Authors: Kristine Grayson
He rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his eyes.
One day at a time. That was what Dr. Hargrove and the others had preached during rehab. One day at a time. Sometimes it was one hour at a time. Sometimes one minute at a time.
Live in the present. Don’t look at the regrets of the past—you can’t change them. Move forward, sometimes by inches, counting each sober moment a victory.
He would have to count sober moments as a victory as well, even though he wasn’t an alcoholic. Alcohol had been his defense, and it had finally collapsed around him. Now he needed to confront the problem head-on.
He smiled, just a little, his face still turned away from Jodi so she couldn’t see that smile.
Because it was an ironic smile. He might not be a traditional alcoholic with the genetic disposition and the symptoms of disease. But he had acted like a traditional alcoholic in all ways, including the most important.
He had used alcohol as a crutch so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the problems in his life. Never mind that he had had no idea how to deal with those problems, and there had been no real help for them when they first appeared. What mattered was that he had used alcohol to cope.
And now, he was taking away the crutch. Now he had to be himself, whoever that was, and dig to the root of the problem.
Doctor Hargrove had been so worried about Blue as Blue left this morning. Doctor Hargrove thought Blue was abandoning his treatment.
But Blue was actually putting it into practice for the very first time.
He was confronting his past, making his amends, fixing the problems that he could fix—whatever it took.
He had help—he had always had help. He just hadn’t realized it. Tank had supported him as best she could.
And now Jodi was going to help him find a solution to the curse. Or so she said. And he had to remember that she had self-interest here. If they didn’t solve this, she would probably suffer the same fate as all those other women.
And the women of the Fairy Tale Stalker might as well.
He shuddered.
This wasn’t just about him. This was about them too. He had to remember that. It might give him the strength he needed.
And in his back pocket, he had the list of meetings that Dr. Hargrove gave him. Blue might not ever tell anyone there what he was dealing with, but just sitting there, with people struggling to maintain their sobriety—their
presence
in the world—might be enough for him.
He hoped.
Because somehow he had to find the strength to get through this.
Not for himself.
But for everyone he came in contact with, now and in the future.
He owed it to them.
And he owed it to all those women who had died in his past, deaths he could have prevented, if he had only understood what exactly had been going on.
Chapter 25
Blue was being very quiet, and Jodi wasn’t sure she minded. She probably should have raised the car’s top so that she could talk with him, but she wanted the time to think. She liked the way the warm wind fluttered her scarf, the smell of exhaust, the sun on her arms.
She wished she could turn up the music, but she knew that would bother Tank, who looked just plain miserable on the dash.
Jodi was trying to ignore that too.
She couldn’t take him to the Archetype Place, at least not yet, given what both he and Tank said. Jodi couldn’t imagine Selda giving them a private place to talk, not without a lot of effort.
Right now, it seemed, Jodi didn’t have time for effort. Blue was doing his best to shrink into the passenger seat, his face turned away from her as he studied the passing cars.
She wondered if he had any regrets. She hoped he would have enough courage to tell her to turn around if he wanted her to.
So far he hadn’t. He’d been amazingly quiet, not that it was easy to talk in a convertible with the top down. Tank was being quiet too, huddled against the windshield as if she was afraid of something.
And considering the posse of seagulls behind them, she had something to be afraid of.
Tank and the seagull wars. Jodi hoped those wouldn’t escalate into something awful.
Because of Tank, they couldn’t just stop in a park or near the Santa Monica Pier. Those gulls would be all over them in a minute.
Jodi didn’t want to take Blue to her office. She couldn’t face the questions, let alone how many clients she might lose just by being in his presence. She wasn’t sure how many would recognize him or how many knew him centuries ago. She didn’t want to risk it. In these early stages, she wasn’t sure how to defend him to the magical without revealing his curse.
And she wasn’t ready to do that. Because she might be warning off the very person they all were trying to catch.
She frowned just a little as she turned south off Sunset onto the 405. It was still early in the day. Traffic actually moved on the 405, so it was the shortest route. In another hour, she’d have to avoid the freeways altogether.
Blue didn’t seem to notice, and Tank had probably never understood the road system in Los Angeles in the first place. Jodi didn’t like the thought she’d had.
What if one of her clients was the person who had cursed Blue? What if that same person had created the Fairy Tale Stalker?
Shouldn’t she have been able to tell? She tried to avoid evil wherever possible. She thought she had weeded it out of her clients (even though she still had to contend with it on a daily basis with the studios).
She turned off the 405 less than five minutes after getting on it. She rounded several corners, suddenly realizing what she was doing.
Her subconscious had known what to do all along. She had always been that way, trusting her gut.
She was taking him to Century City.
Back when ALCOA started building Century City in the late 1950s, she had hated it. The aluminum company had purchased the old 20th Century Fox lot and had “developed” it into the skyscrapers that were now iconic in LA. But back then, she hated the destruction of history, not realizing quite yet that that’s what LA did—destroy its own history.
Now she spent a lot of time in and among those skyscrapers, just like everyone else who worked in “the Industry,” as those inside the entertainment called it. She even had a favorite restaurant.
Blue sat up. “Where are we going?”
His voice sounded calm, but his lower lip trembled, as if he couldn’t control it.
“I know a place we can talk,” she said.
“Here?” he asked.
She nodded.
Tank was sitting up now too. They slowed as they went into a parking structure underneath one of the high-rises. The sudden darkness made Jodi’s eyes hurt. She pulled off her sunglasses with a practiced movement and almost tossed them on the passenger seat like she usually did.
