“What?”
“I asked if you truly think you’re on vacation.”
“I’m here for my brother,” I said. Last night had been an acute reminder. “This trip means the world to him, and his therapist thinks… How much do you know about his situation?”
“Your father told me the harsh details last night.” Cate looked annoyed. “I would have appreciated knowing earlier. I could have helped.”
She was being earnest, so I tried not to laugh. “Unless you have a time machine and can remind my dad to pick us up instead of leaving us at the mercy of a mentally unhinged stalker, there is no help.”
“Iris.” She said my name like a mom. Like a person who cared about me deeply, which was weird and misleading because we barely knew one another. “That attitude will kill you.”
Jaded Iris, reporting for duty.
“I know,” I admitted. The sun cracked over the eastern horizon, and I turned my eyes away, toward the west and the sudden jewels of light popping across the deep blue ocean. Azure?
Blue.
Cate flexed her hands in the rays. “I assure you yesterday did not go as planned for anyone, but I want you to stay. To become part of this production community.”
“Because we’re your Thornian luck charms?”
Oh, I’d gotten to her. She scowled. “Because this is your family’s story. Whether you like it or not. Whether you know it or not.” She picked up the pace, and I had to hustle. “I have jobs for you and Ryder. Perhaps if you feel more involved, you’ll seek out less trouble.”
“Look, Eamon should have been watching Ryder like he promised and—”
“Eamon O’Brien is one of the stars of this major motion picture, not a babysitter. And I’m speaking of the trouble of you and Julian and Shoshanna huddled up in Julian’s trailer, making fun of everyone on set.”
“But—”
“I’m very sharp, Iris. Very,” she said in a way that left me wondering if there was an Irish mafia. Did she bring me out here to dangle me over a cliff and tell me to watch myself? “I know you haven’t read your grandmother’s books, and high fantasy is not your literary style. You’re a, what, Pride and Prejudice kind of girl?”
“No,” I threw back just as snappish. “Jane Eyre.”
“Oh, Iris. That is a true fantasy.” Cate’s accent crystalized in a way I hadn’t heard before. She sounded more like Eamon, like this country. I already felt foolish for thinking the accent was exotic when I arrived. It was far better: welcoming, honest, and, well, sharp. “Regardless of your reluctance, you can be no stranger to the feminist themes in Elementia.”
I rattled off my dad’s dry elevator pitch on cue. “Male chauvinist king who denies his daughter’s birth rite in favor of his son ends up killed by said son while the whole world gets saved by said daughter.”
“That sounds like a man’s interpretation,” Cate said. “Your father’s?”
I nodded, wondering what had given me away.
“You need to know this story is more complicated. Like this world. What does your mother say about the books?”
“She hasn’t read them either. She’s a poet. She…” How much to say? When it came to my mom, the outside world didn’t understand, and we Thornes rarely asked them to. “She’s a bit of an Emily Dickinson. Instead of an attic, she hides in her greenhouse. All day. Every day.” Cate’s pitying look made me ache. “It’s okay. My dad does the heavy lifting.”
“From my point of view, you do the heavy lifting.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Was I relieved or embarrassed that my situation was so transparent?
We were approaching what felt like the northern edge of the island. A towering silhouette loomed on the pinnacle of the cliff wall, and I squinted but couldn’t make it out.
Cate took off her running headband and rubbed a hand through her short, grey hair—I felt pretty certain now that Cate’s hair was grey, not gray. Whatever she was about to say took a back seat to Julian jogging down the cliff walk, shirtless. He wore huge headphones, shout-singing the wrong words to “Hooked On a Feeling” at the top of his voice.
He caught sight of us and waved like a five-year-old. He was all sweaty and glistening, and if I hadn’t had such a glorious view of his chest yesterday, I might’ve fainted. We stepped to the side, and he hollered, “GOOD MORNING,” his headphones throwing off enough “ooga chackas” to drown out the ocean.
My laughter came from somewhere deep. It rose up and up, until I couldn’t hold it in.
Cate smiled, and then her smile cracked open, and she started laughing rather musically. “Well, after such an interlude, I don’t know how to continue.” The crinkly laugh lines around her eyes were inviting, joyful, and I dared to like Cate Collins for a moment.
“I’ve set Ryder up with a job in craft services. Food prep. He’ll be busy and involved, and under the supervision of Mr. Donato,” she said. I opened my mouth to object to a stranger watching my brother for the next nine days, but Cate added, “He’s a father of five, and he’s already been approved by your dad to watch your brother.”
“Ryder’s going to mess up,” I countered. “He can’t even load the dishwasher, and when he gets frustrated, he throws tantrums like a toddler. You saw him last night.”
“You have to trust him to take on more responsibility. Otherwise, he never will.”
I could see the chaos now. Whole trays of food dumped on the ground. Water coolers doused with brain-numbing amounts of sugar. “All right. It’s your production.”
“It is,” she said, mafia style. “As for you—”
“No cameo appearances. I’m not ending up as an Easter egg
