Morthisal stood in front of three massive mirrors while a makeup team swarmed around him. A woman named Carla painted dark circles under his chin and cheekbones. She worked with quick strokes and created shadows that made his face appear gaunt and menacing. Nothing like his previous visage, but it was enough to elevate him from Vince's pale face to something more sinister. Another assistant fitted prosthetics to his hands, extending his fingers into clawlike appendages. Morthisal asked about longer nails, which were applied and then painted to appear cracked and blood-stained. He found the effect satisfying. All in all, his transformation took two hours.

  Some of the previous crew from Seattle were on set, but for the most part, these were individuals Morthisal had never met. The lighting crew adjusted massive panels overhead while the director of photography called out numbers to his assistant. They positioned reflectors around the green screen room. The precision impressed Morthisal. In Seattle, they had used whatever lights Marty could scrounge from the warehouse. One thing that was not different about the lighting was how hot they ran.

  Betty Mead and Honor April appeared on set, both carrying clipboards, papers, and large coffee cups. They danced between crew members and Marty, who mostly stood around shouting and waving dramatically at his crew, other actors, stunt people, and whomever else fell under his gaze.

  Marty directed him through a new sequence with surprising competence. He demonstrated how Morthisal should hold his arms when casting the fictional spells. He showed him where to look so the visual effects team could later add supernatural elements.

  "Give me rage. Give me contempt. You're looking at heroes who dare challenge your power.”

  Morthisal went with it, and when it was his time to act, he did it just as he had before: from experience. The emotions came easily. He sneered at the empty air where computer-generated warriors would later appear. He gestured as if summoning undead forces.

  The camera operator rolled on tracks around him. The lens captured him from multiple angles. Between takes, Marty reviewed footage on a monitor and made adjustments. He asked for more intensity. He wanted broader gestures for the wide shots and subtler expressions for the close-ups.

  By the third day, they moved to the Victorian London set. The cobblestones felt solid under Morthisal's boots. Gas lamps flickered authentically. The attention to period detail reminded him of actual medieval streets he had once terrorized.

  "You're fleeing through the portal. You've been defeated, but you'll return. Give me wounded pride mixed with burning determination."

  Morthisal limped across the wet cobblestones. A fog machine pumped mist around his ankles. He glanced back over his shoulder as if checking for pursuit. His hand reached toward an invisible doorway between worlds. The scene required fifteen takes before Marty declared it perfect.

  The crew treated him with professional courtesy. They brought him water. They adjusted his costume. No one asked him to wait off to the side, seated in a rickety wooden chair, like in Seattle.

  Days later, Morthisal sat by the pool with Big Eddie and Marcus. The three of them occupied mismatched chairs arranged in a loose semicircle around the pool. Water sat still and blue before them. The day before, a crew had come in and changed the water while giving the pool a good scrub-down, something Marcus had assured him was a rare occurrence. Eddie balanced a beer on his stomach. Marcus typed furiously on a laptop lying across his legs.

  "So I'm thinking," Marcus said without looking up from his screen. "What if the protagonist realizes his father is actually the villain in disguise? But also, he's got this mentor who turns out to be his brother from the future."

  "That doesn't make any sense," Eddie replied.

  "Exactly. It subverts expectations."

  "I guess. It might subvert people's ability to follow the story."

  Marcus tsked and shot back, "No, no. See, the story has always been one about responsibility and how familial bonds…"

  Morthisal turned his attention away from the men as he sipped from a bottle of water. As much as he would have loved to have a few beers, Morthisal was now more concerned about his weight than ever. After spending a few days on an actual movie studio lot, on big stages, he hadn't been able to ignore the fact that what most actors had in common was enviable and slim physiques. This had led him to research how to go on a proper diet and exercise routine. He now partook of wretched vegetables and fruits and stuck to lean meats. None of it tasted good. None of it!

  Morthisal sighed as he thought of a double cheeseburger. Drool practically ran down his chin.

