Page 1 of Outside the Lines
It was amazing how fast two weeks’ worth of work could be destroyed. I mean, I’m used to it—half the models I built were meant to be blown up or set on fire or otherwise obliterated in a sea of special effects. This one wasn’t any different, a lovely detailed miniature of a sacred grove, complete with altars and idols—everything the larger set had—surrounded by trees in the heart of the forest. My miniature had been destined to be burnt to the ground in a spectacular magical explosion, since the EPA kind of frowned on pyrotechnics in the forest on the Olympic Peninsula. Apparently, fire and trees didn’t mix.
At least, that had been the intended fate of my modelbeforeAnderson had fallen backward into the damn thing and crushed it into tiny little bits. Stunt actors, I swear—bones made of steel. Poor set was absolutely no match for two hundred pounds of falling man.
My heart stopped, or tried to.
Would have made a great shot had Anderson been in a giant rubber suit. But this wasWolf’s Landing, not some science fiction show with mecha and monsters.
Ginsberg helped Anderson up and looked at the ruins of the model in the same way someone peered at roadkill. Pity mixed with revulsion. “Oh, shit.”
“Sorry, dude.” That from Anderson.
I couldn’t speak. Didn’t know what to say. We were supposed to film the scene this evening and now my model was . . . gone. Anna was going to have kittens. Large hungry kittens with claws and teeth and a taste for blood.
You think stuff is safe on set, that people would be careful. I croaked, still looking for the right words.
Anderson scratched the back of his head. “Can you fix it?”
I met Anderson’s gaze. Behind him, Ginsberg’s eyes were wide, and he backed away, his hands raised in surrender.
“Did you . . . really . . . just ask me that?” I barely recognized my own voice. It was too calm and cool. Nothing like the litany ofoh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuckrunning through my soul.
Anderson flinched and glanced at the shards of wood, clay, and paint—he’d also managed to bend the metal leg of the table my model had been sitting on—then met my stare again and hunched his shoulders. “I mean— I’m sorry. It was an accident.”
“Tell that to Anna.” I jammed both hands into my hair, and the trembles started. Holy shit. Two weeks of work undone. I barely had any supplies left, and the production schedule was so damn tight, I didn’t know if there was any time for me to rebuild the set.
“Tell me what?” Anna Maxwell’s voice cut through the air like the thin blade of a utility knife. Her footfalls followed until she stood next to me and oh, the look she gave my ruined model . . .
Yup. Kittens. Mountain lion kittens.I pressed my lips together and tightened the grip on my hair.
“Um.” Anderson shifted back and forth from one foot to another. “We were fooling around with a hacky sack and I, uh, fell.”
“Hacky . . . sack,” Anna said.
Claws and teeth and blood.
“Yeah, it’s that game with that kind of ball—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I know what a hacky sack is.” She waved Anderson quiet and turned to me. “Don’t tell me that was tonight’s shot.”
“That was tonight’s shot,” I whispered.
Anna closed her eyes, and I could almost hear her counting down from ten. She let out an exhale. “You . . .” She pointed at Anderson. “Get your ass to Natalya for someextratraining.”
Anderson didn’t have to be told twice. He didn’t walk away—he fled at top speed. Anna turned back to the model and rubbed her chin. “Fuck.”
I slipped my fingers from my hair. Yeah, that was about all I had too.
“How fast can you rebuild it?”
Not fast enough. “I don’t—”
“Ian.”
Oh, man. I hated when Anna looked at me like that. It wasn’t anger, but there’s this . . . stare . . . directors got. One that made you want to cower in fear.
“Like . . . a week? Maybe?” If I worked around the clock. If I had what I needed on site, which Ididn’t.
“Specifics, please.”
