Man Made Boy (35 page)

“There wasn’t much point in trying to compete in the film industry,” Kemp was saying. “Quite honestly, there’s little magic can do that a big fat blockbuster budget can’t duplicate on film.”

I glanced back to make sure Claire was able to keep up with Kemp’s driving. She was a few cars back, but the fact that she could even keep sight of us while driving that clunky old van
in dense LA traffic was impressive. There’s no way I could have done it, even if my arms had been attached.

“Television, however, always seems to be straining at the seams to produce film-quality effects at a much lower budget. And that’s where we come in. The Studio provides movie-caliber special effects for the price of a standard television production company. Or so it would seem to humans.”

“Do you have your own actors?”

“Heavens no!” He laughed. “Could you imagine? No, my lad, we’ve nothing to do with casting. And trust me, no interest in getting involved in that sort of mess.”

“So how do you keep the human actors from realizing that it’s not special effects?”

“Oh, we have sprites for that. Adorable little creatures. Just love bedazzling humans. The actors only see what we want them to see. It can also bring out some truly exceptional performances, I must say. Ah! Here we are at last.”

Kemp hiked the wheel, and we swerved into a driveway and pulled up to a gate. A few moments later, Claire pulled in behind him.

“Good driver, that girl,” he said. “Perhaps I could interest her in some work.” Then he rolled down his window and punched a code into the number keypad. The gate slid to one side and we drove onto the studio lot, Claire following close behind.

“That’s your security?” I asked.

“Er, yes. Something wrong with it?”

“Just a little outdated is all.”

“Oh, really?” He cocked his head to one side. “And I suppose you know about these sorts of things?”

“I’m good with tech.”

“Well, perhaps I can interest you in some work as well.”

The lot was set up in a regular gridwork of narrow streets that were barely wide enough for our vehicles. As we drove down one of them, we passed large windowless buildings with doors that were almost as tall as the buildings themselves.

“Soundstages,” said Kemp. “That’s where all the filming is done. Each show under contract has its own building, with adjoining offices for the producers.”

We passed about twelve soundstages, six on either side. Then there were a few buildings that were just as big, but also had windows.

“Scenery and prop shops,” said Kemp. “We mostly employ gremlins for that work. Many people don’t realize this, but they’re just as good at building things as they are at breaking them.”

The narrow road came to a dead end at a small office building.

“And here we are,” Kemp said. “Now, let’s get you put back together again.”

“Are we going into that office?”

“No, we’re going there.” His gloved hand pointed toward a small warehouse next to it. Hanging over the regular-sized door was a sign that read costume shop.

Kemp took off his sunglasses and peeled off his latex mask while Claire parked the van. Then he popped the trunk and pulled out the crate that contained my arms and legs. He tilted his head to where I still sat in the passenger’s seat. “If you’ll do the honors, Ms. Hyde.”

I was getting a little tired of being lugged around like a bag of dirty laundry, but there really wasn’t any other choice. Claire leaned in and scooped me up.

“Sorry,” I said, my face only a few inches from hers. “I know this is pretty gross.”

“Nah.” Then she smirked. “Just don’t get used to this kind of service.”

I smiled back. “Are you kidding? You think I
like
being at the mercy of a crazy English chick?”

“I could drop you, you know,” she whispered in my ear. “And make you roll in there.”

“Did I say crazy? I meant
cruel
.”

She laughed and hoisted me a little higher.

Kemp led us inside the costume shop building, where we were greeted by a female receptionist who wasn’t at all startled by a limbless teenager being carried in with his arms and legs in a crate. She had sharp, elegant features. Her ears were covered with her long, blonde hair, so I couldn’t be sure, but I had a feeling she was an elf.

“Found the van,” Kemp said as we passed.

“Well done, Mr. Kemp,” she said dryly, and turned back to her computer monitor.

“This way, kids,” Kemp said, and continued through another door, my hands and feet bouncing slightly as he walked.

We walked into the main warehouse space, which contained racks of clothes on a conveyor-belt system that stretched on for fifty yards and went up several levels. We walked through the center aisle for a while until we came to a closed door. Above it was a sign that read head seamstress.

Kemp put the crate with my limbs down on the ground and knocked softly.

“Kitsune,” he said. “I’ve got a lovely young man here who needs your kind attention. He’s gone all to pieces.”

“Bloody comedian,” Claire muttered in my ear.

The door opened and a beautiful Japanese woman stood in the doorway. At first, I wondered if she might be human, but
then I saw a foxtail peaking out from beneath her blue silk dress.

She scrutinized me for a moment, then nodded curtly. “Bring him in.”

She turned and I saw that there were actually three foxtails poking out.

“Put him here.” She pointed at a large sewing table, like the kind I’d seen in the costume shop at The Show.

“Kitsune is our Emmy Award–winning costume designer,” said Kemp. “You are in good hands.”

Claire placed me on the table and Kemp put my arms and legs next to me. Kitsune picked up each limb and examined the place where it attached to me. Next she looked at each of my stumps. She snarled quietly when she saw how scraped up they were, and I could see sharp little canines poking out. Then she examined the rest of me. She ran a finger lightly over the stitching on my head and neck. She picked up a small pair of scissors and cut the torn, burned, bloody
I’M WITH THE HOTTIE
T-shirt off and examined my chest. Then she lifted me up with surprising ease and examined my back.