  A figure appeared at the gate. She wore a wide-brimmed hat pulled low and large sunglasses that covered half her face. A long jacket hung loose over her frame despite the warm evening. She moved with careful steps into the courtyard.

  Eddie sat up so fast his beer nearly toppled. "Hey. It's Vince's sister."

  Marcus glanced up. His fingers paused over the keyboard. "You have a sister?"

  Morthisal quickly sat up. "Er. Yes. My sister."

  "Well, what's her name?"

  Morthisal ignored the question and stood.

  Yvette crossed to them. She lowered her voice and leaned toward Morthisal. She smelled lightly of a perfume that was a blend of jasmine, rose, and a touch of vanilla. It was altogether intoxicating, and altogether Yvette Sterling. "Can we go somewhere and talk?"

  He nodded. "Of course."

  "Gonna introduce us?" Marcus asked.

  Morthisal, still in shock at seeing Yvette, shook his head as if to say, Not now.

  "That's his sister, Mary." Eddie filled in Marcus.

  Morthisal rose and led the way to the stairs. Behind him, Marcus and Eddie got right back into discussing Marcus's screenplay.

  They walked to his room. Morthisal unlocked the door and held it open. She slipped inside. He followed and closed it behind them.

  "I'm sorry I didn't warn you. I wasn't sure if I would have time to see you today," she said. The hat came off first. She set it on the small counter beside the bathroom, followed by her jacket, which Morthisal took and draped over a chair. Her clothing was similar to what she had worn during her last visit—an unremarkable plum button-up shirt and a pair of loose jeans. "I'm also sorry we didn't get to talk much since I left. It's been a whirlwind, Vince."

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  "Singapore?"

  "Yeah. They're ruthless. Mind if I use your bathroom for a minute?"

  Morthisal nodded. Yvette took her purse and went to freshen up and returned a moment later.

  She sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands rested in her lap. Morthisal pulled the desk chair around and sat facing her.

  "I am so pleased to see you, Yvette. When I did not hear from you, I assumed my display from the other day scared you away."

  "It almost did, Vince," Yvette said, sighed, and looked him up and down. "It's nice to see you, as well. You look good. Have you been working out?"

  "Much to my chagrin, yes. I have also begun to eat a more balanced diet."

  "Good for you, Mr. Hollywood."

  "I do not enjoy the food."

  "No one does. So how has the shoot been going?" she asked.

  "Well enough. We completed several sequences with the green screen. The Victorian London set proved quite authentic. Marty directed with more skill than I anticipated. The crew maintains professional standards far beyond what we had in Seattle."

  She smiled. A genuine one that reached the corners of her mouth. "Do you remember when we first met? What we talked about?"

  Morthisal leaned back in the chair. "Yes. We discussed coffee and how to make it. I was recovering from my head injury, and my memories were askew. I did not recognize you. Jill Holland, the head of HR, was quite concerned about our interaction."

  "Good," Yvette nodded.

  "Good?"

  "Yes."

  Yvette turned to face him fully. She reached up and pulled the dark wig from her head. Her platinum hair tumbled free. She shook it out with both hands.

  Then she moved forward, took his hand, pulled him up, and wrapped her arms around him.

  Morthisal froze for half a heartbeat. Then he returned the embrace. His arms came up around her back. She pressed her face against his shoulder.

  She pulled back after a moment. "Can we lie down and just cuddle? I've had a hard week in Singapore."

  "I am happy to join you."

  She moved to the bed and settled on her side. Morthisal joined her. He slipped close and put his arm around her waist.

  "Please just hold me," she said.

  "Gladly."

  She pulled his hand tight against her side.

  They lay in silence. The air conditioner hummed in the window. Voices drifted up from the pool area below. Big Eddie's booming laughter echoed.

  "What have you been doing for fun when you're not on set?" she asked.

  "I spend time with the other residents. Big Eddie tells stories about his film work. Marcus shares his screenplay ideas. I've been learning about Hollywood from those who've lived here for years."

