"Perfect."
Before I could ask what was perfect about this day, my headset erupted in static and shouting. Something about stolen flowers and a missing model. Par for the course.
"Raina, I?—"
"Talk to you soon. Trust me on this one."
She hung up, leaving me staring at my phone while mayhem erupted around me. A production assistant ran past carrying an armload of fabric that seemed to shimmer on its own. Somewhere behind me, Priscilla was having what sounded like an artistic breakdown involving the words "vision" and "philistines."
I pocketed the phone and headed toward whatever fresh hell was waiting in the dressing area. But something about Raina's call nagged at me. Equipment replacement? In my line of work, that usually meant one of two things: either the client was planning something spectacularly ambitious, or they were spectacularly dangerous.
In Mystic Ridge, it was usually both.
The next hour passed in a blur of chaos. Priscilla's lighting crisis escalated into a full artistic emergency when she decided the current setup was "crushing her creative spirit with its mundane brutality." I dug through my emergency kit for safety pins to handle a model's wardrobe malfunction. Because of course I carry an entire tackle box of crisis solutions. What kind of amateur coordinator would I be otherwise? And that's when the lights started cooperating.
Not just working - actually responding to Priscilla's increasingly dramatic demands. When she gestured wildly and declared she needed "ethereal moonlight filtering through ancient canopies," the spots dimmed and shifted to exactly that. When she demanded "the warm embrace of a sunset kiss," the lighting somehow achieved that too.
"How are they doing that?" I asked Jada, who was handling the model situation with her usual unflappable efficiency.
She looked up from pinning a hem, silver hair catching the mysteriously perfect lighting. "Doing what?"
"The lights. They're actually listening to her."
Jada glanced around, pointed ears twitching slightly. "Huh. That is weird. Even for us."
But Priscilla was finally happy, the models were dressed and ready, and somehow everything was falling into place with an ease that felt almost too good to be true. I decided not to question the small miracle of cooperative lighting equipment.
The show began right on schedule. The first model stepped onto the runway wearing a flowing gown that shifted from deep emerald to midnight blue as she moved, the fabric seeming to capture and hold the light like liquid starlight. The second followed in a structured jacket that sparkled subtly with each step, tiny points of light dancing across the lapels like captured fireflies.
"Look at that," Jada murmured beside me, her eyes wide with genuine appreciation. "The way that dress moves... it's like watching water flow."
"And the shoes," I added, watching as the model's heels shifted through the color spectrum with each footfall, leaving brief trails of shimmer behind. "I've never seen anything like them."
"Priscilla might be dramatic, but she's also brilliant," Jada said as the next model appeared in a cape that billowed with impossible grace, its edges seeming to blur and refocus like heat waves. "This isn't just fashion."
"It's wearable art," I finished, genuinely impressed. A cocktail dress that deepened from blush pink to wine red based on the angle of view made the guests gasp in delight.
Guest murmurs grew more appreciative with each piece. Even I had to admit it - no wonder Priscilla had been so particular about the lighting setup. When you're showcasing clothes that respond to movement and light in ways that shouldn't have been possible, every detail mattered.
As the show concluded to enthusiastic applause, I spotted my lighting crew and made my way over. "That was incredible work tonight. I don't know how you managed to make the lighting so responsive to what Priscilla wanted, but whatever you did was pure magic."
The head tech exchanged a quick glance with his assistant before shrugging. "You know how it is in Mystic Ridge, Charlie. Sometimes the equipment just... does what it wants."
His assistant nodded sagely. "Old venue like this, lots of... atmospheric influences. Makes our job easier when everything aligns properly."
They were trying way too hard to look casual, but there wasn't time to puzzle it out.
For the first time all day, everything was perfect.
I was doing a final sweep of the VIP area when I noticed him leaning against one of the estate's stone columns. Tall, dark-haired, and so absurdly attractive I actually forgot what I was supposed to be doing.
He definitely wasn't on my guest list.
I walked over, professional smile in place. "I'm sorry, sir, but this area is reserved for VIP."
2
MALRIK
