Moonstruck

by Aleksandr Voinov

  But there’d still been an element of disbelief. A feeling he was in a bubble that was one phone call away from bursting. He had the money. He had the finished books that he and Anthony had slaved over for eight days—so they’d handed it in one day late; Leanne would get over it. And then the second round of edits had come in, and the two of them had busted their balls to finish it with just hours to spare before they’d had to pack and get on a plane. Oh yes, those were some real edits, some real frantic phone calls from real publishing people, and some real panic right there at the end when he and Anthony hadn’t been sure they’d pull it off.

  But the whole situation still wasn’t quite real.

  Not until Samir walked into MoonCon.

  The place was absolutely empty except for some workers who were putting up banners and setting up tables. He and Anthony had arrived last night and settled into their hotel room, and now they were strolling through the deserted convention hall on their way to find coffee. In three hours, the doors would open, and this place would be filled to the gills with fans in costumes and Triple Moon T-shirts, all wide eyes and excitement as they waited in line to get merchandise, autographs, panel tickets, or even just a glimpse of one of the stars walking by.

  But not yet.

  The coffee shop was nearly empty too, but the dozen workers behind the counter were testimony to how much traffic they expected soon enough. For the moment, there were only three people in line.

  Chip Schwartz.

  Lyle Phelan.

  And Frankie Murray.

  Two stars of the show, plus the director-slash-executive producer, dressed down and bleary-eyed, waiting for their coffee with VIP badges hanging around their necks. Just like the one Samir had around his neck.

  It was real. He was one of them. He was part of Triple Moon.

  Lyle was just giving the order when he turned around and looked at Anthony next to Samir. “Jesus, necromancy is real. Anthony Rawson up before ten.”

  “Heresy,” muttered Anthony. In his defense, he and Samir had been up until about two, but mostly because the hotel beds were really nice and Samir was too excited to sleep. “The things I do for my fans.” He introduced Samir to the others and added after their names, “I’m not sure how they slipped past their handlers and got out without supervision.”

  Frankie shrugged. “We locked them in Lyle and Chip’s room, but don’t tell.”

  “That one douche bag is lucky I didn’t drown him in the bathtub,” Chip said.

  Lyle laughed. Then he took the first coffee and handed it to Frankie. “What can I get you two?”

  “I’ll have an IV,” Anthony said. “Samir?”

  Samir nearly swallowed his tongue. “Uh. Cappuccino.”

  Lyle nodded and waved them off. “I got this. Get a table.”

  Frankie took her drink and settled at one of the tables in the lobby, followed by Anthony and Samir.

  “So, how are you doing?” Frankie asked Anthony. “Excited about the next season?”

  Anthony leaned forward on his elbows. “Doing great. And I saw the new episodes. Really good job.”

  She smiled and sipped from her paper cup, then looked right at Samir, and back at Anthony. Just as she was opening her mouth, Lyle and Chip appeared with more coffees and distributed them around the table.

  “She wouldn’t add more shots in yours without seeing a clean bill of health,” Lyle said as he put Anthony’s very large cup in front of him.

  “Just bribe ’em—it’s what I do.” Anthony clutched his cup and pulled it closer.

  Frankie smiled and then focused again on Samir. “What are you doing hanging around this grumpy old man?”

  “He’s my cowriter.” Anthony put the cup down. “Which they’ll announce today.”

  Frankie blinked. “Now there’s a shock. Same guy who goes ballistic over changes to the book hands over some of the control?”

  “More kinetic than ballistic. You just have to push back at times when they try to mess with you.” Anthony shrugged. “Also, I trust Samir. He gets the characters.”

  Samir couldn’t help grinning—it didn’t matter how accustomed he’d grown to working with Anthony, this was still Anthony freaking Rawson talking him up to ... them.

  “Actual cowriter or ghostwriter?” asked Chip.

  “Full credits. He got me out of a rut with the damn eighth and ninth books, so he deserves all of it. Apart from the fame. I wouldn’t inflict that on my ex-mother-in-law.”