She managed to catch herself just in time.
“All steel,” Tank said. “I hate that.”
“You got a better suggestion, Miss Seagull Enemy?”
Tank glanced up, as if seagulls lurked on the ceiling of the parking structure. “Not at the moment,” she said.
“You have an office here?” Blue asked.
“No,” Jodi said. “Just come with me.”
She put the top up on the car as she pulled into her favorite parking space. Then she got out. Tank flew out tentatively, as if she really did expect to be attacked by a seagull in here. After a moment, Blue got out too.
Jodi got the papers he had worked so hard on out of the backseat, along with her briefcase, then locked the car.
“Let’s go,” she said. She walked ahead of both of them to the elevator. As they stepped inside the lavish gold and mirror structure, she typed in a floor number.
“I’ll meet you,” Tank said and flew to the already closed door. She put her hands on it in despair as the elevator started up. She flew around in circles, clearly upset.
“This is just as fast,” Jodi said. She was lying, but not by much. The elevator was an express that opened onto the entrance of Echoes, one of the hottest restaurants in the business.
As soon as the doors opened, Tank flew out so fast that Jodi had only seen a blur. If Tank had said something, Jodi hadn’t heard it because of the music. The music wasn’t blaring—it was at an afternoon level—but it wasn’t soft either.
It was technofusion, probably composed specifically for the restaurant, and it filled the entry. The entry was black and silver, with the harsh sunlight-like lighting that Echoes used in the daytime. At twilight, the lighting grew darker, and by evening the place had more shadows than a haunted house, but right now it strove for bright and gorgeous and relevant.
She didn’t know about the relevant or even the gorgeous, but it did manage the bright.
“We can’t stay here,” Blue said. “We’re not dressed for it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jodi said.
“We can’t talk about what’s going on,” he said, sounding panicked now. “I mean, all that mayhem and everything?”
He was already using coded language. He didn’t mean “mayhem.” He meant “murders.”
“Where do you think people discuss their next film? I’ve heard people talking about everything from natural disasters to poisoning the water supply,” Jodi said. “Trust me. This is the perfect place.”
Tank was no longer with them. Jodi hadn’t seen her fly off. She figured Tank would join them once they settled.
“Seriously,” Blue said, “can’t we find somewhere else? I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Does anyone in the Industry know you?” Jodi asked without looking at him.
“The Industry?” he asked. “You mean the movies?”
“And network and cable and music? Do they know you?”
He looked confused. “I-I-I hope not.”
“Good,” she said. “Then we’ll be fine.”
The maître d’ came over, clutching two menus and nearly bowing in his eagerness to see her. “Ms. Walters. Would you like your table?”
She shook her head. “I need one of your private rooms, Carlos. Do you have one on such short notice?”
The question was a formality. Echoes always kept a few rooms in reserve in case someone famous or important wanted them. Jodi wasn’t famous, but in Hollywood terms, she was important, so she got what she wanted in a place like this.
“But of course,” he said and snapped his fingers discreetly at one of the staff behind him. That poor person—a thin man who looked scared to death—hurried ahead of them.
“I’ll need a third setting,” Jodi said. “A friend might join us through the back entrance.”
“Should I keep an eye out for this friend?” the maître d’ asked a bit too eagerly. He was supposed to stay calm in the face of celebrity, but usually someone who snuck in the back would be famous enough to impress the most jaded maître d’.
“She’ll find us,” Jodi said. “No need to worry.”
Blue was looking at Jodi as if she had grown a third head. He tugged on his shirt and ran a hand through his hair, trying to make himself seem presentable.
Jodi wanted to reassure him, but she couldn’t. They were already threading their way through male and female diners all in Armani suits or something equally black, equally conservative, and equally expensive.
“See,” Blue hissed at her. “I’m underdressed.”
“Only the plebs dress up, Blue,” she said. “They’re all on expense accounts, and right now they’re all wondering who you are.”
His cheeks grew red. People were watching him.
“Oh, that’s not wise,” he said. “Really, that’s—”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Handsome men are a dime a dozen in this town. Strikingly handsome men are too. These folks’ll remember that you’re pretty and they’ll remember that they don’t know you, but they won’t remember your face unless it becomes famous.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said.
Of course she was. She had been doing this kind of thing forever. They were in her world now, and she felt a lot more comfortable than she had in that rehab center.
The maître d’ took them up a small flight of stairs to what looked like a wall of smoked glass. He grabbed a nearly hidden doorknob and pushed open a door. Then he took menus from a female member of the waitstaff who had snuck in from one side, and he cradled them to his chest as Jodi and Blue walked inside.
The room was already set up for three. The smoked glass was a one-way mirror, with a view of the corridor and of the restaurant. On the other side was real glass that opened onto a private terrace which, Jodi knew from experience, was walled off from the other private terraces connected to the other private rooms. Through the half-open door, she could see red and pink flowers, some orange that she couldn’t identify, and a lot of green.
“We can set you up on the terrace if you like,” the maître d’ said as he pulled out her chair, “but you had said the meal was private.”
“It is, thank you, Carlos.” Jodi sat down in the offered chair, took the menu, and nodded toward the seat next to her.
Blue bit his lower lip, then pulled his own chair back and sat quickly, as if his entire body might decide against it. The maître d’ handed him a menu, but sideways, as if Blue’s presence offended him slightly.