Fall of Light (13 page)

“Okay.” He sounded so forlorn she wished she could hug him.

“Tell Mama I'll try calling later tonight. I'm not sure how late. We don't get many breaks here. You might tell Tobias, too. Okay?”

“Sure.” He still sounded subdued.

“Got to run,” she said. “Love you.”

“Love you.”

By the time she reached the out-of-business café the caterers had taken over while they were in town, the buffet was almost empty of food and she had five minutes to grab something, eat, and head back to the Makeup trailer. She wolfed a banana and grabbed a chicken leg to eat while she walked.

The Dark God wasn't there when she arrived, nor was Kelsi still curled up asleep in his chair. Opal opened the door and glanced across at the trailer next door, a three-banger Star Waggon with private rooms for Lauren, Blaise, and Corvus to use when they weren't required on the set. Corvus had the room at the end nearest his special station in the Makeup trailer. All three rooms were veiled with curtains, and no lights were on in any of them.

Magenta and Rod came in and set out their tools. Magenta dropped off a set of Polaroids with date and time written across the bottom in Sharpie.

“Thanks,” Opal said to Magenta. “Thanks for picking up all my slack. God. Sorry I was so out of it.”

“Vampires,” said Magenta, with a shrug. “What can you do? You feeling better yet?”

“Yeah. Who knows how long that'll last. You didn't touch him, did you?”

Magenta shook her head. “For one thing, his makeup was fine. If it hadn't been, I would have woken you. Union rules. I'm not allowed to touch him.”

“I know.”

“And, after seeing what he did to you and Lauren, my hots for him went right out the window.”

Opal nodded.

“Good luck. If you know how I can help you if he sucks on you again, tell me now.”

“Keep your distance. No sense both of us going down.”

Magenta bumped fists with her and went back to her station to finish laying out her brushes.

Opal set up her station. She didn't expect to have much to do, unless Invader had lost hold of Corvus since she last saw him. He had just stolen energy from her; he could probably hold out for a while.

She had to prevent him from stealing more energy from her. Flint's fireball—how could that boy transfer energy along a phone line? Maybe she shouldn't ask. He often couldn't repeat his feats. Trying just made him mess up in more spectacular ways.

Flint's fireball still warmed her insides, still felt like a transplanted organ from someone whose blood type she didn't share. Maybe she could use its foreignness to protect herself from predation. She dropped into Corvus's chair, went inside herself, and sat cross-legged in her mental study. A fireball half the size of the original one still burned there. She looked around for the shadow the Invader had left in her study earlier, but didn't see even a flicker in the corner of her eye.

She focused on the fireball.
Please give me an outer skin of unfriendly fire,
she thought, and the fireball brightened, almost smiled at her, and sent out a sheet of fire that formed a thin glowing layer around her.

Thanks,
she thought.
You are beautiful. You are good. You are my friend.

The fire laughed at her in Flint's voice.

He will come with a kiss and a siphon,
Opal thought.
Do not enter him. Keep him back. Burn him.

I hear,
the fire sang, cheerful flames dancing.

She felt someone looming over her and looked up into the green glow of the Invader's eyes. She rose from the chair and gestured toward it. “Have a seat?”

Lauren and Blaise were in the other chairs. Rod and Magenta went to work repairing the damage lunch had caused without conversation. Magenta watched Opal and the Invader covertly.

The Invader settled into the chair and looked up at her, a faint smile on his leafy face. She got the Polaroids Magenta had taken before lunch and studied them, holding them near his face. Perfect match—nothing had come loose. She wondered if he had eaten greasy potatoes and rosemary chicken with the rest of the cast and crew. Corvus couldn't eat solid food with appliances on his face, but if it was the Invader's real face, he could eat anything he liked, she supposed.

Would the prostheses ever come loose again? She opened a drawer and took out the Polaroids she'd shot the first day and studied them against his face. He had still been Corvus—though already troubled by the intrusion of the Invader. He had changed since—the color of his skin was a trace greener now, the horns more pointed, the eyes larger and the brows more peaked. Subtle changes. She wasn't sure she should tell anyone. Possibly it could pass as normal character change. They were shooting the scenes out of sequence, but a lot of them were dim light, so it probably wouldn't make much difference.

The finished film was shipped to L.A., where the editor cut it together into rough scenes, transferred them to DVDs, and overnighted them back. Only three copies were made; they went to the director, the director of photography, and the producer, to share with subordinates as necessary.

Opal remembered earlier days in moviemaking, when everybody who was interested gathered to watch the processed dailies from the day before. The system had changed; too many actors, seeing their earlier work, wanted to do it over. Big names like Schwarzenegger and Cruise could do that, but none of the actors on this picture had that kind of clout.

She decided to wait until someone mentioned the difference in the Dark God's looks from shot to shot, if anybody did. They couldn't be as alert to his face as she was.

“Well?” he asked.

“You look perfect,” she said.

“Of course.”

“Have you always looked like this?”

He turned and studied himself in the wall of mirrors above her built-in makeup cabinet. “Never have I looked like this until now. I admire the design. This is a good face for me, I think; it startles those who see it for the first time, but does not send them away screaming. I want them to sit still for my approach. You are an excellent mask maker.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“So you don't need to touch me now?”

“Not unless there's something wrong with the facade.”

“You'd touch me if I lost something vital?” He reached up with his transformed hand and wiggled one of his horns. It was too solid to come loose. He glanced toward Magenta, who suddenly focused intently on painting Lauren's lips. “Your friend also doesn't wish to touch me.”

“We're not running away screaming, but we've learned to fear you.”

