Angel at Dawn (27 page)

Read Angel at Dawn Online

Authors: Emma Holly

Tags: #Ghost stories, #Vampires, #Horror, #Paranormal, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Motion picture producers and directors, #Occult fiction, #Ghosts, #Occult & Supernatural, #Love stories

“Where are your sunglasses?” she asked him dazedly.
He pulled them from a pocket and put them on. He looked so handsome with his dark eyes hidden that her mouth watered.
Grace couldn’t think of anything else to say until they reached his car. Before her mouth could do more than open, he tossed her the T-Bird’s keys. Grace’s heart jumped as she caught them.
“You can’t hover over me forever,” she asserted, aware that her indignation was somewhat tinged with delight.
Christian was already slouched in the passenger seat, his cowboy hat securely planted over his face. “You’ve got the wheel, little lady. That means I’m just along for the ride.”
She knew there were holes in his argument, but she grabbed the chance to drive anyway. They were on the highway, and she was stroking her neck absently, before she realized his bite hadn’t left any more mark on her than being shot had on him.
Twelve
O
ne thing Nim Wei knew about making movies: it wasn’t a job for those who couldn’t stand ups and downs. They’d had a decent final night of shooting at their suburban location, mostly shots of Christian’s movie father lurking in the shadows while Joe and Mary said goodbye in front of her parents’ home. Because that had gone smoothly, Nim Wei let Grace take over. The girl had done second unit work on
It Came from Venus
, directing less-important scenes that had to get in the can in a tight time frame. Grace could oversee Mary’s disapproving mother dragging her daughter up their front walk, away from her new hoodlum friend. The actress who played Delia Reed hadn’t appreciated being handed off, but that made no never mind. Delia Reed was supposed to be pinchy-mouthed. Even if Grace got nervous, Wade was behind the camera. The brilliant and kind DP would ensure she kept her footing.
So all that had been lovely. Delia was in a serendipitous foul mood, and Grace was excited, the tension she’d displayed the other day dissolved. Nim Wei congratulated herself for that. Being thrown into taking charge always brought out the best in her assistant. The down to the up came when their location scout stepped into Nim Wei’s mobile office with his report.
“You can’t be serious,” Nim Wei said from behind her Scandinavian-style blond-wood desk. “How difficult can it be to find one big tree with red leaves?”
“Autumn in California can be tricky. I’ve been looking up in the hills. Hell, I’ve recruited a network of leaf scouts. So far we haven’t struck pay dirt.”
“Which means we might have to resort to spray painting one.”
The scout shrugged at her. In the not-so-old days, she’d have put the fear of God in him for his failure. Too bad humans didn’t work as well as vampires when they were terrified.
“Fine,” she said. “Let me know me when you have a good candidate. If we need to, we’ll drop everything and go where you are.”
The scout gave her a salute.
“I should put the fear of God in Mother Nature,” Nim Wei muttered to herself. She noticed Christian coming in as the scout went out. Once again, he’d declined to let her secretary announce him. Since she’d refrained from thralling Melody except in emergencies, his lack of consideration irritated her.
“Lord,” Nim Wei said, her bad mood in need of venting. “Next you’ll be telling me I have to spray paint you.”
Christian raised his eyebrows. He didn’t need spray painting. His glamour was in place, and he was a natural human color. “I’d rather speak to you about Grace. I need your help convincing her of something.”
His ramrod stiffness told her how intensely he didn’t want to ask for her assistance. That, at least, cheered her up.
“Go ahead,” she said.
“Grace needs to let me continue staying at her cottage. She’s threatening to check into a hotel if I don’t stop crowding her.”
He needed to
continue
staying at her cottage? Was that the reason for the change she’d noticed in Grace tonight? She’d had a determined, militant gleam to her—as if she’d taken one of Dr. Rupert’s vitamin shots. Being bitten did things like that to humans, once they’d gotten over their lassitude. An unexpected discomfort tightened Nim Wei’s ribs. She hadn’t realized Grace and Christian had reached that stage of intimacy—though she hadn’t doubted they would eventually.
All this ran through her mind in a twinkling, the little pang swiftly subsumed by calculations of how to best exploit the development. She folded her hands on the smooth pale wood of her desk.
“Christian, as much as I want you to be a happy member of my cast, I’m not sure I should interfere in Grace’s decisions concerning who she sleeps with.”
“Someone took a shot at her,” he said.
Nim Wei’s face went cold. “Took a shot, as in
with a gun
?”
“Yes.”
“But who? Grace doesn’t have enemies.”
Christian’s expression was grim even for him. “If I knew who was behind it, they’d be dead already. I’d follow her to any hotel, of course, but I’d rather guard her with you nearby.”
This was no small concession, and it was made with no small passion—bottled up though it was. Obviously, she hadn’t been paying sufficient attention to the depth of Christian’s attachment to her assistant. But better not to comment until her own thoughts about the matter were more ordered.
“I’ll speak to her,” she said.
“Convince her,” Christian insisted, his eyes flaring.
