Celebromancy Page 8

  Ree shook her head as she took the cappuccino, then shouldered the door open to let Danny in.

  “I’ll give her the coffee, but she’s still out. How was the rest of the night?”

  “Tense but silent.”

  Ree sipped some of the cappuccino, and took a long breath and imagined the look, we have a CGI budget! digital animation of the caffeine hitting her bloodstream, little tiny Rees waking up and starting to bounce around the vein.

  “Much better,” she said. “How long do you think she’ll be out?” Ree asked, eager to get started doing . . . something. Anything other than sitting and waiting in the place where she’d had her first naked fistfight. Her mind cued up a graphic for the milestone.

  Achievement Unlocked: 25G — THIS IS SPARTA!

  Danny leaned into the hallway and peeked down toward the bedroom. “I don’t know, but if you want to leave, go ahead. I’m the one who gets paid to protect her, after all.”

  Fair point.

  The bodyguard took a step back, putting him out of sight from the trailer door. “Geekomancer, eh?”

  “So they tell me. I’m still pretty new to the game. You?”

  Danny shrugged. “Just a guy.”

  “Vanilla mortal. More points for skills,” Ree responded, as if it were the thing to say.

  Danny didn’t follow.

  You’re out of your element here. Stick to the movie references. “I’ll head out, then. Have Jane call me when she’s up for it. Not that I’m slinking off or anything, it’s just, you know. Stuff to do, magic, investigation.”

  Danny pursed his lips while the Awkwardness Monster critted for a special Condition.

  Explaining to the bodyguard of a superstar you just slept with that you weren’t trying to vanish after a hookup followed by a midnight magical fight scene:

  X4 Social damage multiplier with a lingering Embarrassment effect. Save ends.

  Danny waited, patiently, while Ree shook off as much of the self-consciousness as she could.

  “Take care of her. And yourself. I’ll be around. Unless I’m dead. Hopefully I’ll be around.”

  Ree picked up her coat from its resting place on the sofa and walked down out of the trailer into the early light of morning.

  Step 1) Go home, take shower, reboot brain.

  Step 2) Set mode to Detective and do some research on Rachel MacKenzie.

  Step 3) Try to keep production clear of doom and personal life from spiraling into soap opera.

  And . . . go!

  Chapter Seven

  Step One

  Rachel MacKenzie’s marriage on the rocks?

  The Big Dish has exclusive pictures showing America’s Sweetheart leaving her Malibu estate with luggage in tow, well in advance of the start of principal photography for Blog Wars.

  —The Big Dish, May 13, 2012

  Ur pic’s broken, idiots. U call that journalism?

  —@MSTCHIEF96, Twitter, May 13, 2012

  Both parties in the MacKenzie-Patterson divorce have filed for a closed-room hearing. Rachel MacKenzie is suing for full custody of their daughter, Amelia, but Patterson’s counsel is “confident” that they will win custody, citing a “history of instability,” which they will prove in court.

  Court date is scheduled for June 7, immediately following MacKenzie’s wrap on Blog Wars.

  —SpiceOfLife.com, May 22, 2012

  Unlike the rest of Ree’s night, Step One was simple. She made her way home, showered, and made herself a pot of Bryan’s Dark Dungeons roast. Her mind drifted back to simpler times at her old life working at Café Xombi as she sipped, a life where arguments about how X and Y magic systems would interact was all for fun, not to keep yourself from ending up dead in real life.

  She resolved to spend several afternoons reconnecting with Bryan, Charlie, Aidan, and the gang when the pilot was done shooting, then she put her focus back on the previous night.

  She noshed on a plastic bag of carrots that were headed from carrot orange to no-longer-food white. They still smelled like food, and they didn’t have that sliminess carrots got when they had become mulch.

  Researching Rachel MacKenzie’s production was simple. She was shooting a romantic comedy called Blog Wars, starring as a plucky food blogger trying to stand out in the L.A. food scene (All cities stand in for L.A., just as L.A. stands in for all cities. Most people don’t notice. Except the tons who do.), when her path crosses with a brusque bar blogger (played by Ryan Gosling, who had become the new Actor Who Must Be in All the Movies).

