Authors: Danika Stone
“But I thought we were going to the Steampunk Ball.”
Xander gave a feline stretch. A long swath of rippled stomach appeared, and Liv looked away, suddenly conscious of how close he was to her and how good-looking he was. He hadn’t done up his shirt, and it hung open, luring her nearer.
“We could do that, too.” Xander yawned. “But I think we should at least pop by and say hello at the
Starveil
Event.”
Liv stared at him for a long moment. “But, why? You don’t even like
Starveil
.”
“But
you
do.”
“I—I don’t know…”
Xander leaned nearer, his smile growing persuasive. “Come along, Liv. Be my date. Please, dearest? For me.”
Liv felt her cheeks begin to burn at the word
date
. She needed a cold shower because Xander’s gaze, soft and tired, and his body, lithe and oh-so-attractive, were not helping.
“I can’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Tom Grander hates me. I’ll die if I have to talk to him.” Liv let out a nervous laugh.
“I’ll go with you and be your champion! I’ll divert the crowds and clear a path for you.” His voice dropped. “This is something you’ve wanted so badly for so long.” He reached out and tugged a strand of Liv’s hair. “Why don’t you take it?”
He smiled, and Liv’s stomach twisted at the sight. She wished he wasn’t just talking about the cast party, but everything
else
she wanted to grab hold of.
“But if Tom—”
“Tom Schmom,” Xander drawled. “If that bastard says anything to you, I’ll eviscerate him.”
“With what?” Liv giggled. “You don’t even own a sword.”
“I don’t know, but I’ll improvise.”
Liv smothered another laugh under her hand.
“There’ll be food at the party,” Xander said with a wink. “I’m sure I’ll find
something
to do the job.”
“I’d pay to see you attack Grander with a pickle fork.”
“A butter knife sounds better.”
Liv giggled, but the sound disappeared as Xander reached out a second time. He drew a line down her arm with the tip of his finger, and Liv shivered. His smile faded until he was looking at her with some emotion she couldn’t quite decipher.
“This is your moment, dearest.” He leaned closer, and for a half a second, Liv thought he would kiss her. “Enjoy it.”
For several seconds, they lay in silence, balanced on some decision. His hand was on her arm, their bodies touching. Liv dropped her eyes, and the moment shifted.
“Maybe I will,” she said as lightly as she could. “Who would’ve thought some crazy idea to bring a character back from the dead would pan out into this? A new film! I can’t believe it!” She grinned. “Maybe we should put together one last vid to celebrate the announcement.”
“Another?” Xander sighed.
“Oh come on, Xander. It’s not going to be
that
bad.”
“No, it won’t be.” He chuckled. “But even if it was, I’d be willing to suffer for my craft.”
“Suffer?” Liv snorted.
He raised a brow. “Yes. I picked that up from Tom Grander.”
* * *
Liv and the two Emmas prepared for the Steampunk Ball while Xander showered. Both Emmas had spent months preparing their intricate costumes; and when Liv saw them decked out in a display of finery that would put a young Queen Victoria to shame, feelings of inadequacy overwhelmed her. Liv looked plain, pure, and simple. And she hated it.
“I can’t go out like this,” she groaned, staring down at her jeans and T-shirt. “I look like a slob.”
“You look like any other
Starveil
geek,” the first Emma said cheerfully. “You’ll fit in perfectly!”
“That’s half the problem,” Liv said. She scowled at herself in the mirror above the television. “I could barely get out of the
Starveil
ballroom today. People kept trying to talk to me.” She sighed. “Maybe I’ll just hang out here in the room. You guys go without me.”
“Do you have anything other than jeans and tees?” the first Emma asked.
“No.”
“You bring any costumes?”
“Sadly, no.”
The taller of the two women measured herself next to Liv. Though she was much shallower through the chest and several inches taller, they wore roughly the same size. “Do you like steampunk at all?”
“Um, sure?”
Both Emmas grinned.
“Then we’re in business.”
By the time the water in the bathroom shower stopped running, and the blow-dryer started, Liv was garbed in a dress cobbled from the two women’s earlier cosplay. The purple skirt from one had been matched with a black silk blouse from another; an embroidered silk under-bust corset whittled her waist down to a whisper of its usual size. Xander’s pocket watch (borrowed from the dresser and pinned to her hip) finished the look. But that wasn’t all. Liv’s normally straight veil of hair had been curled and teased into a bouffant worthy of any Gibson girl. Her lips were rouged, face powdered, and eyes ringed with kohl. In an instant, she was transported back a hundred years.