  “From the stories you’ve told,” Frankie said into her coffee cup, “I could think of a few things I’d inflict on that woman.”

  Anthony grumbled something unintelligible, and took another long swallow of coffee.

  Frankie laughed. “So what’s this I hear: I have to make some casting changes for one of the upcoming seasons?”

  “Well, it doesn’t sound like Justin Strong will be around forever.”

  Chip perked up. “Really?”

  Lyle sat up a bit too, eyes wide. “Say it’s so.”

  Anthony chuckled, resting his arm on Samir’s chair back. “It is so.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Chip raised his coffee cup in a mock toast. “I don’t like to speak ill of my cast mates, but ...”

  “What are you talking about?” Lyle snorted. “You speak ill of me all the time.”

  “And it usually relates to the horrible music you subject me to on the way to the set.” Chip shrugged. “Totally justified.”

  “Whatever.” Lyle glanced at Samir, and took a breath like he was about to speak, but then his gaze shifted to Anthony’s arm. His eyebrow flicked upward slightly, and he met Samir’s eyes.

  All at the same time, Lyle shifted his attention to his coffee, Anthony not-so-casually withdrew his arm, and Samir reached for his own drink.

  “Anyway.” Anthony cleared his throat. “The arc I had for the story meant Justin would have a bigger role before I finally killed him. Samir’s meant, well, that Justin was in the wrong place at the wrong time and— Okay, we might have to adjust it per my editor, but in the current draft, he was ripped to pieces when a giant portal opened.”

  Chip laughed aloud. “Oh my fucking God.” He held out his hand to Samir. “You’re my hero, man. Seriously.”

  Samir shook his hand over the table, disbelief settling back in as he realized Chip Schwartz had just called him his hero over a change to Triple Moon.

  Frankie looked at her watch. “Crap. I need to go return a couple of phone calls before—”

  “Phone calls?” Anthony gaped at her. “At this hour? You’re going to wake people up!”

  “They’re on the East Coast. Chill.” She stood, taking her coffee with her. “It was nice meeting you, Samir. We probably won’t have a chance to talk much at the con, but when we’re all back in Viking Bay, I’m sure we’ll see plenty of each other.”

  Samir smiled. “Looking forward to it.”

  After Frankie had gone, the four of them drank their coffees in silence. Lyle draped his arm around the back of Chip’s chair, and though Anthony didn’t do the same to Samir, he did brush their knees together beneath the table.

  “So are you ready for all of this?” Lyle asked Samir. “The screaming fangirls? Marriage proposals?”

  Into his cup, Chip muttered, “Death threats ...”

  “What?” Samir blinked.

  Lyle elbowed Chip. “Shut up. He’s not supposed to find out about those until later.”

  “No, it’s okay. Let him have it.” Anthony patted Samir’s leg. “He’s already signed the contract. There’s no turning back.”

  “Asshole.” Samir’s blood turned a little cold even though he knew it was a joke.

  Anthony chuckled. “It’s not that bad.”

  Samir expected a snarky response from Lyle, but Lyle’s gaze darted toward Anthony’s arm once more, which was still firmly attached to the hand that was firmly planted on Samir’s thigh beneath the table.

  Their eyes met again.

  Samir p
ut his hand over Anthony’s. Anthony didn’t pull away.

  Lyle raised his eyebrows a little, but then shrugged. No judgment, then. Just curiosity. Are they? Aren’t they?

  Yep. We are.

  Holy shit. We are.

  “You guys might also be happy to hear that Raphael’s sexuality is getting more fluid.” Anthony pointed with his cup at Chip. “I only made him straight because I had to, but I never said outright he wasn’t more flexible than that.”

  “I knew it. He does have an eye for how pretty some of the men are, at least in the book.” Chip exchanged glances with Lyle as if they had a bet going on the topic.

  “And fandom agrees that the Raphael/Dima eye-fucks are the sexiest scenes in the show, thanks to you guys.”

  “Yeah, I saw the poll on the official fanpage. It’s rare that the write-in option actually wins.” Lyle grinned. “Though the fandom rallying around it had something to do with it. Twitter went mad that week.”

