Selected Work
After Winter
(Chapter 2 Excerpt)
Billie had sworn never to wear chainmail again. Apparently there was one more contractual obligation to The Secret of Greybridge Well. Then she'd be free. She waited for her coffee, wearing sunglasses and a hoodie zipped to her chin. Chainmail poked out underneath. She hated wearing a disguise. She could hear the discourse already: Why is Billie Bloom wearing a disguise? Does she really think she’s that big of a celebrity? And if she weren’t wearing one? She’d get mobbed for photos and they’d say Billie Bloom loves the attention. So she settled on a hoodie and sunglasses. Not a disguise, more like a delay in recognition. A couple seconds saved between someone recognizing her and someone shouting her name. The espresso machine hissed.
“There you are.” It was David, her manager, barging in through the cafe door. “You’re supposed to be at the castle.”
“I needed coffee.”
“Where’s your sword?” He glanced down at her feet. “And your boots?”
Silver armor plated Billie’s legs. She’d ditched the boots and put on her Adidas.
David’s brows knitted. “Gemma Silversun always carries her sword.”
“Charlotte,” the barista called. “Four shots of espresso over ice?”
Billie grabbed her coffee from the counter. “Yeah, well, Gemma needed a pick-me-up.”
She wove through the packed coffeehouse and moved to the door, her armor tattling on her with every step. Her Adidas touched the pavement as David fell into step beside her.
David looked at his watch. “Shit. You’re supposed to be at the well by now.”
“I’ve already been there for an hour.”
“Just make New Line happy and then it’s over.”
Billie slurped her coffee. “Fine. But I’m not saying the line.”
David replied, “You have to say the line. That’s what they’re paying you for.”
They crossed the street. David quickened. Billie strolled. They passed beneath a sagging banner that read: FIVE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF THE SECRET OF GREYBRIDGE WELL
He opened the door to the convention center. They were halfway to the ballroom when her agent, Mona, found them. “Where’s your sword?” she asked, already unzipping Billie’s hoodie and snatching her coffee.
“Jonah has it.”
“The kids can’t see you like this.” Mona removed her sunglasses. Billie squinted her eyes to adjust.
“I’m not doing this anymore,” Billie muttered. I was in an Oscar-nominated film. She didn’t say that, though. The words rusted behind her teeth.
“I was going to wait until after, but a part just came to us,” Mona said.
Billie’s eyes lit up. “What is it?”
Mona was already moving. “Get through the convention first. Then we’ll talk.” She pushed through the doors to a clamoring crowd of wizards and knights and fairies. Jonah, her studio handler, rushed over with her sword.
“Thanks,” Billie muttered.
“Remember to use two hands,” Jonah said. “Gemma strikes with great power.”
“Uh-huh.”
Billie was ushered through clusters of screaming fans. Across the ballroom she saw her co-star, wearing prosthetic goat legs while signing autographs. As she approached the Greybridge throne, silence fell over the crowd. “The princess is here,” someone murmured.
Jonah let her go. Billie ascended the staircase, metal clinking with each step.
She could hear David faintly in the background. “Shit. Her shoes.”
Billie slowed at the top. She whipped around with dramatic flair, her Adidas squeaking. Her eyes swept the room. Every fan leaned forward, hanging on the promise of what was to come. Billie took a deep breath and let Gemma take over. She thrust her sword in the air. Then, in a painfully exaggerated English accent, she cried, “For Waterbury!”