“Yeah, well, Alien Army didn’t have to worry about fans with ridiculously high expectations. The people you call Thornians? They hate the movie already. They’ve been blowing up my Twitter with asshole comments, and they hate Cate Collins. Everything is always her fault.”
“Oh. That is bad.” I glanced over at the crew, working hard to make sure that the shot was ready for when Cate arrived. “I hope she proves them wrong.”
Do you? my dad’s voice asked, but I ignored him.
I held out Julian’s script. “Cate’s right. You don’t need fear for this. Evyn’s not afraid of Byers. They have too much in common. They’re both misunderstood. Lonely. Sick.”
“But how do I play that? How do I have something in common with a CGI creature?” Julian bit his lip and squinted, deep in thought. It was his most honest look to date, and I found myself thinking about Cate’s prescription for courage. Honesty first, then, follow-through.
“Julian, you have to pretend like you’re acting with yourself.”
“Really?”
“I think so.”
Cate Collins arrived, and the crew buzzed with action. I watched her inspect the shot and make adjustments. It was strange to think of the Thornians turning on her. I’d thought she’d be their fan club president. She was fearless. She’d strut to the edge of Dun Aengus just like Grandma Mae, no problem.
Henrik called, “Last looks!” and Julian stood up, texting again.
I brushed the sand off my butt and decided to go for it. “Julian, do you have a girlfriend?”
“Did someone say I did?” He put his phone away fast. “Off the record,” he added as if I were a reporter, “Elora’s not my girlfriend. She’s my fiancée.” His grin shone twenty watts brighter than I’d ever seen. “Wow, it feels great to say that aloud. Shoshanna knows too. Although really, don’t tell anyone.”
I surprised myself by having zero jealousy. “Why is it a secret?”
“Elora doesn’t want the attention. My fans are intense.”
“I understand that.” I stared at the jeweled water, waves cresting white. Henrik hollered again, and I added, “Remember, you’re talking to yourself. Your saddest self.”
“Got it.” Julian squeezed my shoulder and headed over to Roxy and her makeup case. I watched him take off his sunglasses and leather jacket, turning into waifish, starved Evyn.
Cate caught eyes with me across the beach. She nodded as if she already knew that I’d done something good. I hoped she was right.
BURN, BABY, BURN FANTASY INFERNO
My third golden sunset in Ireland found me alone, which might not seem noteworthy except that I was never alone. Ryder was still helping craft services, the crew was preparing for the one-take burn of Maedina’s tree on the pinnacle, Eamon was somewhere being Eamon—and I was playing Annie on the cliff walk I’d pioneered with Cate that morning.
I sat on the rocky edge, the gravel beach only ten feet below. Not too scary this time, but not negligible either. Baby steps.
Yesterday I’d told Eamon that I wanted to play my guitar where no one could hear me. No responsibilities, no elves. Strangely enough, I had the first part—and I already wanted to make an exception for the second, as long as it was a scrappy, fast-talking Eamon elf.
For once, I didn’t feel like strumming an energetic, belting song. I warmed my hands and tuned, discovering a lovely fingerpicking pattern that made me feel like an honest-to-God songwriter. I tried to put words to it, but they weren’t there yet, so I sang the notes. Slow and quiet at first, but then I let the melody out.
All around me, Ireland felt like a private world. No people. A few gulls. The wind tugged at my braid and fishing boats dotted the bluest horizon. Some part of me felt at home here, and that had me reaching for Grandma Mae. For my sole memory of her, walking in the park by our house. My dad had refused to come, and she’d held my hand, which made me nervous because I didn’t know her.
I changed two notes in my fingerpicking pattern, and the song brightened and filled with sadness—the good kind, not the messy, pent-up stuff. It made me smile and hum my nonwords a little louder. What is this song about? Being alone. Cut free from all of this nonsense.
I thought about Eamon’s childhood portal-searching. I wish I’d told him that I’d felt like that too, and the way he’d described being small and lonely had kissed a nerve. Particularly his The Subtle Knife reference. I wanted to tell him I loved Will and Lyra, but that love was buried so far down in the muck of my regrets I’d never be able to bring it to the surface.
Eamon said fantasy stories were about helping people connect to reality, not bury it or escape it. But then, when it came to the Thorne family, I didn’t even know what was buried. And when it came to me, I didn’t know how to ask for anything except escape.
• • •
That night, I stood near the pinnacle as the crew prepared to burn the massive fake tree. The wind whipped cold off the black water, and I was downright excited. I hadn’t actually watched the cameras roll yet.
Tonight I would.
Everyone was charged. The whole “one-take” deal was more pressure than I could have imagined, and the hustle and bustle of the crew was nervously wired. I stood back and watched it all unfold, worrying something might go wrong and that the cost of remaking the tree would bankrupt the production. Not that I wanted that to happen, but I couldn’t stop my imagination from going there. Did anyone else see the worst-case scenario in everything? Or was this a Jaded Iris specialty?
The crew set up a perimeter for fire safety. Ryder ran by, and I grabbed his elbow. “There’s a cliff
