Morthisal managed to shower and dress in under fifteen minutes. He threw on jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Grabbed his wallet and phone. Ran his fingers through damp hair. Cursed emergency. He wanted to track down the mysterious figure from the roof, but it would have to wait.

  Marty's vintage Cadillac sat idling at the curb when Morthisal emerged from the motel. He slid into the passenger seat and braced himself for another chaotic drive.

  "What's the emergency?" Morthisal asked.

  Marty pulled into traffic without checking his mirrors. A horn blared behind them. "It'll be better as a surprise. Trust me. You're gonna freaking love it, Vince. Love it!"

  Morthisal sighed. "I would prefer to know now."

  "Patience, grasshopper." Marty grinned and tapped the steering wheel. "This is the kind of thing that changes careers. The kind of thing that makes people sit up and notice."

  Morthisal considered pressing a thread into Marty's mind. Just a small one that could extract the information. But his reserves were low after the night with Yvette. He had not worn the TENS unit since yesterday. Morthisal dreaded the possibility of having to resort to his old method of acquiring power through an electrical outlet.

  He settled back in his seat and watched Los Angeles roll past the window.

  They drove onto the Pinnacle lot. The guard from before waved them through after the director held up a colorful new badge.

  But Marty did not head toward the familiar Stage 7 where they had filmed Dark Realms. Instead, he turned down a different road. Wound between smaller buildings. Pulled up in front of a squat structure with peeling paint and a loading dock.

  "Here we are."

  Morthisal followed Marty inside. The building lacked the massive scale of Stage 7. No towering ceilings. No elaborate sets under construction. Just a plain hallway with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Doors lined both sides. Some stood open. Morthisal glimpsed small offices. Equipment storage. A break room with vending machines.

  Marty led him to a door marked Conference Room B. He pushed it open without knocking.

  Morthisal was surprised to find Serena Winters seated at a long table. Three other people flanked her. A woman in her forties with severe glasses and a tablet. A younger man in an expensive suit, typing furiously on his phone. An older gentleman with silver hair and a relaxed posture, suggesting authority.

  "Welcome to your surprise meeting, Vince. Who takes care of you? Marty Klein does, that's who." Marty found a chair in the back corner and dropped into it. He crossed his arms and watched with a satisfied smile.

  Serena Winter's silken auburn hair had been pulled back in a loose arrangement that still managed to look effortlessly glamorous. Her animated blue eyes focused on him, and a genuine smile graced her lips.

  "Vince!" Serena stood. "Thanks for coming on such short notice. I was worried the secrecy was a bit much. But, you're here." Her voice carried a slight southern accent. After their run-in, Morthisal had failed to look her up. He was aware she was a big deal in Hollywood; beyond that was a mystery to him.

  "Er. Thank you," Morthisal said and inclined his head. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Serena. I feared our mix-up at the coffee shop might have soured you toward me."

  "Oh, that? I was being petty. How about if we start over?" Serena asked, leaned forward, and presented her hand.

  Morthisal turned it, palm down, and kissed the back of her hand. He looked up and found her watching him with unmistakable fascination. Her hand is cold in his.

  "You are cold, Serena Winters. Perhaps they could turn up the heat in this meeting room?"

  A smile played across her lips, her eyes sparkling with amusement at his concern. "Don't mind that. My hands are always cold."

  "In California? That is criminal."

  Serena laughed, showing brilliant white teeth.

  The silver-haired man rose and extended his hand. "Vincent Logan? I'm Richard Moss. I've been representing Serena for over a decade. Also handling production for Broken Atlas Films."

  Morthisal shook his hand. "A pleasure."

  "We've been watching footage from Dark Realms." Richard gestured to the woman with the tablet. "Early cuts. Some of the raw dailies. Very impressive work."

  "Thank you." Morthisal inclined his head.

  "They asked, Vince. They love you." Marty added from behind Morthisal.

  Serena leaned against the table. "I told Richard about meeting you the other day. That whole vibe you give off. Then I watched the Dark Realms trailer, and that was all it took. You have an intensity that is…well…passionate." She tilted her head. "Marty said this is your first time acting. That can't be true, right?"

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  "Thank you, Serena. It was truly a pleasure to meet you at Grounds for Divorce. My acting is done from the heart, as is the passion I bring to the role," Morthisal said. It wouldn't have been good form to reveal that he had sent a sliver of power into her head.

  "See?" Serena looked at Richard. "That's what I mean. The formal speech patterns. The way he holds himself. It's like he actually believes he's some ancient dark lord."

  Morthisal kept his expression neutral. "I commit fully to my roles."

  "Well, it works." Richard sat back down. He opened a folder and pulled out several pages. "Look, Vince. We're putting together an indie film. Small budget. Character-driven piece. The Last Bookshop. Serena plays a tech mogul who inherits a failing bookstore."

  "We need someone to play the manager," Serena added. "Someone enigmatic. Someone who can match my energy but in a completely different way. When I saw you in that trailer, I thought maybe you'd be perfect."

  The woman with the tablet spoke for the first time. "The role requires strong chemistry. Intellectual sparring. Two very different people who slowly break down walls between them."

  Richard slid the pages across the table. "This is the breakdown. A few scenes we'd want to test. Obviously, this is all contingent on availability and fit. But we wanted to meet with you first. See if you'd be interested."

  Morthisal cocked his head to the side. This was most certainly not the meeting he would have had today. He was already in an indie film. Working with Serena Winters would be a leap over the drudgery of finding acting jobs, reading lines, and staring at uninterested producers. Morthisal could certainly use his powers, but how far would that get him in a big-budget movie with so many moving parts?

  Morthisal picked up the pages. Scanned the text. The character description mentioned a mysterious past. An uncanny ability to recommend books that changed people's lives. A quiet intensity that both attracted and unsettled the protagonist. What did they call that in this world? Ah, yes. Child's play.

  "The pay would be scale," Richard said. "It's indie. We can't offer what a big studio production would. But the role has meat to it. Real character work. The kind of thing that gets noticed at festivals."

  Serena watched him. "You'll have time to check in with your agent. See what they think about the terms."

  "I do not yet have an agent."

  The room went quiet.

  Serena's face softened. "Oh, honey."

  "He's working on it, right, Vince?" Marty prompted.

  "I have received many calls from potential agents. Marty has advised caution in approaching them."

  Richard Moss coughed behind his hand and shot Marty a sharp look.

  Serena leaned forward, patted his hand, and lowered her voice. "We'll talk later. Give me your number before you leave."

  Morthisal nodded.

  A loud cough came from the back of the room. Marty shifted in his chair. His arms stayed crossed, but his jaw had tightened.

  "Maybe we can move on to the script. The role finds the lead, Julian, an empathetic and intelligent man who works at the bookshop. He and my character, Eleanor, have a contentious relationship. I'm invading his workplace. Our dialogue needs to be snappy, and the way to attain that is with chemistry. Good?" Serena asked.

  A woman approached a small camera on a tripod to have it capture both of them.

  "Shall we stand?" Morthisal asked, eyes roving over the script. If he were required to gesture about, he would rather not slap a hand on the desk.

  "Of course," Serena nodded.

  "That's a good spot." Richard Moss gestured toward one of the walls while the camera operator repositioned the tripod. Meanwhile, Morthisal read the lines on the page and tried to cast himself in the role. Playing himself was easy. How could he turn his 'dark lord energy' toward this script?

  The pages contained dialogue between two characters: Eleanor, a tech mogul, and Julian, the enigmatic bookshop manager.

  Serena glanced at her copy. "Ready when you are."

  A small character description sat atop the page. Julian was to possess a calm confidence. He clearly had an attraction to Eleanor, though they're relationship began on a cold note. A bit like the way he had met Yvette Sterling. He could do this.

  "A moment more," Morthisal muttered, before returning to his first line, reading it again. He nodded that he was prepared.

  The camera operator adjusted the tripod. Richard Moss settled into a chair with his tablet. The woman with severe glasses tapped notes into her device.

  Serena transformed. Her posture shifted. Her face hardened into the mask of someone who built empires and crushed competitors, reminding Morthisal of Yvette. "I don't need your help. I'm perfectly capable of running this bookstore into the ground on my own."

  Morthisal delivered his line. "You walked past the poetry section three times this morning. Each time you slowed. Each time you kept walking."

  "So?"

  "You wanted to stop. To read. To remember why your grandmother loved this place." He softened his voice. Tried to inject warmth. "But you're afraid."

  The words felt wrong in his mouth. Too gentle. Too understanding. He was playing a character who helped people. Who cared about their feelings?

  Serena continued. "I'm not afraid of anything."

  Morthisal forced the next line out. "Everyone's afraid of something. The question is whether you'll let that fear control you."

  His delivery came out flat. The emotional core of the scene completely eluded him.

  Serena stopped mid-gesture. She lowered her script. "What's really going on? You were magnetic in that trailer. But this feels like you're trying to be someone you're not. Did I pick the wrong person?"

  Morthisal frowned. "Perhaps I need another moment to prepare."

  "Sure." Serena nodded. "Take your time."

  He read through Julian's lines again. The character offered wisdom. Comfort. Understanding. All things Morthisal was not in the habit of offering.

  "I am ready."

  They started over. Serena delivered her lines with perfect emotion. Morthisal responded with the same wooden performance. The words lacked life.

  Richard Moss cleared his throat. He nodded at the woman manning the camera.

  "We got what we needed. Thanks so much for coming out, Vince." Richard stood. "We'll be in touch."

  Marty's face fell. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

  Morthisal knew Richard's demeanor said everything. He had failed. Spectacularly. He wished he possessed enough power to influence everyone in the room to give him another chance. But his reserves sat nearly empty.

  Serena looked disappointed. Not angry. Just sad.

  "Wait." Morthisal held up one hand. "Allow me to try again. Or perhaps another day. I need time to better understand the character. My method of acting has locked me into my role in Dark Realms. I need to break free from the dark lord's mindset."

  Richard glanced at Serena. She shrugged.

  "Look, Vince." Richard crossed his arms. "You're clearly talented. That trailer proves it. But this role requires range. Vulnerability. The ability to connect with another person on an emotional level. What we just saw..." He trailed off.

  Morthisal stood shocked at his utter failure. He had conquered the boardroom, won the love of Yvette, and stumbled into an acting role he had made his own.

  But he could not play a kind man who sold books.