  “I can’t queer him openly, but I’m happy to put in more subtext. At this stage, they won’t shut us down if we start taking some liberties.” Anthony chuckled. “Or as some of my more conservative friends would say on Facebook: it’s the gay conspiracy in action.”

  Samir felt heat rise in his cheeks. “We did some organizing in my forums for that poll. Mostly because the option with the most votes was Hannah and Raphael—and I always found that pairing weird. Would Raphael really go for the damsel-in-distress type?”

  Chip shook his head. “I think he really feels more like a brother. Note she’s the only woman on the show he hasn’t slept with.”

  “It’s a past-life thing.” Anthony finished his coffee, and shrugged. “Just read the next books. It’ll all get clearer then.”

  “Fucking tease.”

  “That’s why they pay me the big money. I get people to buy the next books. Your point being?”

  “C’mon.”

  “It’s still subject to edits,” Anthony said. “It’s only official and canon once it’s printed.”

  Chip elbowed Lyle. “We’ll just invite Anthony out and get him drunk. Or get Samir drunk. You do know what’s going to happen, don’t you, Samir?”

  Samir swallowed nervously—this close, the actor charisma was definitely working. Both Chip and Lyle seemed just a little bit larger than life and could apparently crank it up at will. And then there was that strange Magic Eye effect—when he looked long enough at Lyle, he saw Dima Sobakin bleed through, and that was uncanny. If he’d met Dima in real life, he’d have just run for the hills, hoping the man’s next psychotic break didn’t happen while they were still in the same time zone.

  “You can always get us both drunk.” Anthony winked. “Or come over for a bottle. You know the house is almost large enough to put the whole cast up.”

  Was he flirting? Samir glanced at Anthony, who gave him a sly wink.

  “What about a proper release party?” Chip indicated the con. “A bit more private, just some people from the cast, and no paps around.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll get Chas on it.”

  “Where’s she?”

  “Talking to security, probably to plan two dozen escape routes in case people don’t like the cover of book eight.”

  One of these days, Samir would learn when Anthony was joking and when he wasn’t. In this case, he probably didn’t want to know.

  ***

  Three hours later, the doors flew open. Samir was backstage in the big auditorium, and while he couldn’t see the influx of fans, he could hear it. Maybe he was imagining things, but he was pretty sure he could feel it too—the thrum of voices, the percussion of footsteps. He’d been a part of that mass of fans before, but being here, with the swarm coming toward him, was different. Good? Bad? Surreal? He’d decide tonight after a few drinks and maybe some cock.

  Anthony put an arm around his waist and kissed his cheek. “You ready for this?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  “You’ll be fine. I promise.” Anthony turned him a little and pulled him into his arms. “A blogger was outside doing some video interviews with fans in the line, and quite honestly, they’re all so excited there’s going to be another book, I think they’ll love all of this.”

  “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

  “Yeah.” Anthony brushed a few strands of hair off Samir’s forehead. “Listen, if you get overwhelmed out there and need a break, let me know, and we’ll find you a quick escape. Trust me, it can be done.”

  Samir gnawed his lip. He had seen a couple of actors slip away from panels before without making a huge to-do about it. A subtle whisper to someone offstage, a smiling apology about having to cut it short because of a scheduling conflict, and they’d disappeared while the rest of the panel continued. He relaxed a bit. Knowing Anthony had his back, he could handle this.

  When the unveiling was about to start, Samir and Anthony stood behind the thick black curtain, listening to people chattering as they took their seats.

  Then a publicist for the publisher, who often functioned as an emcee at these things, took the stage. After quieting the crowd and then getting them all fired up again, she said, “But I’m not here to tell you about what’s next for Triple Moon.” She paused, giving just enough time for a disappointed ripple to start before she added, “That’s the author’s job.” A roar of applause rose, and Samir barely heard her say Anthony’s name.

  Anthony glanced at him. “See you out there.”