“I am not doing my work correctly, then. I don't wish you to fear me, my handmaiden.”

“I'm afraid of people who steal vital energy without asking, or put people into trances with a touch, or cut people without permission, or burn someone with a look because she said something disrespectful. How am I not supposed to be afraid of that?”

“I should give you something in exchange for your energy. I would, if you would let me.” His voice was caressing, low and warm. “I would give you pleasure,” he murmured. “I would give you almost anything in my power, my glorious wellspring of delight.”

“Right now, your cooperation is really sexy,” Opal said. “Do a good job on the picture, and I'll try to relax about the fact that you've displaced someone I love.”

“Do you love me, Opal?” he asked in Corvus's voice.

“Corr! Are you in there?” She gripped his shoulders and leaned to look in his eyes. The green glow had dimmed, but he was still hidden behind the mask she had put on him that morning.

“Do you mean it?” he asked.

“Yes, I love you.” Now was not the time to explain what kind of love it was, or that it wasn't exclusive. “Are you okay?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I don't seem to be tracking very well.”

“But you're not suffering?”

“Suffering? I've been asleep, I think. Did I mess up my scenes? I don't remember doing them. Was I sleepwalking?”

“I don't think so. Do you realize you're not alone in your body?”

“What? I don't understand.”

“You're possessed by some god-thing. Maybe it's the Dark God of the script. He's been acting the part, anyway, maybe as well as you can, with more motivation.”

“I don't understand,” he said again, and then his eyes changed, and it was the Other staring out at her. “He doesn't have to understand, if you are good to me,” whispered the Invader. “If you resist, I can help him understand in many unpleasant ways. Shall I let him sleep, or wake him up and make him suffer? The choice is yours.”

Why had she brought up suffering to Corvus? Had she given the Invader ideas? Damn it. “What do you want?”

“Touch me.”

She touched the horn he had wiggled, found that it was still seated well on his forehead and wouldn't move without—without, perhaps, a bone saw. He reached up and took her hand, brought the palm to his mouth and pressed his lips to it—

Then cried and thrust her hand away, tapped his lips gently with his fingertips. “What did you
do
?”

“I got some help,” she said.

“Well, dispense with it, unless you want me to do something to your beloved.”

She clenched her fists. She wanted to pound him. How would that serve Corvus? It probably wouldn't help him. If she had her sister Gypsum's power to curse things—

“Where the hell are you guys?” yelled one of the assistant directors from the door. “You were due on the set fifteen minutes ago!”

“Give me something,” whispered the Invader as Blaise and Lauren—both fully made up and ready—stood.

Fire, leave me a finger free,
Opal thought, and her fire skin retreated from her right index finger. She touched the Invader's lips with it, and he took it into his mouth, sucked on the first knuckle, and released her. She felt only a little faint this time. He surged to his feet and swept out of the trailer, followed by Opal, Blaise, Lauren, Magenta, and Rodrigo.

Lauren gripped her arm. “Did Corvus really come back?” “You heard that?”

“We were all listening as hard as we could.”

“I don't know if it was Corvus or a trick. I don't trust the new guy at all.”

“None of us do,” said Lauren. Blaise, beside her, shook her head. Rod and Magenta had gone on ahead.

“Blaise?” Opal said.

The fair-haired woman stared after Corvus's tall, black-clad form. “He has a good professional reputation. That's not the behavior I'm observing. I don't want him to sabotage the picture. If you can come up with a way to handle this, deal me in.”

“Thanks,” said Opal. She felt a weight settle on her shoulders. They were all worried, and they thought she was the one to deal with the problem. Well, maybe she
had
given the Invader an opening to Corvus by using the techniques she had used to create his face, so she
should
fix the problem. She had more magical resources to fight the Invader with than anybody else on set, as far as she knew.

At least everybody was on the same side, or said they were.

Filming resumed with different angles on the same scene. The Invader behaved very well, saying his lines over and over again; he didn't forget the dialog he had improvised. They had a stunt knife for the part where he sliced open Serena's arm, and some stage blood for him to lick when they did the new takes, and he seemed okay with that, too. Opal went on the set to do last looks any time they paused long enough to need it, and she never had to work on the Invader's face. After a while, her tension evaporated.

It was only after filming had finished for the day, around eleven P.M., and the Invader was sitting in his chair in the makeup trailer, that she went back on high alert.

He had taken off the robe and given it to someone from Wardrobe, and he sat there in his black jeans and leafy skin and horny hands, smiling. “What are you going to do with me?” he asked.

“You tell me. Are you going to stay in there all night?”

“Would you like me to?”

“No,” she said, unsure whether a statement of her desire would help or hinder. She wanted Corvus back so much she was going to ask her mother for help, something she couldn't remember doing since she had reached the age of eight. She didn't have the tools to force the Invader out by herself. She needed her mother or Tobias. Would either of them be up this late?

“If I come out, you must promise me you will restore me tomorrow,” he said.

If you come out, how can you make me let you back in?
she wondered. They had two more weeks of work on location, though, maybe longer, depending on the rewrites Travis and Bethany were doing. Every time she put the face on Corvus, it was another invitation to the Invader.

“Make me a promise or I won't leave,” he said.

She clenched her fists and looked away, down the trailer toward the chairs where Blaise and Lauren sat, Magenta and Rod standing beside them, no one else moving.

She could lie. Make a promise and not keep it.

That went against everything she believed about herself. It had always been vital to her to keep her word when she gave it. She tried not to ever give it if she didn't mean it, even though she saw people around her break promises all the time.

Still, she could do it. Maybe.

“All right,” she whispered. “I promise.”

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