"Oh, God," Joan muttered. "Poor thing."
I leaned down to peer at her face. The skin on the left side of her features and on her throat was covered in blotches of dark, angry red. "Look. Burns."
"From the electricity?" Joan asked.
"Her face wasn't in the water," I said. I squinted between the girl and the shower. "The water," I said. "It turned hot on her. She got scalded and fell right through the damned glass."
Joan flinched as if she'd been stabbed with a knife, and her face turned grey. "Oh, my God. This is my fault. I hooked up the water heater myself."
"Jinxed," said Bobby from the dressing room. "This whole shoot is jinxed. We're screwed."
Joan was holding herself steady, but tears fell from off her chin onto the naked girl. I kept pressure on the injury. "I don't think this was your fault. I want you to get out front and show the paramedics in when they arrive."
Her face still ashen, she rose and took off without looking back. Jake kept up the mouth-to-mouth like he knew what he was doing. I was panting and holding the towel and ice against the wound when the paramedics finally showed up, carrying heavy-duty flashlights and rolling a wheeled stretcher between them.
I told them what had happened to the girl and got out of their way, taking a seat on the corner of a counter that ran along a wall of makeup mirrors. Jake joined me a minute later. "Thought I felt her breathe," he panted, his tone subdued. We watched the paramedics work. "God, this is really terrible. What are the odds of all that happening? You know?"
I frowned and closed my eyes, extending my senses into the room around me. Somewhere in the furor and panic, the choking cloud of destructive magic had dissipated. Barely a trace remained. With the crisis over and no action to occupy my mind, my hands started shaking and I saw a few stars in the corners of my vision. A phantom surge of panic sent my heart and breathing racing. I bowed my head and rubbed at the back of my neck, waiting for it to pass. The paramedics had some big old flashlights, so I put my amulet away, letting the blue light die out.
"You all right?" Jake asked.
"Will be in a minute. I hope she'll be okay."
Jake nodded, frowning. "Maybe Bobby's right."
"About a jinx?"
"Maybe." He studied me for a second, expression guarded. "How did you know?"
"Know what?"
"That we were in trouble. I mean, I thought you were in the studio. I ran in a couple of seconds after I heard her fall, and I was only a few feet away. You must have come through the door a couple of seconds after I did. How did you know?"
"Just lucky. We finished the cameras and Joan took me up there to introduce me or something."
"What was that light you had?"
I shrugged. "Present from a friend's kid. Some kind of fancy new thing the kids have. Light up jewelry for dance clubs and keggers."
"They call them raves now."
"Raves. Right."
Jake watched me for a moment and then slowly nodded his head. "Sorry. I'm being paranoid, I think."
"Been there. No problem."
He nodded and slumped down tiredly. "I thought I was a dead man in there. Thank you."
It seemed smart to keep the wizard thing as low-key as possible. Someone was flinging some nasty energy around. No sense in advertising my identity as a wizard of the White Council. "I didn't do much but run in," I said. "We're just lucky the power went out."
"Yeah."
The paramedics stood up, loaded Giselle onto the stretcher, and picked it up. Jake and I both came to our feet as they did. "Is she going be okay?" he asked.
The paramedics didn't slow down, but one of them said, "She's got a chance." The man nodded to me. "Without the ice she wouldn't have had that."
Jake frowned and chewed on his lip, clearly upset. "Take care of her."
The paramedics started moving out with quick, steady steps. "Sir, you'd better come along with us to the hospital so that the doctors can check you out."
"I feel fine," Jake said.
The paramedics went around the corner, but the second one called back, "Electricity can do some nasty damage you might not feel. Come on."
But Jake stayed where he was. The paramedics took their lights with them, leaving the dressing room in darkness for a moment, until Joan returned with her little flashlight. "Guffie, get your Bowflexed ass into that ambulance."
He looked up at his reflection in the mirrored wall. His hair was sticking up every which way. "Though I apparently see the same stylist as Einstein, the Bride of Frankenstein, and Don King, I feel fine. Don't worry about me."
"I thought you'd say that," she said. "Fine, I'll drive you there myself. Everyone else needs to leave until I can make sure the power lines aren't going to kill anyone. Bobby and Emma are already outside. Harry, be back here by three, all right?"
"Why?" I asked.
"To start shooting."
"Shooting," Jake blurted. "After that? that?"
She grimaced. "The show must go on. Everyone out so I can lock up. Guffie, get in my car and don't argue with me. Arturo is meeting us at the hospital."
"Okay," Jake said. He didn't sound like he minded agreeing. "What about Bobby and Emma? They have a car?"
"Don't think so."
Jake picked up his sports bag, dug in it, and tossed me a set of keys. "Here. Give those to Emma for me?"
I caught them, and we all started out of the building. "Gotcha."
Joan sighed. "Maybe we are jinxed. It's like someone said Macbeth Macbeth."
"What are the odds," Jake agreed.
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. I didn't say anything to them, but I was pretty sure things would get worse before they got better. I didn't say anything to them, but I was pretty sure things would get worse before they got better.
A whole lot worse.
Chapter Nine [image]
We went outside. Joan and Jake spoke briefly with Bobby and the woman I presumed to be Emma. Then Joan chivvied Jake into a car and drove out in a hurry, leaving the stage open for me to do some more snooping. There wasn't any time to waste with lethal magic like that on the loose, and the keys gave me a good excuse to do some more sniffing around.
