Geekomancy (41 page)

Ring.

I can’t tell him about Mom, can I?

Ring.

But I should.

Ring.

Hell no I shouldn’t.

“Ree-bee?” he answered.

Ree sighed at the sound of her dad’s voice, another calming force after her insane week.

“Hi, Dad. How’s tricks?”

“Not bad. Should I call you back, sekrit-style?”

“Yes, please. It’s done for now.”

She hung up and sipped coffee while she waited. Shortly, her phone rang again, showing [Blocked], and she picked up. “Hello?”

“This is Rebel Base, come in, Red 5.”

Ree smiled. “Red 5 here. How are the shield generators?”

“Holding steady.”

Ree launched into a wrap-up of the last couple of days, her mind divided as she went. One part narrated the story, responded to her dad’s questions, and carried on like normal. The other part of her mind angsted over the decision she was talking herself toward, whether she could break her dad’s hard-won emotional equilibrium by telling him what really happened with her mom.

She knew the truth that had broken their home, but she had no clue what it would do to her father. She reached the point of the story where Eastwood revealed Branwen’s identity, and stopped.

All right, kid, now or never.

“And then he handed me some kind of device, like a holocron, except it had a USB port.”

“That sounds handy.”

A voice insider screamed,
TELL HIM!
while another said,
HELL NO!

Ree continued the narration, delaying details about the woman in the vision. She delayed and delayed . . .

And talked right past the scene without spilling the beans.

Not now,
she said to herself.
Maybe someday, but not now, not here. I don’t think I can handle it even if he can.

She finished the story by talking about her current lack of employment.

“I was worried that would happen,” her dad said. “I’ve taken a collection at work from clients and some of the other hairdressers. I told them it was to send you to L.A. again, but use it however you want.”

Ree sighed. “Dad, I can’t do that. I’ll be fine.”

Her dad’s voice took a stern tone. “Rhiannon Anna Maria Reyes, I raised you to be grateful when people give you things. Besides, I already deposited it to your account.”

“Dad . . .” she said, halfheartedly complaining.

“Too late. You can’t send it back. I’ll refuse the payment. Take the money and get back on your feet.”

Ree took a sip of her coffee.
You get your stubborn from him, too. Pick your battles.
“Thanks, Dad. Hopefully, I’ll have more cool stories for you, but maybe the others will be more on the funny side.”

“Whatever you do, I’ll want to hear about it—and think about how much inspiration you have for screenplays!”

“I know, right!?” Ree said, her nervousness giving way to excitement.

They chatted for another few minutes before Ree checked the clock and realized that if she didn’t go soon, she’d miss visiting hours. She excused herself and packed up for a trip to the hospital.

•   •   •

It had taken some judo and magic-paper flashing, but Ree had talked her way past the nurse in the recovery ward and walked down the hall to Drake’s—aka “John Drake”—room.

Ree kept her head up to continue projecting confidence, but she didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. The less lying and sneaking she had to do, the better. The last thing she needed after losing her job was to get arrested. Not like there was ever a good time to get arrested, barring crazy schemes to break someone out of prison or the like, but still.

Her footfalls echoed down the hall, overtaken by the brisk walk of a middle-aged female nurse in bright-blue sneakers who buzzed by Ree and ducked into a room.

After the next cross-hall, she found Drake’s room. She checked up and down the hall to see if they’d be getting any eavesdroppers. Satisfied that they were as alone as anyone in a hospital, Ree walked into the room, closing the door behind her.

Drake lay in the single bed, with a heart monitor by his side. The curtains had a basic checkered pattern, and a 12" TV peeked out from the corner to Ree’s left.

The displaced adventurer looked much less dashing in a hospital gown, his goggles and other accoutrements gone.

“Drake?” she asked, unsure if he was awake.

Drake shifted, murmuring a wordless response.

Ree reached into the slot at the base of the bed and pulled out Drake’s chart. She studied it for a few moments, wishing she’d watched
ER
or something on the way over. Since she lacked any real medical knowledge, it didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know.

Please be all right, okay?
Ree walked around to Drake’s right, moving slowly and trying to avoid provoking a panicked response from the hero-out-of-time. She’d startled her dad once when she was fifteen, and ended up pinned on the floor.

“Drake?” she asked again, a tad louder.

Drake blinked, then opened his eyes wide, looking up at Ree.“Ms. Ree?”

Ree nodded. “Do you know where you are?”

Drake looked around the room. He spoke with some difficulty, still looking a bit groggy. “A hospital, I presume.”

“Yep. How do you feel?”

He managed a weak smile. “Somewhat surprised that Eastwood was strong enough to deliver a blow that puissant.”

Ree nodded, sighing inside. He should be fine. If she’d sacrificed Drake by going off after Aidan . . . She shuddered, rubbing her arms at the wave of thwarted guilt that washed over her. “He’s full of surprises, it turns out. Aidan is safe, and Eastwood is about as repentant as I think he can get without shaving his head and taking orders.”

“I am afraid I do not take him for the praying type, Ms. Ree.”

“Not unless it’s praying for an ultra-rare in a card game booster pack, no. Can I get you anything, maybe something from your apartment?”

Drake looked up at the ceiling. Then he looked at Ree and said, “I will be fine. Have the doctors said when I can depart?”

Ree walked back over to the foot of the bed and pulled out the chart, flipping through it again as much to have something to do with her hands as to read the notes. “Looks like you’re free to go whenever you like. Shall we?”

