Chapter 1
THE DAY LADDIN GOT RECRUITED
(Eight weeks before Lake Wacka Wacka becomes a problem)
“YOU WANTme to put wallpaper on the teahouse wall,” Laddin Holt said. Though he didn’t phrase it as a question, his tone all but screamed,Are you serious?
Bing Wen Hao nodded. The man was producer and lead actor for theRed Wolf: Originmovie. He was also a stickler for detail and Laddin’s boss. “China invented wallpaper. This room would have a textile-type wallpaper.”
“But the wall is only seen when it gets blown up. It’s on screen for ten seconds at most.”
Bing Wen Hao merely looked at him, his face an impassive mask. But Laddin had been working shoulder to shoulder with the guy for two months now. He could read Bing’s opinion in the smallest shift of his chin, and on this point, Bing was being irrationally stubborn.
“It will take me hours,” Laddin said, still hoping to reach some sane part in his boss’s brain. “I have a dozen other things to do today.”
No-go. Bing was overwhelmed with anxiety because some Chinese bigwig was coming this afternoon. And when the boss got anxious, everybody suffered.
“Details matter,” Bing stressed.
Laddin knew that. He was the king of details, which was why he’d gotten the job of assistant director on this indie kung fu movie. It was quite a step up from being the explosives guy on five failed action shows. He was in charge of everything that wasn’t acting or camera placement. That meant the entire set design was his department, and he refused to fail now just because his boss was being irrational.
“Perhaps we could try different lighting—” he suggested, but Bing wasn’t going to let that pass.
“If you cannot do it, perhaps someone else will be able to.”
Laddin ground his teeth. Those words—or versions of it—had plagued him his entire life. His right hand was deformed, with his middle and fourth finger never growing beyond infant size. The docs had never given a good explanation of why. They suspected a growth plate break or a congenital birth defect. Didn’t change that his hand looked deformed. At first he’d hated himself for his handicap. But thanks to his mother, he realized it didn’t limit his ability to do anything he wanted to do. And yet, other people always questioned his capabilities.
“I can have it done by noon,” he snapped. “But you hired me to tell you when something doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t make sense. Not for ten seconds of screen time.”
He waited in silence as Bing stared at him. His boss’s expression was blank, but there was a whole lot of something going on inside his head. It was excruciating, standing there waiting, but patience was one of Laddin’s strengths, and eventually he was rewarded.
“You are correct,” Bing finally said. “Continue with your assigned tasks.”
Score one for the underling with nerves of steel. And then, to show Bing he wasn’t an asshole, Laddin offered a compromise. “I can roll a faint design onto the wall that will make it look like faded wallpaper. Shouldn’t take more than a half hour.”
Bing gave him a nod—his version of “thank you”—and then moved off to do his own work.
Though Laddin was annoyed by the man’s obsessive attention to a detail, he couldn’t fault Bing’s work ethic. The guy lived on the set night and day, working to make this movie as spectacular as possible on a very tiny budget.
And that meant Laddin had to start painting ASAP. He’d just grabbed the roller brush when his morning call from his grandmother came through.
“Hello, Grandmama. I’m still alive.”
“Oh, you poor baby. It still hasn’t happened.”
He chuckled because really, what else could he do? “Most grandmothers would be happy that their only grandchild is still around.”
“You’re not going to die, Laddin. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Her voice settled into her performance tone. Grandmama was a psychic by profession, and sometimes—most times—she needed to put on a show. “The day we realized your hand was different, I had a vision. The great Angel Charoum whispered to me that in your twenty-eighth year, you would transform into something magic—”
“I’m really busy right now. We’re supposed to start filming tomorrow, and everyone’s on edge.” He knew his grandmother hated being interrupted, and usually he’d let her prattle on, but he didn’t have the time today.
“Don’t despair, Laddin. It will happen for you. I know it will. There are still two months left before your birthday. You remember who Charoum is, yes?”
“He’s the Angel of Silence.” Of course he knew. Charoum’s prediction had been the topic of discussion for nearly every day of his twenty-eight years.
“Exactly! And when the Angel of Silence speaks, it’s very important to listen.”
“Yes, Grandmama.” And he had listened his whole life as everyone speculated on what the vision could mean. Most thought he would die, but Grandmama had insisted he’d transform into a magical being.