  In the film, Gosling’s Gonzo-style video blog, Mulholland Drunk, completely eclipses the popularity of MacKenzie’s blog, threatening her livelihood. Personalities clash, chemistry sparks, yada yada, smooching, misunderstandings, and then romantic reconciliation with swelling music by The Lumineers or the like.

  As with most things, it would come down to execution, but Ree was getting a big scent of gold-plated crap off of the project. The bar seemed to be low for romantic comedies these days, even with home runs like The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Going the Distance or the standout dramedies like Crazy, Stupid, Love.

  Cosmic was shooting the film a few miles south of the sets for Awakenings. Google and insider production stills showed scenes being shot all across downtown: the Wedge, Pearson Plaza, and the Orange Building. One Tough Mama was the plucky independent, and Cosmic was in the Big Leagues.

  Well, it’ll be easy to find them. Maybe not so easy to get in. But luckily, magic.

  Ree looked over to her media wall. She used to be fairly laid-back about organizing her collection. It was where it was, and she knew more or less where everything lived.

  Now that her media collection was part of her magical arsenal, she’d arranged the films by what she could get out of them.

  General action movies went together—the ones that could give her movie physics dodging, leaping, and toughness.

  Overt fantasies were another row—films that could let her fling fireballs or fight off a dozen orcs wearing nothing but skimpy leather armor.

  Superhero movies went at the top, arranged in ascending order of power while she finished figuring out how to use them effectively—she’d tried to fly after a Superman marathon and had only gotten across one rooftop.

  Watching a movie or show built up a certain amount of magical energy, depending on how much she loved the show in question, how popular it was overall, her relative experience as a Geekomancer, and how much of the show she watched before using the power.

  And to make the math even more complicated, the charge faded slowly over time, even if she didn’t use it. She had tried to create a formula to make things more precise, and decided to drink instead. It was all variables and no solid numbers. How do you put number rankings on your fandoms? Did she like Star Wars 3.75 times as much as Star Trek, or just 3 times as much?

  Math aside, she was getting more efficient the more she practiced, that was certain.

  But the big stuff, like flying, laser eyes, and the more reality-breaking stuff, was beyond her for the moment. It took more juice than she could hold at once. She’d learned to target the middle-level powers, tricks that were contextually instead of universally badass.

  Unlike the one-shot tricks she used by tearing up CCG cards or comics, genre emulation was an infinitely renewable resource. She could go back and rewatch something to top off her magical charge. Trial and error were her friends, just as long as the errors in her trials didn’t get her killed.

  She had also grouped the horror movies together, but she’d been afraid to try most of them out, since she wasn’t sure she qualified for Last Girl status, even with her just-now-broken stint of chastity-due-to-an-extreme-lack-of-dating. Plus, she’d just seen Cabin in the Woods and was now feeling uncertain guilt about consuming horror thanks to the fact that the film seemed way more plausible in a magic-is-real world.

>   What’s going to work here? she asked herself. Something that grants invisibility would work, as would something that could give her an air of authority. (I’m an associate producer, I’m supposed to be here!) She could watch The Usual Suspects and try to bullshit her way in, or maybe The Adventures of Lois and Clark to get her Lois Lane on.

  The prop One Ring that her dad had sent in one of the goody boxes from home would do the trick as well, though she didn’t like using that in case it proved to be a little too realistic. Sure, Eastwood’s rings worked, but he never mentioned where they came from, and she’d rather not take risks with repeated exposure. Ree knew women who could pull off bald, but no one could pull off the Gollum comb-over.

  Ideally, she’d get something that wouldn’t lead to instant fail when the mojo ran out. She’d gotten much better at timing out how much power and time she could get out of various lengths of viewing. Geekomancy was actually not unlike D&D magic for some things. Now, if only she could see the dice rolls so she could know exactly how long a power would last. Duration: 6d10 rounds was quite a range in a three-second-round universe.

