“We’ll wait for you,” Matthew said.
“You don’t have to—”
“We’ll wait,” Charlie seconded. “Seeing as your
fiancé
is ferrying the little Forrester, you’ll need our help protecting your giant rock.”
The boys from both of the movie’s factions were sharing the big black car. United by their excitement, they grinned and nodded agreeably—which made Grace wonder how much they’d noticed about the cold front between her and her employer.
“Well, thank you,” she said. “I’ll try to be quick.”
Flustered by their support, she exited the limo, thankfully remembering to twist her giant rock around to her palm. She and her boss didn’t need to discuss that change in her private life. She slid into the Fury from the passenger side.
Miss Wei’s head didn’t turn to her.
“You should be driving me tonight,” she said. “I bought you a special dress.”
“I like the one I bought myself,” Grace said.
“Of course you do. And your apartment, too, I presume.”
Her tone was cool, but Grace suspected what lay beneath the ice. “You’re just nervous about how the film will do.”
Miss Wei’s bow lips flattened. “Why should I be nervous? I didn’t turn a hair when
Revenge of the Robots
opened.”
“That project was for fun. This movie means more to you.”
“And what does it mean to you?” Miss Wei’s profile turned now, her gaze acute but not glowing.
“It means a monster might not be a monster if one person sees good inside his heart.”
Her boss’s eyes narrowed. Grace couldn’t tell if she was offended, though a queen might consider her implication presumptuous. After a silence, during which Grace willed her pulse to stay steady, Miss Wei shifted her gaze to the cacophony of colored neon that glinted off the windshield. All the theaters on Hollywood had their gaudy signs lit tonight.
“I shouldn’t have given in to the studio about editing out so much of the blood,” Miss Wei said darkly. “Some of our effects have never been pulled off before, and I’m convinced young people have an appetite for gore. Who knows if they’ll enjoy a vampire movie this tasteful?”
“The story will stand up. Whatever changes you made, I know you did your best.”
“My best wasn’t good enough when it came to keeping you as my friend.”
“I’m here,” Grace said. “We made it to this night together.”
“If I’d been honest about what I was when we met . . . ”
“I’d have been frightened,” Grace admitted. “Or thought you were crazy. Playing ‘what if’ is pointless.”
Miss Wei shook her head. “So sensible for a human.” She waved her white fingers toward the window. “You should go. Your limousine is waiting.”
Grace hesitated. This wasn’t the time to bring up her plan to resign, or to suggest they had a chance to be friends again. The softening in her heart was tentative. Miss Wei wouldn’t want Grace to make a promise she couldn’t keep—assuming she wanted her promise at all.
“Good luck tonight,” she said, then leaned forward to kiss her employer’s cool marble cheek. Miss Wei responded with her best basilisk stare. Sending a different message, her hand came up to cover the spot. “I know the movie will do well.”
Grace did know. She realized that as she dashed back to the other car. No part of her doubted it. Before she could lift the handle, Charlie opened the door for her.
“Let’s get this show on the road!” he chortled. “We are going to wail tonight.”
His optimism wasn’t misplaced. Celestial’s publicity machine had been cranking full out for the last few months. Proving it had paid off, the throng of media and fans slowed traffic to a crawl in front of the theater. Stadium-type seating was set up on the opposite side of the boulevard, and every bench was packed. Day players dressed as vampires tossed Red Hots to excited fans. Because the candy boxes were signed by cast, they were coveted. One girl squealed as she caught one Christian had autographed. Photographers’ bulbs went off like supernovas as they recorded her near-hysterical triumph.
“Into the fray,” Charlie said.
Like a sextet of glamorous spies, the young actors slid on dark Ray-Bans in unison. Though their tuxedo jackets were a rainbow of pastel hues—with satin lapels, no less—Grace was certain Christian had inspired their choice of eyewear.
His three boys offered their hands to help Grace out of the limousine. Thinking she must be an actress, the photographers went wild as she emerged legs first. When they realized she wasn’t anyone important, Grace laughed silently at their frowns. Nothing could dim her enjoyment. She gazed around at the clamor with the gaudy, lit-up Chinese Theater looming over it.
The turnout for the premiere was stellar. Stars sprinkled the red carpet, each with his or her own cluster of media, from whom they’d wring whatever promotional juice they could. This didn’t spark Grace’s cynicism. She loved being an insider at the circus. She spied Rock Hudson and Ava Gardner and someone who looked like William Holden but wasn’t when he turned around. He winked when he caught her staring, saluting her with two fingers before he melted into the sea of humanity. For a heartbeat, she wondered if he knew her, but there was too much else to look at. To her, everyone was gorgeous, the women’s jewels blazing brilliantly in the nonstop flurry of flashbulbs.
Christian and Viv hadn’t arrived yet. They were scheduled to roar up at the last, most dramatic instant. Just as the boys were called from her side by reporters, Christian’s man Roy appeared. He must have known a few more-than-human tricks. He seemed to have no trouble reaching her through the crush.
With a panache that said he might have been a ladies’ man when he was younger, he offered her his elbow.
“I guess it went okay with Christian,” he said close against her ear. “Since you’ve got Gibraltar sparkling on your finger.”
“He told you?”
“He more than told me. He’s been driving me crazy since he picked out the ring. You’re the first mortal he wanted to change, though he’s known the secret for two decades.”
“I’m the first?” Grace asked, her eyes widening.
“The first, the only, the big, bad anchor of love he’s been dragging around all these centuries. Mind you, don’t tell him I said that. I expect I’m not supposed to have guessed.”
Well,
Grace thought, flattered to her toes. No wonder he’d been upset when she wanted to wait ten years!
