The moment she left the silence of her room, Vivian nearly wished she hadn’t. The elevator stopped on every single floor, filling and filling until Vivian was all but splattered against the reflective back wall. Until she was holding her breath and trying not to worry that they were over capacity.
Lower back damp and her jaw on the verge of snapping, Vivian talked herself out of shoving people out of the mobile prison cell when the doors finally opened onto the lobby. All but gasping for fresh air, Vivian might have been relieved to be out of the cattle car but the lobby was packed.
Teeming with swarms of people who’d apparently never held a conversation indoors or been to a conference in their lives, the room’s energy was unbearable. Vivian was considering running up twenty-three flights of stairs to barricade herself in her room when she saw her. A flash of red in a faceless sea of sound.
“Vivian!” Bryn’s voice broke free from the roar, bright and comforting.
Vivian exhaled and tried to convince her nervous system that she wasn’t in mortal danger. She moved off to the side while Bryn politely but confidently shouldered her way through the crowd with two coffees in hand and a hideous orange conference tote on her shoulder.
“Hi,” Bryn greeted, eyes bluer than Vivian had ever seen them.
Vivian hated that her pulse jumped, but her discomfort eased at the sight of Bryn. Bryn with most of her red hair in a stubby ponytail and the rest framing her perfect face.
“I didn’t know how you liked it, but I assumed cream, no sugar.” She handed her a paper cup.
Vivian took her coffee with honey, no dairy.
“Thank you,” she said, because she wasn’t an ungrateful nightmare despite what anyone said about her. “You seem… better.”
Bryn wrinkled her freckled nose. “Yeah, well.” She rocked on her feet, cheeks flushing. “I might have overreacted a little.” She chuckled. “I blame the booze and shock. So two people know.” She shrugged. “It’s not the end of the world. If I can get another dozen books under my belt before the news spreads, I might get away unscathed.”
Vivian wanted to reply with a sarcastic,I guess you don’t need me to accompany you then, but she didn’t. She couldn’t take the risk that Bryn might agree. That she’d lose her excuse for being there.
“I can’t believe this is the line just to register,” Bryn said, wide eyes fixed on the hoard taking over the lobby.
It was only then that Vivian looked down and noticed Bryn’s orange lanyard and name tag. She looked between Bryn and the disorganized masses aimed at a tiny registration table positioned, inexplicably, next to the front desk for optimal chaos.
“Did you register yesterday?”
“No,” Vivian replied, staring down the crowd like it was Everest. “Certainly I don’t need landfill fodder to listen to a lecture.”
“You need one of these to get in though.” Bryn tugged on the hideous plastic tag hanging around her neck. “See?” She pointed toward a sign that insisted:name tags required beyond this point.
There was no way of saying what she was thinking without being completely insufferable. No way to protest that surely her face was proof enough that she was an attendee. Taking a swig of lukewarm coffee, Vivian eyed the chaos again and wondered if the woman with the drink tickets would reappear.
“Guess it’s a good thing the lady working the A-G line is a big fan ofMagpiesand let me register for you too.” Bryn beamed with blinding self-satisfaction when she opened her hideous tote to reveal its twin concealed inside. She opened it and pulled out another lanyard. “I’ll keep yourlandfill fodder, but there is a pretty cool water bottle so I’m not throwing that away.”
Staring. Vivian wasstaringat Bryn, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t have any reference points for a person like her. The more Bryn revealed herself, the more out of her league Vivian felt.
“Thank you,” Vivian managed, chest unbearably warm and skin tingling from her Gucci loafers to her numb hands.
Bryn nodded toward the conference rooms. “Come on.” She smiled as if everything was so easy. “I like to sit in the front,” she added without a hint of jest.
It was the sincerity that was going to kill her, Vivian realized. How could anyone be so unapologetically, painfully bright? How did Bryn move through the world with a terrifying lack of armor, finding genuine joy in cheap swag and repetitive programming? Vivian swallowed. And what the fuck did it mean that Vivian couldn’t stop seeking her light?
* * *
Julius Thorne’s self-aggrandizing, fifty-five minute masturbatory exercise could have been worse. It was so tolerable that Vivian remained in her seat six inches from the podium for a session on voicing anime characters. Instead of heading back to her suite for lunch, she choked down a bland turkey sandwich and returned for three more hours of sitting in chairs that could spur her to confess to witchcraft.
During every talk, Bryn was so focused. She’d filled half her Moleskine with notes. Notes that Vivian didn’t think she needed. Bryn understood instinctively what other people had to be taught. Maybe she’d learned more from creating her Siren audios than she ever could from a coach.
“You don’t need that.” Vivian followed Bryn out of the slowly emptying conference room.
“Need what?” Bryn tossed her notebook into her bag while Vivian stepped out of line to throw away their empty coffee cups.
“These little tricks up your sleeve.” Vivian held the door open for Bryn. “It can be tempting to try on other actors’ styles for size. But what you have can’t be taught here.” She looked to her side to find Bryn had stopped walking next to her.
Vivian stopped in the middle of the corridor. She waited for a group to pass before she rejoined Bryn in three long strides.