  Then he took a microphone from one of the crew members and stepped out onto the stage. From where Samir stood, he could see Anthony, but not the crowd, and damn, he went right back to the days when he’d been a fan in that unseen audience. When he’d stared up at Anthony Rawson and admired him and lusted after him. Some authors couldn’t pull off a stage presence very well, but when Anthony wanted to, he had a charisma that rivaled Chip’s and Lyle’s.

  “So there’ve been some rumors flying around the internet.” Anthony stood center stage, a hand in his pocket and a slight smirk on his lips. “Seems like you’ve all been a little concerned that there wouldn’t be another Triple Moon.” He flashed a grin that turned Samir’s knees to water. “You can all tweet this right now. Put it all over Facebook and tell the whole world you heard it straight from the wolf’s mouth—books eight and nine will both be out before Christmas.”

  The crowd exploded into cheers. Anthony stood for a moment, egging them on because why the hell not. When the noise had died down a bit, he went on. “There are some changes coming to Triple Moon, though. Turns out, some of my fans know the world I built even better than I do, and, hell, who am I to call myself the dictator of that universe? So I’d like to introduce everyone to my new coauthor.”

  The collective startled gasp made Samir’s heart skip, but also made him chuckle.

  “Triple Moon fans, I’d like you to meet”—Anthony gestured toward where Samir was standing—“my new coauthor, Sam Ardenghi.”

  Somehow, Samir managed to set his feet in motion without falling over, and he made it to Anthony’s side without hurting himself or anybody else and then stood there, looking into the glowing and excited faces. Do they expect me to say anything? “Hey, guys.”

  Anthony grinned and stepped right next to him. “So, Samir, how was working on the books?”

  “Ask me when I’ve recovered.” Samir grinned back. “No, it was fun. Really great.”

  Especially the falling-asleep-in-each-other’s-arms part once we reached the milestones.

  The audience seemed to like the answer—some people chuckled, others kept recording the presentation on their cell phones. Samir tried hard to convince himself that he wouldn’t look weird on camera and that, as a fan, he really hadn’t minded if Anthony or one of the actors had seemed unguarded or unprofessional. If anything, he’d found it endearing. Hot, usually, in Anthony’s case. Anthony had a reputation for being grumpy and guarding his privacy, but even when he joked about his handlers blocking the
exits, people just loved him.

  “So,” Anthony said to his adoring fans, “you all probably want to know what’s going to happen next.”

  The crowd shouted “yes” and other affirmatives, until Anthony raised his hands and quieted them down again.

  “Well, first, we have the new cover art. Do you want to see the new cover?”

  Again, shouts of yes.

  Anthony signaled, and the wall behind him lit up with a crude, vaguely phallic sketch of a gate with a grim-faced stick figure. Arrows indicated “Raphael” and “big-ass gate.” The crowd guffawed, and Anthony made a show of looking confused and then looking back at the screen.

  Samir was getting into it now. “I knew they’d go with that one. Love it!”

  Anthony cast him a glance and a wolfish grin. “Oops. I guess at least I can write. This is actually my, ah, cover concept.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “Anybody want it?”

  Hands shot up, and Anthony stepped to the edge of the stage and handed it to the nearest reaching arm. “See you on Tumblr, little drawing,” he said into the mike and stepped back. Samir swore somebody in the first row swooned. Or maybe they’d been stabbed in the kidneys by whoever stood right behind them.

  “I guess it really proves Yvonne Silver’s genius that she can turn that ...” Anthony gestured behind him. “Into that.”

  The images changed. The next one was a picture of a very cute kitten with fake wolf ears sitting on a pile of Triple Moon books. Samir’s name was in the same text as the title, while Anthony’s name was in rainbow-colored crayon.

  The crowd laughed, and Anthony made another show of confusion before he turned around again, then fixed his gaze on somebody backstage. “Really, Jake?”

  The image changed again, and there it was, the actual cover art. Samir’s heart nearly stopped when he saw the final version on that big screen. There it was. His name. Anthony’s name. Axis Mundi. Right up there for all to see, with him standing under it like an idiot, next to the man who’d created this entire empire. No turning back now.