  Ree stopped at her copy of X-Men: First Class, settling on the Mystique approach. She could impersonate a local reporter, and Ree knew just the one.

  She took a lap around the Internet while the movie loaded up through five minutes of hard-coded trailers and advertisements, remembering something she’d seen in her Twitter feed on the way home.

  There was a message from her dad, an email about some film blogger who wanted to interview her, and a Google Alert for her name.

  Achievement Unlocked: 10 G First Tabloid Appearance.

  Someone at Infinity had put two and two together with a short piece of technically-journalism captioned by a picture of her and Jane dancing.

  Jane Konrad’s Wild Night

  Dancing and Drinking, then Screaming and Police: Has She Lost It Again?

  Child actress turned hot mess Jane Konrad was spotted at Infinity Club, downing vodka and dancing up a storm with her apparent new playgirl, screenwriter Ree Reyes. The pair arrived together, split a bottle of vodka, and were seen leaving together making significant glances, and WTF has exclusive photographs of two female silhouettes in the star’s trailer.

  But did the night go bad? Police were called onto the set of Konrad’s new pilot for Awakenings, written by Reyes. A lover’s quarrel, perhaps, or another meltdown from the former child star? Is another trip to rehab far off for Konrad?

  Ree read the article three times, wavering between anger and worry. Just what I don’t need: attention. It’d be hard to snoop around the city with paparazzi following her hoping to get exclusive dirt or access to Jane.

  She closed the message, scanned the rest of her email, and very deliberately didn’t make the rounds through the TV-focused sites she followed.

  One thing at a time, she thought. She looked up and noticed that the DVD menu had looped around again, so she put the laptop down and pressed play.

  • • •

  As the credits started rolling, Ree’s mind was bursting with the magical energy of the film, the power of change, the metaphors made real. Ree controlled her breathing and focused on Raven’s story for the film: her sense of alienation, her totally obvious crush on the equally oblivious Xavier, and her desire to truly belong.

  She’d discovered that for emulating a character and their power, the more she empathized with the character, the better off she was. So watching the whole film was way more effective than just watching a Raven Darkholme badass reel.

  Ree closed her eyes and held an image in her head that she’d had up on her laptop the whole time during the movie, that of Pearson Patriot reporter Kelly Dominguez.

  She’d met Kelly once before the press panel, at a launch party for a webseries a friend of a friend had been involved with. Between that one meeting, the press panel, and Kelly’s video reviews, she hoped she’d be able to do a passable enough job of impersonating the reporter to get onto the set and try to dig up some information, maybe even talk to Rachel MacKenzie in person. Any other magic on-set would be bug-frak-crazy, so it’d have to be strictly recon, in and out. Plus, the charge wouldn’t last long enough for anything else. Ree bet that a full-body change like this would drain the battery way faster than the kinds of powers where she just tapped the energy for bursts, like she did with Buffy, the Matrix, and the like.

  Energy rippled across her body. Her hair grew longer, her face shifted, nose and mouth and jaw settling into new positions. Her torso shortened and grew more curvy, going from twig-like to rubenesque. She walked to the bathroom and checked herself in the mirror.

  Yep, it worked. Kelly Dominguez looked back at her from the mirror, complete in the media professional outfit she wore in one of the Pearson Patriot team profile pictures and a press badge dangling hilariously above her ample cleavage. Ree stretched out, feeling the differences and marveling at the weird awesomeness of being in someone else’s body.

  Note to self: Don’t do this too much. It could get creepy.

  Plus, if she wanted to, with this and some other tricks, she could be one hell of a criminal. Not that impersonating a member of the press wasn’t already on the gray side, but it’s not like she was going to take up a career as a cat burglar.

  Though there are also the kinky possibilities, her libido offered.

  Down, girl. Work now, play later, she told herself, trying to stay present in the moment.