She stared, wide-eyed, at her reflection in the mirror. She barely recognized the ephemeral, doe-eyed beauty before her. “That’s just … crazy,” Liv said with an uneasy laugh. “I don’t even look like
me
anymore.”
The first Emma grinned. “Isn’t that the point of cosplay?”
“To do what?” Liv asked.
“To be someone you’re not,” the second Emma replied.
“I suppose…”
The transformation was unnerving. Xander’s comment about Liv looking like John Singer Sargent’s painting of Madame X made sense. Her hourglass figure was exaggerated into something (and someone) she barely recognized. This woman in the mirror was dazzling, but she didn’t feel like the real Liv.
The door to the bathroom opened, and a wave of cologne-scented steam rolled into the room. Xander appeared from the fog like a London gentleman. He stood, adjusting the lace cuffs on his shirt for a few seconds, before looking up.
“So are you ladies ready to…” His words faded as he caught sight of Liv. “Holy shitballs! You look un-fucking-believable!”
The two Emmas broke into a fit of laughter.
“You have
got
to come up with some better expressions before you start time-traveling, Xander,” Liv said. “That really doesn’t fit your era at all.”
“Era or not, I’m just calling it like I see it.” Xander dropped into a low bow. When he stood up, he cleared his throat, his voice dropping half an octave. “I’m in awe, Miss Walden. You are breathtaking. Truly.”
“Show him the rest,” the first Emma urged, pushing Liv forward.
Everyone cheered as Liv did a quick twirl, the skirt swirling. “I’m wearing sneakers under this,” Liv admitted. “There’s no way I’m falling and breaking my neck in this getup.”
“A lady never reveals her secrets,” the second Emma tutted.
Liv took one final glance at herself and then looked back to Xander. He was watching her, but no longer smiling, and a twinge of nervousness rose in her chest. “Does it look all right?”
Xander nodded. “Better than all right,” he said. “I’m at a loss for words. Thank you for this.” He smiled, and Liv smiled back, and for a moment it felt like they were the only ones in the room. Then Xander held out his hand. “May I do the honor of escorting you to the Steampunk Ball, m’lady?” He tucked Liv’s hand into the crook of his arm.
She looked up at him and nodded. The nerves were back, but this time it had nothing to do with being recognized.
“Absolutely.”
* * *
The
Starveil
Event, as Xander kept calling it, was a private party at the top of the Marriott. Feet aching, Liv and Xander slumped against the glass walls of the elevator, the floors whooshing by in a rush of vertigo. Liv sighed, remembering the hours of dancing. It was as if every television and movie character from 1960 onward had spontaneously reappeared in a single room. The only people who stuck out were the ones who weren’t in costume. And Liv, for the first time in ages, felt completely at ease, because no one had recognized her.
She heard Xander chuckle, and she looked up.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just your hair.”
Liv patted the teetering updo. “What about it?”
Xander’s lips curved in a slow grin. He reached out, tucking a curl behind her ear. “It looks like you’ve been doing
more
than dancing, dearest.”
Liv tossed her chin coquettishly, falling back into the role she’d been playing all night. “Perhaps I have. But it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of you to suggest it.” She fluttered her lashes. “Or to ask, Mr. Hall.”
Xander stepped closer, fixing the watch that hung from Liv’s hip. It had slipped from its hook, and Liv’s breath caught as his fingers lingered half a second too long. He looked up, and their eyes met.
“Perhaps I couldn’t stop myself,” he murmured.
Liv’s heart sped up. She could feel Xander’s fingers burning through the fabric, and the thoughts that accompanied this were growing more dangerous by the second.
“But a gentleman wouldn’t—”
“Even a gentleman can be tempted,” Xander said darkly. He crossed his arms on his chest. “My apologies, dearest,” he said, tipping his head. “But you are ravishing tonight.”
“Th-thank you.”