The press of attendees funneled them between two Ming Dynasty heaven dogs that guarded the entrance. Just past the statues, Grauman’s lobby was an eye-swirling combination of lucky red columns, dragon carpets, and gilding. The presence of a big candy counter in the midst of the glamour—doing brisk business, too—made Grace’s exhilaration soar all the higher. This was a movie house,
her
movie house tonight. More red and gold glowed in the theater itself, which was quickly filling up. Uniformed ushers ensured no VIPs were insulted, but Grace didn’t know if she’d be recognized as one. To her relief, Wade Matthews stood up and waved.
“Over here,” the DP called from the middle row on the left. “We saved seats for stragglers.”
We
was Wade and Andy Phelps, the movie’s head of wardrobe. The young man blushed when Grace said hello, strengthening her suspicion that he and the cinematographer were enjoying a secret romance. There was something familiar about the chemistry between them, as if—like her and Christian—their connection had history. She supposed it wasn’t her business, but she liked the idea. They were nice men. They deserved happiness.
Grace sat next to Wade, who smiled and pushed his horn-rims back up his nose. She opened her mouth to thank him when the hairs on her arms prickled. Christian’s vampire friends were squeezing into the row behind them. Grace had sensed their energy approaching.
“Good heavens, this is exciting,” Pen said.
To Grace’s amazement, no one around her found the immortals worth staring at. Even with their disguises up, the couple was striking.
“Privacy bubble,” Graham said to Grace. “Pen’s a champ at building them.”
His pride in his wife’s accomplishment was sweet, but the likely reason for it was what twisted Grace around in her seat. “You have something personal to say to me?”
“Didn’t get a chance to before, since Christian yanked you out to propose. It can wait, though, if you don’t want to hear it here.”
“Just tell her,” Pen advised. She met Grace’s questioning gaze with kind eyes. “If I were you, I’d want to know right away.”
“Go ahead then,” Grace said.
Graham put his big hands on either side of her seat back. “Your father’s dead.”
Grace’s mouth fell open as her imagination played out various scenarios of Christian chasing George Gladwell down. Her thoughts were so filled with static she couldn’t tell if that troubled her.
“How?” she asked numbly.
“
When
might be more relevant. An associate of ours was able to track your mother, who’s been living with her sister in New Mexico. As near as he can figure, a couple years ago there was some weird love triangle going on. Your aunt bumped off your father, and then your mother helped her bury him in the desert behind her house. Our associate told the police where to find the body. I hope that doesn’t upset you. It appears your relatives are going to jail.”
“Jail,” Grace murmured, her brain refusing to move forward on its own.
“I’m afraid those ladies made a poor impression on our man. He wasn’t inclined to let them get away with their crime.”
Their
man
must have been another vampire, possibly the same who’d dug into Grace’s past for Christian. Whatever secrets her aunt and mother had tried to hide, he’d have been able to read. The image of Miss Wei’s private physician slid into her mind, but she found it hard to care if the guess was right. Something strange was happening inside her. Her skin was humming and her head felt like it was floating an extra inch above her shoulders. The muscles of her body tightened like rubber bands . . .
With a suddenness that made her jerk in her seat, they loosened all at once.
It’s relief,
she realized.
Not anything supernatural
. Her reaction wasn’t even gloating that her awful family seemed to have met the fates they deserved. A weight had been lifted from her, and the effect of that was profound.
She was finally free of her past. No part of it could hang over her. For that matter, no part of it could hang over Christian. He’d never have to decide if he ought to kill for her.
“Thank you,” she said, covering Graham’s big cool hand. “I’m glad you didn’t wait to tell me.”
A cheer from outside the theater said Christian and Viv must be making their grand entrance. In spite of the shock that was reverberating through her, Grace smiled as she pictured it. Viv would eat up the attention much more than Christian, but he was a good sport.
The thought of how to compensate him later widened her smile.
“Oh, boy,” Pen murmured in amusement at her expression. “You two really are gone on each other.”
Yes,
Grace thought. Really, truly, and—just maybe—equally gone. This was such a thrilling prospect that she shivered.
A moment later, the sunburst chandelier in the center of the ceiling began to dim. The audience let out a rippling sigh of anticipation. Down on the stage, the curtain was rising in crimson swags. Grace felt as if she’d dreamed this moment a thousand times. Living it out was better. The enchantment she’d been a part of spinning was about to debut.
A sudden breeze had her hair tickling her cheek. When she turned, Christian sat next to her. He’d snuck to her from whatever seat he’d been assigned to. Grinning, he gathered her hand against his heart and bent closer. His lips whispered along her throat to seal briefly over her racing pulse. Grace’s skin warmed under his stroking tongue. When Christian drew back, a soft gold glow shone out from his eyes.
“I knew Graham was going to tell you about your father,” he whispered. “I had to slip back to you. Are you all right with this?”
She nodded. “What about you? Still want to marry me now that I’m out of danger?”
His fingers skated gently around her face. She knew he saw her expression much better than she did his. “I want to marry you because I love you. I want to change you because I’ve always loved seeing you be strong.”
His eyes were glittering, and her own prickled, too. “Chris,” she breathed, at a loss for any other words.
His grin flashed white a second before he dropped a quick kiss onto her mouth.
“
Now
I can watch this thing,” he said smugly.
Grace’s head settled on his shoulder as
Teen-Age Vampire
’s titles began to roll. Behind those wonderful, magic letters—especially the ones that said
story by Adam Chelsea and Grace Michaels
—George Pryor’s motorcycle gang was rumbling into Haileyville to torment its shopkeepers. Discordant music swelled, the jazzy orchestration conveying a suitable sense of doom.