  The clock was ticking on her X-Mojo, so she gathered up a purse (with a lightsaber, a sonic screwdriver, and Magic: The Gathering cards for escapes, counterspells, and assorted one-off fixes) and headed out.

  • • •

  After a twenty-minute subway trip, Ree turned onto the corner of Pearson Plaza and zoned in on the signs of the shoot. She power-walked her way over, annoyed that Kelly was the kind of woman who wore three-inch heels as a matter of course.

  Ree kept her eyes open as she closed in on the production, futzing with the press badge around her neck.

  A young Middle Eastern woman in a black T-shirt, sunglasses, and cutoff jeans stopped her at the edge of the shooting area.

  Ree presented her press badge, trying to look like she’d done it a hundred times.

  “Kelly Dominguez, Pearson Patriot. I have an appointment,” Ree said, a bit surprised to hear someone else’s voice coming out.

  The woman seemed unimpressed. “What appointment?”

  Ree let the magic guide her words, augmenting her memory of Kelly to keep the ruse going.

  “Oh, great. So now the biggest paper in Pearson isn’t important enough for Hollywood to keep our appointments anymore?” Ree turned up the drama. “My boss said this would happen. He told the mayor that if we let the production companies in, we gave them an inch, they’d take ten square miles, set up shop, and stop answering calls from the local press.”

  Ree locked the woman in her gaze to hit the point home. “This isn’t Hollywood north, you know that, right? You’re here as a part of our good graces. You blow us off, and my editor raises hell in City Hall. Then poof go your permits, your tax breaks, and who do you think they will blame?”

  The probably-intern wilted under Ree’s Scathing Reporter act and took a step back before saying, “Stay here, I’ll go make sure they know you’re coming.” The woman vanished into the hubbub, leaving Ree unguarded.

  Ree relaxed, feeling a bit bad for biting the woman’s head off for doing her job. So, do I wait for her to come back and escort me in, or barge in for more juicy info and try to push a reaction? If she did the latter, it’d come back to bite Kelly even more than what she was already doing. And the real Kelly would be around sometime today; Ree had gotten the whole idea off of Dominguez’s Twitter feed when she had asked her followers for questions to ask MacKenzie during her set visit that afternoon.

  Ree took several long breaths, maintaining her menta
l grip on the magic keeping her in Mystiqued mode.

  The probably-intern came back, looking a bit less annoyed as Ree tried to greet her with a smile.

  “Straight back, then the third trailer on the left. Her assistant says you’re early.”

  “Better than being late,” Ree said with a smile, trying to flip from Bad Reporter to Good Reporter as she walked by. Slightly less effective than Bad Cop/Good Cop. The right photo could do more damage than a gun, but people didn’t tend to die because of scandals.

  Well, maybe.

  Which brought her thoughts back to Jane. Ree promised herself she’d check on the star after her recon, fit that in somewhere between changing, checking in with her dad, eating something resembling food, then heading into work at Grognard’s for the Midnight Market shift.

  Ree kept her eyes open as she walked down the pathway heading to the shooting set and the trailers. The production campus for Blog Wars was like the one for Awakenings, but three times as big and fancy. A brigade of PAs buzzed around like underpaid bees, and she had to resist the urge to stop into the craft services tent, where she swore she could smell potatoes au gratin and roasted lamb.

  She was still new to the reality of show biz, but there was no mistaking Rachel MacKenzie’s trailer. It was 50% bigger than Jane’s and had two burly bodyguards standing out front, each so top-heavy with muscle they looked like inverted Weebles.

  Ree held up Kelly’s press pass again. “Kelly Dominguez. I’m expected.”

  One bodyguard, a big Eastern European–looking guy with stubble-shaved head and a less-shaved beard, stepped forward and said, “Let me see your bag.”

  “Paranoid much?” she responded, trying to cover a wave of panic with snark. She had no idea if the magic would cover up the weird props in her bag. That wasn’t discussed in the movies, and Mystique’s clothes are part of my shapeshifting had always been a gray area, the kind of thing the films and comics asked people not to think about too much.