I didn't hold out much hope that anything in Bobby the Bully's head would be important, so I focused on the woman and walked over to them. "Heya. I'm Harry. Production assistant."
"Emma," the woman said. She was actually very pretty. She had the kind of beauty that seemed to convey a sense of personal warmth, of kindness-a face best suited to smiling. Her eyes were shamrock green, her skin pale, her hair long and red, highlighted with streaks of sunny gold. She wore jeans with a black sweater, and made both of them look inviting-but she wasn't smiling. She offered me her hand. "I'm pleased to meet you. I'm glad you were there to help them."
"Anyone would have," I said.
"Come on, Emma," Bobby said, his expression sullen. "Let's call a cab and go."
She ignored him. "I don't think I've seen you around before."
"No, I'm local. A friend introduced me to Arturo, told him I needed a job."
Emma pursed her lips and nodded. "He's a softie," she said. "In case no one's told you, this isn't an average day on the set."
"I'd hope not. I'm sorry about your friend."
Emma nodded. "Poor Giselle. I hope she'll be all right. She's from France-doesn't have any family. I couldn't see her from where I was standing. Was it her throat that was hurt?"
"Yeah."
"Where? I mean, where was she hurt?"
I drew a line on my own face, starting at the back corner of my jaw and curving around to beside my Adam's apple. "There. Back to front."
Emma shuddered visibly. "God, the scars."
"If she lives, I doubt she'll mind them."
"Like hell she won't," Emma said. "They'll show. No one will cast her."
"Could have been worse."
She eyed me. "You don't approve of her profession?"
"I didn't say that."
"What, are you a religious type or something?"
"No. I just-"
"Because if you are, I'd like to tell you right now that I'm not, and I don't appreciate it when people pass judgment on my line of work."
"I'm not religious. I, uh-"
"I get so tired of hypocritical bastards who..." She started to say something else, then made a visible effort and shut her mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually oversensitive. Sometimes I just get sick of people telling me how bad my work is for me. How it corrupts my soul. That I should abandon it and give my life to God."
"You're not going to believe me," I said. "But I know exactly what you mean."
"You're right," she said. "I don't believe you."
Her belt chirped, and she drew a cell phone from its clip. "Yes?" She paused for a moment. "No. No, sweetheart. Mommy already told you before I left. If Gracie says you get one cookie, then you only get one cookie. She's the boss until Mommy comes home." She listened for a moment, and then sighed. "I know, sweetie. I'm sorry. I'll be home soon. Okay? I love you too, sweetie. Kisses. Bye-bye."
"Kid?" I asked.
She gave me half of a smile as she put the phone back onto her belt. "Two. Their grandmother is with them."
I frowned. "Wow. I never really thought about, uh, actresses with children."
"Not many do," she said.
"Does, uh... does their father mind your career?"
Her eyes flashed hotly. "He isn't involved with them. Or me."
"Oh," I said. I offered her the keys. "From Jake, for the car. Sorry if I offended you. I didn't mean to."
She exhaled, and it seemed let out the pressure of her anger. She accepted them. "Not your fault. I'm tense."
"Everyone around here seems to be," I said.
"Yeah. It's this film. If it doesn't do well we're all going to be looking for work."
"Why?"
She shrugged a shoulder. "It's complicated. But we're all on contract with Silverlight. Arturo left them, but he had managed to slip something into his own contract with the studio that would let him continue hiring cast from Silverlight for three months after his departure."
"Oh," I said. "Jake said something about another movie."
She nodded. "Arturo wanted to do three of them. This is the second. If the movies go over well, Arturo will have a name for himself, and we'll have leverage to either quit contract with Silverlight or renegotiate better terms."
"I see," I said. "And if the movies crash, Silverlight will never pick up your contracts."
"Exactly." She frowned. "And we've had so many problems. Now this."
"Come on, on, Emma," Bobby called. "I'm starving. Let's go find something." Emma," Bobby called. "I'm starving. Let's go find something."
"You should start practicing some self-restraint for a change." The woman's green eyes flashed with irritated anger, but she smoothed it away from her face and said, "I'll see you here this afternoon then, Harry. Nice to meet you."
"Likewise."
She turned and glowered at Bobby as she walked to the car. They got in without speaking, Emma driving, and left the lot. I walked over to my car, pensive. Thomas and Arturo had been right. Someone had whipped out one hell of a nasty entropy curse-assuming that this wasn't a coincidental focus of destructive energy-the mystical equivalent of being struck with a bolt of lightning.
Sometimes energy can build up due to any number of causes-massive amounts of emotion, traumatic events, even simple geography. That energy influences the world around us. It's what gives the Cubbies the home-field advantage (though that whole billy goat thing sort of cancels it out), leaves an intangible aura of dread around sights of tragic and violent events, and causes places to get a bad reputation for strange occurrences.
I hadn't sensed any particular confluence of energies until just before the curse happened to Giselle and Jake, but that didn't entirely rule out coincidence. There is a whole spectrum of magical energies that are difficult to define or understand. There are thousands of names for them, in every culture-mana, psychic energy, totem, juju, chi, bioethereal power, the Force, the soul. It's an incredibly complex system of interweaving energy that influences good old Mother Earth around us, but it all boils down to a fairly simple concept: Shit happens.
But then again, other people around Arturo had been hurt. I could buy that lightning could strike once-but if I hadn't interfered, it would have hit four times. Not much chance for coincidence there.