists.”
He cringed. “No, I mean, go wild for someone.”
Was he asking if I’d ever been in love? I shook my head, feeling sort of strange.
“So no one back home should object to my feelings for you?”
I shook my head one more time, dazed.
“Grand.” With that, he disappeared.
Gone.
“Eamon!” Good grief, had our relationship talk literally pushed him off the cliff? I sunk down to my hands and knees to look over the edge.
He was scaling down the rocks to the beach. “There are steps here. A bit. Come on, girl.”
ELEMENTIA
A Family History?
I climbed down the rock wall to the beach, my shoes crunching on the wet gravel.
Eamon was sitting on a large rock in a hollow space, the cliff yawning up and over us. “I think I found a portal to another world this afternoon.” He tapped his ear and gestured to the way the waves hummed inside the cliff’s overhang. “It’s even got music.”
I sat beside him and realized I was staring at his soft profile a little too obviously. I turned to the black glass of the water, tiny slivers of white moonlight reflecting on the surface. There was no way around it; I was developing a crush. And to date, my crushes had, well, crushed me.
Plus, they made for very bad songs.
“Tell me why Sevyn ended up in Elementia,” I asked. “What happens before chapter fourteen?”
His smirk drew a tiny shadow on his chin. “Do I start at the beginning?”
“Give me the abridged version. We don’t have all night.”
“I bet we do.” His words made my chest swell, and then I kind of wanted to smack him for being slick. Or for getting away with it. “That was so smooth!” he said, breaking the moment and making me laugh.
I bumped my shoulder into his, lingering a tiny bit. “Get on with it.”
When Eamon spoke again, he used that low, storyteller voice that made him sound older. “It’s starts off a familiar story. On an island called Cerul, off the coast of a cursed land, a medieval people have a monarchy, complete with king and queen and castle. They also have an island to the north run by a monastery of women who worship the elements. The Draemon. It’s more than worship. They harness individual elements into—”
“Orbs. You’re going to say orbs. It’s not a ridiculous fantasy without orbs.”
“Say orb once more.”
“Orb.” I laughed, and he moved his leg closer until our knees kissed.
“They can harness energy into…round balls of concentrated power…and gift them to the heir to the throne. Which is why the king can control the wind. He’s also knocked up his wife, and she gives birth to a large, healthy girl. And a runt of a boy. The queen dies giving birth because it’s not a ridiculous fantasy without the queen dying while giving birth to twins.”
“Naturally.”
“The Draemon come to bless the new heir with fire, only the king refuses to acknowledge his daughter, choosing his sickly son instead, even though the girl was born first.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“It is.” He turned to face me, crossing his legs under him and looking delighted. “When they’re doin
g the ritual, one of the teen Draemon, a supremely gifted girl, is up in the tower with the baby Sevyn, and she’s pissed about the sexism. She tries to do the ritual to bless Sevyn with fire, only she calls down the lightning. From that day on, Sevyn can’t be touched. She’s pure energy.”
I thought back to the tree and Sevyn screaming. “The girl Draemon was Maedina.”
“Well spotted. But that’s later. We’re still on Cerul. When the head Draemon, Bronwyn, finds out what Maedina did, she tries to help Sevyn but gets struck.” He clapped his hands, and I jumped. “Dead. Maedina is horrified and disappears. Sevyn is labeled a killer and spends the next thirteen years in the tower except for visits from Evyn. And that’s where the story begins.”
He paused, and I stared. “You mean this was all backstory?”
“No, no. Prologue.”
“Fantasy,” I cursed. “Okay, how does she end up on the boat?”
“When the twins turn thirteen, there’s this big ceremonial ritual. The prince is supposed to use his elemental gift to catch a special deer that’s been marked by the king. A passing of the torch sort of thing. Evyn, who is still sickly and can’t do much with fire, ventures into the wood, but Sevyn busts out of her tower and sneaks into the woods too, determined to win back her rightful spot as heir. She finds the deer first, and there’s this scene where she touches it.”
I was tempted to laugh, but Eamon’s face was too serious. “She touches it?”
“Yeah, remember she can’t touch people, but she figures out how to control her feelings and touches the deer, and it’s nothing short of beautiful. And then her brother scares her and—”
I grabbed Eamon’s hand to stop another clap. He laced his fingers with mine, and my head rushed. Well that’s plain cheesy, my dad’s voice broke in.
Don’t care, I said right back.
“You’re a little bold with the hand-holding, Eamon.”
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