Drake smiled wider, his eyes bright. “Certainly. But first, do tell me what happened.”

“Anything you need. I mean, you barely knew who I was and dropped everything to dive into ridiculous amounts of danger without so much as a grumble.”

“I cannot refuse a lady in need,” Drake said with a grin that would be rakish, were Drake not so pure of heart.

Ree did her best to keep from blushing, but she felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “That’s going to get you into trouble. Especially in this town.”

“It has done so many times already and will do so many times yet to come. But each time my folly has been justified by the adventure that follows, so I see no reason to stop now.”

You are too much,
Ree thought, shaking her head with a bemused smile.

Ree took a seat and gave Drake the rundown of what had happened after Eastwood left the park. She dropped into script pitch mode, filling in dialogue with voices, getting up to pace around and act out some of the choreography. It felt good to take control of the story, make it her own and something she could be proud of, instead of the nightmare it had felt like while she lived it.

As far as audiences went, Drake was attentive and supportive, far more than the producers and filmmakers she’d pitched to in L.A. But he was quite a bit more invested to begin with, and it was harder to be too cool for school when you were wearing a hospital gown instead of designer denim and an untucked-unbuttoned collared shirt that cost more than a reasonable person’s rent.

Ree briefly entertained the idea of taking the story that was this past week and turning it into a screenplay. However, everything she knew about hidden-society stories told her that would be crazy talk. But no one could stop her from plucking out details here and there and sprinkling them into her fiction efforts.

When the story was done, Ree fetched Drake some more water. “Shall we?” she asked, offering a hand.

Drake sat up, then reached a hand to his head, swooning. Ree caught him as he dropped back to the bed.

“Perhaps I should stay the night,” he said, a hint of shame in his voice.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then?” she said.

Drake nodded. “Marvelous. Sleep well, Ms. Ree.”

Ree faked offense. “Ree. Just Ree. We’ve been through more than enough to put a nail in the coffin of formality, haven’t we?”

Drake smiled, looking up at her beside his bed. “My manners are nearly all I have left of my time. Please leave me them, idiosyncratic though they may be.”

Ree leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “As you wish,” she said without thinking. When she stood up, she turned away a bit quicker than she’d planned, as her ears went hot.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, now. Thou shall not trampage, okay?
she told herself. But she didn’t stop the smile on her face as she walked out of the room, a spring in her step.

•   •   •

After a gloriously normal dinner at the Blins’, Ree took stock of the imminent clusterfuck that was Her Finances. Even with her dad’s deposit, she was going to be in trouble real soon.

Ree picked up her phone and dialed Eastwood. She was too tired to make another trip out into the world, and she figured she was more likely to punch the old geek if she saw him in person, which wouldn’t solve her problem.

The phone rang four times and went to voicemail. Eastwood’s recorded voice said, “You’ve reached Eastwood’s Memorabilia and Collectibles. I’m not available right now . . .”

“Hello?” a live Eastwood said, sounding half asleep.

I know the feeling.
“It’s Ree.”

A beat. “Hey. How are you doing?”

“Do you usually pass out for thirty hours after a big case or whatever?” she asked.

“At least. I woke up from sheer hunger this morning, then went back to bed.”

“So. I’m still pissed off at you, and you have a big karmic debt to pay off. Here’s your first task, Hercules: You get to pay for Drake’s hospital visit.”

Eastwood hrmed. “That’s more than fair. What else?”

“Well, I find myself in soon-to-be-desperate need of employment . . .”

Eastwood sighed, long and tired. “Yeah. Do you want to come and work for me? I could use someone to organize things around here.”

“How much do you pay?”

“A little,” Eastwood said.

Ree shook her head. “My bills are more than little. They’re between Large- and Huge-sized—lots of hit dice.”

Eastwood sighed. “I’m sorry, but chances are good that I lost more than fifty grand of stuff in the big fight. I don’t think I can pay more than a little for a while.”

Ree nodded to herself, unsurprised. “You could just owe me. But I was thinking of something else: What would Grognard say to getting himself his very own magically-clued-in, nostalgia-artifact-wielding, genre-emulating Geek Girl to work his bar and hawk merch?”

Eastwood laughed. “I hope you can hold your Jäger.”

“I can drink a three-hundred-pound Neubauten fanboy under the table and still remember all the words to ‘99 Luftballons.’ Make that shit happen.”

Ree hung up, a twinge of hope flickering amid the feelings of doom. At least she hoped it was hope and not her back spasming again.

•   •   •

At noon the next day, Ree walked into Grognard’s in a black partner-beater, her working jeans, and a Superman belt buckle. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail and had made up her face as Death from
Sandman
. It was a different Gamer Girl look than for Café Xombi, going more for clued-in badass than geek girl next door.

The store was mostly empty. A thirtysomething woman with a souped-up laptop sipped whiskey in a booth, and a couple of familiar-looking faces mingled by the miniatures.

“All right, Grognard, where do you need me?”

From behind the bar, the big man smiled. He reached under the table, pulled out a bottle of Jägermeister, then lined up two shot glasses.

“First, have a drink with me. There’s a lot I have to explain about this place, and it is boring to talk without drinking.”

Ree strode up to the bar, and by the time she reached the shot glass, it was full. She raised the glass, and Grognard met her, saying, “Welcome to Grognard’s. Hope you survive the experience.”

Ree clinked glasses, then threw back her drink. It burned like
woah,
but she smiled, slamming the glass onto the bar facedown.