As a rule, Nim Wei didn’t tolerate demands. Christian was her subject and Grace her human to protect; her friend, if she was allowed to flatter herself. Nonetheless, she felt confident the icy-hearted mercenary would lay down his life for her assistant. Which was as it should be, of course.
“I’ll convince her,” she promised. “Until this threat is negated, you’re Grace’s new roommate.”
Thirteen
G
race was once again behind the wheel of Miss Wei’s two-toned pink Plymouth—though Miss Wei wasn’t in it this morning. Ever since she’d ordered Grace to let Christian breathe down her neck, Grace’s boss had been getting rides to the set from Wade. She claimed it was so she and the cinematographer could go over the day’s setups, but Grace knew that wasn’t the reason.
Miss Wei realized how furious Grace was and didn’t want to be shut up in a car with her.
For one whole week, Christian hadn’t left her side long enough to return to his hotel. On the second night he made his bed on her couch, his man Roy came by with a small black bag of “necessities,” saying he’d be back when he thought Christian needed more.
Whatever the satchel held, it wasn’t clothes. Those Roy had handed over in two brown grocery bags, which Christian—without asking permission—had stashed in her coat closet. If Grace hadn’t had the consideration to hang them up, his nice new things would have turned into a solid mass of wrinkles.
She reminded herself it
was
fury she was feeling. Not increased sexual temptation. Not grudging gratitude for Christian’s misplaced dedication to her safety. Though he’d been high-handed, he was also patient with her bad temper, never losing his own and not pushing her to be intimate again. No, all he’d done was stare at her with those cold-hot eyes and stroll around her house with his torso bare. The constant glimpses of male muscle made her mouth water. Each time his biceps flexed, she grew more certain he was doing it on purpose.
Her neck was stiff from the effort it took not to glance sideways at him now, and never mind that his shirt was on. She was driving him and his boys—Charlie, Matthew, and Philip—to the studio soundstage. There, they’d film interior scenes set in George Pryor’s run-down mansion. If she’d had her way, she’d have stuck Christian in the back; he’d been the last one ready. Sadly, his boys had decided he truly was their leader, and they’d saved the front seat for him.
Christian was his usual laconic morning self, silent and still behind his Ray-Bans and cowboy hat. Also per usual, he reeked of Coppertone. Apparently, he intended to cultivate an authentic vampire pallor.
Grace bit her lip to conceal a smile. His unexpected devotion to his role, after having had to be sold on it, really was amusing.
As if he sensed he wasn’t tormenting her enough, Christian looked at her. A wash of heat swallowed her. Thankfully, they were at a stoplight on Sunset, and she didn’t crash into the bumper ahead of her. The car behind her only honked once before she noticed the light was green.
“What I’m wondering,” Matthew said from the back, continuing a conversation he and Philip had been having about their roles, “is why we’re wearing each other’s shoes. The script makes such a point about it. We’ve both got one blue sneaker and one black the first time we’re seen onscreen.”
“I think we’re color blind,” Philip said. “We’ve done it by mistake.”
“Or it’s an Ibsen thing: there just to be absurd.”
“Feet are the symbolic fount of understanding. Maybe it’s supposed to mean we have a telepathic bond.”
“I don’t know how to play telepathic,” Matthew said worriedly.
“Oh, please,” Christian interrupted. “Your characters aren’t telepathic; they’re homosexual.”
“We are not!” Philip objected.
“You are,” Christian said. “You’re wearing each other’s shoes because it would cause a ruckus if you exchanged jewelry. It’s your way of being close to each other.”
Philip turned to her to settle the dispute. “Grace, tell him he’s wrong.”
“Um.” Grace squirmed in the front seat. “I’m afraid that was also my impression from the initial script.”
Matthew threw his hands in the air. “So then my interpretation is all screwed up!”
“It’s not screwed up,” Grace soothed his reflection in the rearview mirror. “It just has a new subtext. I’m sure Miss Wei doesn’t want you to flounce around. You and Philip are best friends. You love each other that way first.”
“Being gay would explain your fondness for playing chess,” Charlie put in puckishly.
“Chess isn’t gay,” Matthew said.
“Chess is extremely gay,” Charlie teased. “It’s all about capturing the queen.”
He must have made some rude gesture, because Matthew smacked the side of his head.
“
Scheisse
,” Christian muttered as the three boys started wrestling like twelve-year-olds.
“I’m driving here,” Grace reminded, but the tussling only got wilder.
“Hey!” Christian barked in a hard, low tone.
It was as if a master dog trainer had brought out a rolled-up newspaper. All three boys sat up and settled.
“Sorry, Grace,” Charlie apologized. His hazel eyes were twinkling, but Grace nodded anyway.
“Just in time,” she said, pulling up to Celestial’s golden gate. The guard waved at her from his booth, and she drove onto the lot, enjoying the quiet in the car until she reached the warehouselike soundstage they were using. A giant tarpcovered backdrop was being carried by a dozen men through the street ahead. Grace caught a peek at a blazing sunset under the canvas, probably destined for some characters to ride into.
Enchanted by the reminder of the magic they were here to make, she twisted in her seat and smiled at her passengers. “All right, you guys, break a leg today.”

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