  "I'm a little envious of your free time." Yvette shifted slightly. "If I told you I made a major mistake in my business, how would you react?"

  "I would listen. Then I would help you determine the best path forward."

  She traced her finger along his forearm. "Would you give up your ability if it meant you could be with me?"

  Morthisal hesitated. The question struck deeper than he expected. His powers defined so much of who he had become. But the woman in his arms represented something he had never truly possessed in either life.

  "I do not know," he said. "That answer feels inadequate. I do not know if I could give them up."

  "Hypothetically."

  "Would you ask me to?"

  "No." She paused. "Maybe. I'm not sure what I'd do if I had to choose between what you are and who you are."

  Silence settled between them again.

  "What would you do if I asked you to help me close a deal?" she asked.

  "In what way?"

  "You know."

  "Yes, I would help you. No questions asked."

  "But would that be honest?"

  "I would leave that up to you. I have no issue assisting you, provided your conscience supports your decision."

  Yvette chuckled. "And they say I'm ruthless."

  Yvette rolled over and faced him. "What would you do if I told you I didn't want to see you anymore? This visit might be a one-off, Vince. I don't know if I can continue our relationship. I'm trying to be honest with you, here. Would you make me stay with you?"

  Morthisal pulled back and stared at her in surprise. Why would she come here if not to rekindle their flame? "I…uh. Of course, I would not. I cannot."

  She continued staring at him.

  "I would not hinder you. It would hurt, I shall not lie, Yvette. But I would not stand in your way." He waved over his shoulder. "The door is there."

  She pushed his arm off her waist and stood up quickly. "I have to go to the bathroom."

  Morthisal scratched his head and wondered what in the world had gotten into Yvette. He sat up on the bed, mind churning, and stomach doing something he did not care for—tossing and turning. The water ran in the bathroom. The door opened a minute later.

  She came out, a soft smile on her lips, a piece of paper held in her hand, and showed it to him.

  The paper listed all the questions she had asked him in neat handwriting. At the top, she had written: Ask him to hold me. Followed by the other queries that ended with her asking what he would do in the event she left.

  "I do not understand," Morthisal said.

  "I wrote down the questions and the answers I hoped for beforehand and put them in my purse. Then I waited until I could get up and double-check them to be sure." She twisted the paper in her hands. "I couldn't think of any other way to test you. I had to be sure, you see?"

  He started to chuckle. The sound built in his chest until it turned into proper laughter. He smiled at her. "Well played."

  "You're not angry?"

  "I admire your thoroughness." He shook his head, the corner of his mouth still quirked with amusement. "Though I suppose you cannot truly know if I controlled you and made you rewrite the note. Not that I can. As I mentioned, the titanium plate in your head prevents me from taking such actions."

  Yvette smiled, her blue eyes studying his face. "So you say. Would you have done that? Really?"

  Morthisal shook his head. "No."

  She handed him the piece of paper. It measured about the size of his hand but extended half again as long. Light brown stock with clean, precise edges that spoke of careful preparation.

  "Hold it up to the light," she said. "Look at the bottom."

  He stood and walked to the window. The evening light filtered through the thin curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. He raised the paper between himself and the fading sun.

  A faint watermark appeared near the bottom edge. Yvette Sterling's signature was rendered in flowing script.

  "What is this?"

  "It's like a watermark. You wouldn't have been able to detect it unless you knew what to look for." She watched him carefully.

  Morthisal studied the delicate lines of her signature, then lowered the paper and smiled. "Most clever."

  "You're really not mad?"

  Morthisal shook his head. "Not at all. I find your actions smart and devious."

  "And that's good?"

  "Very," Morthisal said around a grin.

  Thank God." She exhaled softly. "More cuddling?"

  Morthisal nodded.

  "It'll be more comfortable if we get under the sheets." She grinned, a hint of mischief in her expression. "We'll need less clothing for that."

  Morthisal gladly pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor.