The sudden silence was like a thread being snipped—all except for one man in the back who said, “I can’t hear.”
“That’s what happened to you, isn’t it?”I said.“You were the owner of a small press.I believe it was called Doorstopper.”
Slowly, he said, “Yes, but I don’t see what—”
“What happened?”
Graeme cast a look out at the audience and then back at me.“You know, Mr.Dane, I think we’d better get back on topic here.”
“I bet I can guess.Your business was struggling.Indie authors were getting more and more comfortable working on their own, and the types of writers you had previously worked with were realizing they didn’t necessarily need someone to help them find a cover artist or hire an editor.The ones who stayed were demanding higher royalties.And you watched your revenue dry up.”
“That’s a problem a lot of small presses face,” the weedy-looking man from Black Hat said.(His microphone worked perfectly.) “The advantage to working with one of the Big Five—”
I hissed at him and waved my hand for him to stop, and with a few startled blinks, he cut off.
“And then,” I said to Graeme, “the opportunity of a lifetime fell into your lap.A new author, but one you could tell was going to be a star.Literary acclaim.Commercial success.Everything.You were going to have it all.And it was thanks to a struggling young writer named—”
Graeme opened his mouth.
“Unh-uh,” I said.“Don’t you dare.”
“I—”
“No!It’s my turn.”
“But I—”
“Let the cute boy talk!”shouted a woman—who was waving, perhaps in solidarity, a tote bag that said I’M THE OTHER KIND OF WITCH.
(Okay, I’m going to admit: Ididlet that go to my head a little.)
Expression tight, Graeme gestured for me to continue.
“A struggling young writer,” I said, “named—”
“Simona Wolf,” Margaux said into her microphone.She sounded dazed.
“No,” I said, “I’m doing this—”
“Who’s Simona Wolf?”a man in suspenders shouted from the audience.
“Simona—” I began.
“I remember Simona!”That came from a fortysomething in glasses and, blergh, overalls.“She killed that guy!”
“Everyone— Could everyonepleaselet me—”
“Oh my God!”This from a man who, to judge by the feather boa and the swashbuckling boots, was likely prone to hysterics.“Simona was framed!”
“Please—” I tried.
“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!”
In that moment, I discovered I’d never heard Millie employ her full vocal, uh, range.
“And if anybody’s thinking about getting smart,” Fox said—they were standing on their chair now, displaying their switch-comb.With an ominousclick, the comb snapped open.
Keme glowered and cracked his knuckles, and it was, I have to say, terrifying.