Bosom heaving as she struggled to catch her breath despite the confines of the corset, Liv turned to stare out the window. The subtle dance between her and Xander that had started a few hours ago had grown more entangled with each passing minute. The close quarters on the dance floor—touching by permission—had made the pull stronger. Liv knew she was playing with fire, but right now she didn’t care. She felt beautiful and strong, and when Xander looked at her this way, she felt like she could reach out and take whatever she wanted. Now, if she could only keep that niggling inner voice at bay.
Before she could say more, a bell announced their arrival at the penthouse level, and the doors pulled open. The sight that greeted them took Liv’s breath away. She had an inkling of what Hollywood parties looked like, but this was far beyond her imagination.
Decadence.
The word appeared in her mind like a bubble. The room was filled with a mixture of people in costume and celebrities. Some Liv recognized from
Starveil
, others she knew from various fandoms:
Buffy, The X-Files
, even an elderly actor from the 1960s’
Star Trek
.
She stepped out of the elevator, and all her confidence evaporated. Tom Grander stood near the couch, a nubile young woman Liv recognized as a Hollywood hopeful hanging on his arm. He caught sight of Liv from across the room, and his smile faded.
Liv grabbed Xander’s cuff. “I—I can’t—” she gasped. “He h-hates me. I—I—”
“Liv, breathe,” Xander whispered. “You can handle this.”
“Xander, these people aren’t like you or me.”
He took her hand. “You can do this. You’re not alone.” He squeezed her fingers gently. “I’m not going anywhere. All right, dearest?”
Liv nodded.
“Liv! Xander!” someone bellowed. “There you are!”
Liv looked up in shock to see Mike R. Miles crossing the room. Her fingers tightened on Xander’s.
“Oh God…”
“Liv, sweetheart,” Mike said, reaching them. “So very glad you came! I just want to say thank you for all you’ve done.”
“Okay…?”
“Now, if you and Xander here can just follow me, I have a few people I want you to meet…”
* * *
There was no use trying. Liv couldn’t keep anyone’s names straight. Beyond Mike R. Miles (whom she’d accidentally referred to as MRM at least twice), she was overwhelmed by a sense of confusion. Men and women, ranging from their late teens to their seventies, jostled for a position at her side, pumping her hand and slapping her on the back.
“Your videos were great!” a nameless exec said.
“Brilliant really!” another added. “Exactly what the fans wanted.”
“The concept was absolutely phenomenal. Crowdsourcing. What an idea!”
“Totally inspired the fans!”
“Thanks, but it was nothing,” Liv mumbled, searching for an excuse to leave. She could see no way out of the group.
“The support for
Starveil
’s never been higher,” one of the producers said. (Liv couldn’t remember his name, either, though she was certain he’d done a cameo in one of the
Starveil
movies.) “Unbelievable how this last film took off. You’ve got the Midas touch!”
“I don’t think that’s just me,” Liv said. “The fans did most of it.”
“Not just you,” someone else added. “But you were the catalyst. It wouldn’t have started without you.”
“Um…” Liv peered over her shoulder. Xander was only three steps away, but it might as well have been a mile. The woman who played Tekla had him trapped in conversation, touching his arm and giggling time and again. Xander looked up and gave Liv a look of frustration.
“How much longer?”
he mouthed. She shrugged. The
Starveil
Event was proving harder to escape than the cheering fans.
She turned back to find Mike R. Miles and a middle-aged woman in a silk suit waiting patiently for her attention. Mike gestured to the conservatively dressed exec at his side.
“Liv, this is Mr. Grander’s agent. She wanted to meet you.”
“Good to meet you,” Liv said with a cautious smile.
“I can’t thank you enough for drumming up the interest for Captain Spartan’s character,” the woman said. Her voice had a collegiate East Coast clip that matched her patent leather pumps and heavy gold jewelry. “You did what no one else could. I’m in awe.”
Liv shook her head. “I wouldn’t have done any of it if I’d known Tom wanted out of the franchise.”
Mike’s smile wobbled, and Liv rushed to explain. “I ran into Mr. Grander on the Walk of Fame. He made it clear he didn’t want the character of Spartan to survive. He wanted him dead.”
“Ah, yes.” Mike laughed. “I suppose that explains why you’ve been avoiding Tom tonight.”
“Is it that obvious?”
Mike grinned. “A little.”
The agent joined in his mirth. “Oh, Tom,” she sighed. “He has his own agenda. Doesn’t he? Quite the bohemian.”