out.
David gave the ancient elf a weary look—and a vampire could pack a lot of ennui into a look. “Mr. Qwendar, this is not a courtroom, and you aren’t representing the other party, so you really can’t object to anything. Now sit down.”
“I will report your attitude to the Council,” Qwendar said.
“That is your prerogative,” David answered. “Though I don’t see how they have any relevance to this case.
Barbara Gabaldon stood up. “If I may, Mr. Sullivan?” David nodded in assent. She turned to the director. “Mr. Campos, you state this as if it’s a fact, but by your own testimony you say you’ve never cast an Alfar. So how could you have experienced this reputed magic power?”
“No, I haven’t felt it because I don’t read them. But everyone knows it exists. It’s the only thing that explains what’s been happening.”
Gabaldon looked at us. “Forgive me, but belief isn’t evidence. I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to consider this witness’s testimony.”
David and I exchanged a glance. She had made a good point, and LeBlanc had walked right into it. “We’ll keep that in mind, Ms. Gabaldon.”
Both Missy and Palendar were looking confused and pissed. They could sense something had happened, but seemed not to understand the ramifications. Jeff, watching quietly from a seat against the back wall, gave a sad, slow headshake.
McPhee was next. It was like watching a breaching whale as he levered himself out of his chair. “Well, Mr. Sullivan, this has been most interesting testimony. Most interesting indeed. And if it’s true that these Alfar actors have put the whammy on people, then my clients”—he indicated all the studio and network suits—“can’t be held liable in any way. They were under the influence, so to speak. It seems to me that this fight is between the human actors and the Alfar actors, and all the rest of us are just innocent bystanders.”
One corner of David’s mouth quirked up in a barely suppressed smile. “Nice try, Mr. McPhee, but no. And now you can sit down, too.” He looked back at Sheila. “Are you finished with this witness, Ms. LeBlanc.” She nodded. “Well, as Mr. Palendar has an afternoon call and Ms. Gabaldon has a court appearance on another case this afternoon, we will adjourn for the day. See you all tomorrow.”
People stood and milled, random movements like spooked fish in a tank. I slipped along the wall to where Qwendar was packing up his briefcase.
“Sir,” I said.
He looked down at me. “Yes … Ms. Ellery, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I was wondering if humans ever got to address the Alfar Council, and if there was a mechanism for making such a request?”
“Is this a question on your behalf, or are you asking for your firm?”
“Maybe a little of both. IMG had an Alfar on retainer. He was … assisting me on a case.” I firmly pushed aside the memory of the night John and I had spent together. “When he … we were forcibly pulled into your realm, and John was forced to stay.”
“His mother would dispute your characterization,” he said dryly.
My mouth had gone dry. I swallowed hard. “Oh, so you know her.”
“Yes. She’s a very powerful figure in our world.”
“Maybe so, but she used threats to get John to agree, and then she did something to him.”
Qwendar looked at me intently. “You care for him.”
“He’s my … friend,” I hedged. “And I want to be sure that he’s remaining in Fey because he wants to, and not because he was coerced.”
“Then you are not sympathetic to these nativist humanist hate groups?”
“You know I can’t answer that. And there’s a plethora of these nut jobs. Which group in particular are you talking about?”
“Check out the Human First movement, then maybe you will have a better understanding of my role here and why it’s so vitally important.”
Jeff came up at that moment. “Hey, Linnie, ready to go?”
“Yep, just let me put my things in my office. Meet you at the door?”
“Sounds good.”
“Thank you,” I said to Qwendar.
“I’ll consider your request,” he called after me.
I returned to my office floating on hope.
The Mercedes seemed to dance through the traffic with Jeff driving. Watching him made me realize I needed to embrace my inner formula-one driver if I was going to get anywhere in LA. He took the Barham exit and we went sailing past the Oakwood. I should have driven home and met Jeff out front so he wouldn’t have had to drive me back to Century City. I said as much, and he shrugged.
“Not a problem. I live in Newport Beach. I have to go right past Century City to get home.”
We continued down the hill where Barham turned into Pass Avenue. On our left loomed the walls of massive buildings. They ended up forming a walled-city effect on the edge of the Warner Bros. lot. The walls had been painted with pictures of Batman, Superman, and Sherlock Holmes. Interspersed between the massive pictures of characters were publicity photos of the human cast members of several television sitcoms. We turned in the front gate. Jeff took us around the line of cars inching toward the guard shack to a lane with a card reader. He had the card tucked into the car’s sunshade. A brief wave at the reader, the gate lifted, and we drove through. I was on a movie lot.
On our left were low buildings with tile roofs, and a very Spanish feel. Jeff saw me looking and said, “Those are some of the original buildings from the 1920s. When you get an office in there it means you really rate.” He indicated the big buildings on our right. “Soundstages.”
There were a lot of people walking or biking down the palm tree–lined street while golf carts with candy cane–colored tops wove through them. There were narrow side streets between the soundstages and trucks were parked there, many loaded with equipment. The only thing I recognized were stage lights, and only because I’d been the stage manager on a high school production of
“The set’s on lunch break right now, so we can grab a bite. There’s a cafeteria where below-the-line people, day players, and writers tend to eat. Then there’s the restaurant where the studio suits and big-name actors eat.”
“You’re a big-name actor. Where do you eat?” I asked, throwing it back on him.
“In my trailer after sending some gopher out for food, but since I’m a producer and not an actor on this film I can mingle with the hoi polloi.”
“Would I see famous people in the restaurant?” I asked in a small voice.
“Probably.” He gave me a smile. “Restaurant it is.”
We wove down a few more streets, and Jeff went to park. The tire stop was painted with his name. I gave him a look. This time there was a rueful grin. “It’s how we count coup around here. Part of the perks my agent and manager negotiate—a parking space with my name, an office, an assistant.”
“So, is your office in the old buildings?” I asked.
“Well, yes.”
“So, you rate.”
“For now.” His demeanor became sober. “I really need this movie to be a box-office success if I’m going to make the transition from heartthrob and action figure to producer and director.”
“I’m sure it will.”
He recovered the usual grin. “Well, I’ve sure as hell done everything to ensure that happens. I got Boucher to direct, and Jondin to star and Michael Cassutt to write the script. It’s a fucking trifecta.”
He led me across a small park with a small city street on one side. There was a movie theater, and a store that had been decorated to look like a bookstore. There was a famous actor in the center of the park staring in
