Page 11 of Bright Dark Curses

“We’ll have to get inside,” Key said.

I passed the dogs’ leashes to Dru. “You lead, I follow.”

FOUR

Shane unzipped his windbreaker. “We’ll have to sneak you in.”

We exchanged outwear, and I immediately missed my warm winter jacket. This thing had the thickness of a plastic bag. “Will this be enough?” I eyed Shane’s curling dark hair, tan complexion, and black eye patch dubiously. We weren’t exactly twin material.

“Yeah,” Brett said. “It’ll be fine.”

I finished zipping up the jacket and gave Key a salute. “At your mercy, boss.”

Dru snapped a photo of me. When I blinked at her, she said, “Hope Avery working for the competition? One to remember.”

“There is no such thing as competition,” I reminded her from my high horse. “Only examples to study.”

“Can we get going?” Brett asked, a note of impatience in his voice.

“Sure,” I said, feeling a bit chastised. I crouched by Fluffy. “Fluffy, you stay, okay?” She let out a soft whine as I straightened. “I’m ready.”

Key and Brett led me back to the sectioned-off part of the sidewalk. My palms grew sweaty as we approached the security guard, but he didn’t spare us a second glance after Brett flashed the ID badge clipped to his jeans. Perhaps we had it all wrong. Perhaps the only curse at work in Olmeda was her inhabitants’ complete disregard for safety precautions.

Most of the crew were tinkering with spotlights and other equipment. A couple of men were working over the camera attached to the big crane, and a few others, whom I figured were assistants, flew back and forth with cups of coffee and different folders of papers. A woman was yelling at someone over her radio. The atmosphere was so charged with anticipation, I could practically feel my skin tingling with it. How could Key bear to work here without standing awestruck the whole time? It probably got even worse once the actors were here mingling with the crew.

“Where are the actors?” I asked in a whisper.

“We got the makeup trailer over there,” Brett answered, pointing to the other end of the sidewalk.

Unfortunately, Brett took one side street before we got there. It was packed with vans and a couple of small trucks. You had to give it to the production for utilizing Old Olmeda’s web of streets so well.

Brett waved at a couple of women who were milling by a van, then brought us to one of the trucks. The doors on the back were open, and the lift deployed.

“In here,” he whispered, looking suddenly nervous.

Nervous because he was guilty and was about to murder us inside the truck, or nervous because we were at the scene of the crime and he didn’t want anyone to link him to the possible sabotage any more than he already was?

Ah, well. Only one way to find out. “Show me.”

He ignored the lift and leaped into the trunk, then gave me a hand up.

Key, I noticed, stayed put.

“Are you really one of Hutton’s shifters?” I asked, studying Brett anew.

He was taken aback by the question. “Yeah.”

“Do you like grilled ham and cheese sandwiches?”

“Uh, sure. Who doesn’t?”

Clearly not the bad guy. “Awesome.” I scanned the dark inside of the truck; only a couple of big trunks remained. “You pass.”

“What?”

I walked up to the nearest trunk. “Is this it?”

“No, this one over here.” He pointed at a smaller black trunk with shiny metal latches.

---