Finally, she said, “We will replace all of the stitching.”

“
All
of it?” I asked.

“So it matches,” she said.

“Is that really necessary? I mean, that’s a lot of stitching we’re talking about.”

She stared down at me with her keen, golden eyes. Animal eyes. I don’t know why I didn’t notice them right away.

“There is only one way to do something,” she said. “The right way.”

“I believe that’s the mentality that won her the Emmy,” said Kemp.

Kitsune’s eyes still bore into me. “Are you saying you aren’t
worth
the effort?”

“He’s worth it,” said Claire. Then she scowled at me. “Boy, don’t be such a baby.”

“Can it be a thread that matches my skin tone?” I asked.

“Of course,” Kitsune said in a tone that almost sounded insulted. “I assumed that is how it would be.”

“And…can you make it something that’s fire resistant?”

“Hmmm.” Her foxtails swished back and forth as she considered. “Yes, we can do that.”

“Okay, I guess it’s worth it then,” I said.

“Of course it is.” She looked at Kemp and Claire. “This will take many hours. You will come back later.” It didn’t sound like a request.

“But of course, my dear,” said Kemp, and bowed. He turned to Claire. “Are you hungry, perhaps, Ms. Hyde? I believe the catering usually gets delivered about this time.”

“I’m hungry, too,” I said.

“No,” said Kitsune, her fox eyes gleaming in her smooth, angular face. “Right now you are mine.”

“Have fun!” Claire smirked as she followed Kemp out of the room.

Kitsune slid me more to the center of the table. “She likes you.”

“She has a really funny way of showing it.”

“Don’t pretend to me that you don’t see it.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Don’t let her push you around, though. She is strong. You must match her strength.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Yes. It is.” She held up the biggest seam ripper I’d ever seen. “Now, let us begin.”

MY MOM HAD always replaced parts a few at a time, because it had been hard for me to sit still and she would lose patience with my fidgeting. I had looked pretty awkward when she transitioned me gradually from my kid-sized body parts to my adult-sized parts. That was about when Shaun and his crew had really started teasing me. But the idea that I could have sat through a complete body re-stitching all at once wasn’t something my mom even considered possible. I guess I had assumed it wasn’t, either.

Kitsune wasn’t exaggerating when she said “many hours.” It took almost six hours to disassemble and reassemble me. And it hurt. A lot. But we made it through. Some of that was probably just because I was older and tougher. A lot of it was definitely Kitsune, though. She moved with a quick, darting efficiency, her strong, warm fingers slipping the needle in and out of my skin so fast it flashed in the light. And when the pain reached the point where it was difficult to stay still, she told me stories.

She spoke about forests crowded with life, waterfalls that sang like wild beasts, snow-covered mountaintops that wept frozen tears, and lakes as clear and smooth as diamonds. She told me about foolish foxes who fell in love with humans, humans who betrayed, humans who begged forgiveness, humans who suffered and loved and brought the foxes back to life again and again. She told me these stories all in whispers, like wind running through stalks of bamboo. I think I probably drifted off to sleep at some point, and when I awoke, her voice was still there, soft and rich. She never ran out of stories, and I wondered how long
she’d been on this Earth, among the humans, watching them, sometimes hating them, but always loving them. Limitless compassion. I’d never thought of it as something powerful before, but that’s what she had, and it left me in awe.

I wondered if I had that kind of capacity within me.

“You may now stand up,” said Kitsune.

I slowly got to my feet, expecting to feel dizzy or stiff. But instead I felt strong, quick, light. I actually laughed out loud. Sure, some of that was from the endorphins that had kicked in after six hours of nonstop pain. But I also just felt really good. It’s funny how you can get used to little problems. They irritated at first, but you learned to ignore them. And that was okay, I guess. But then you got so used to the problems that you forgot they weren’t normal. That you could be better.

Kitsune led me over to a mirror so that I could inspect the new stitching. It was so perfect, so fine, it looked unbreakable.

“This is so…” I started to say, but then I couldn’t think of anything to say that even came close.

“Worth it?” Her fox eyes peaked over my shoulder to admire her own work. “Yes, you are.”

I MADE MY way back to the receptionist, who told me to walk across the road to the small office building I’d seen earlier. Once there, I found another elfish-looking receptionist. I think this one was a male, but he had the same long hair and the same sharp, elegant features. He sent me through a hallway, up an elevator, and down another hall until I finally found Kemp in a big office at the far side of the building. He’d taken the hat and gloves off. It was kind of funny, seeing this very corporate environment with an empty suit sitting at a desk, a keyboard clicking away by itself.

“Ah, Boy.” I heard his voice, and the suit pivoted slightly in the chair to face me, except without a face. “You’re looking indescribably better.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You were right. Kitsune is amazing.”

“Yes. I have heard that the more wisdom a fox possesses, the more tails she has.”

“Do you think Kitsune will get more?”

“I expect so. I fear around the time she decides she’s had enough of costume design and leaves The Studio. Hopefully, that won’t happen anytime soon, because I have no replacement for her in mind.”

“Sophie’s into fashion and clothes. I bet she’d be interested in learning about costume design.”

“Sophie?”

“Sophie Jekyll. Claire’s, uh, sister.”