“You are not putting my face in some video you want shared around,” Sommer said, instantly popping the picture of her day under the Caribbean sun and coming back to reality.
“We can put you in a dress, barefoot, hair in soft curls covering most of your face. All we see is your nose and mouth. Pretty lipstick.”
“After this, Abbie will move to Hollywood to direct a feature film,” Marna said.
Abbie wrinkled her nose at Marna, then turned back to Sommer. “I film you singing the song. I layer in the dog singing along from what you captured with your doorbell camera. Then, as you sing, you walk over to your phone or whatever and look through the doorbell camera, and there we have a guy and a dog. Better if it’s a cute guy.”
“It was late at night, and he was standing in the shadow of the trees.”
“But a silhouette? A nice one?”
“As silhouettes go, it was fantastic.” Sommer deadpanned.
“You need a name for the account,” Marna said.
“Not about me or opera,” Sommer said. “That would turn people off.”
“Agreed,” Abbie said. “Something about the guy. Something with a hook. What would you name the guy?”
“Graves,” Marna said.
“Oooh, I like that,” Abbie said.
“Graves and the Goth-hound,” Sommer said.
“Done.” Abbie brushed her hands together. “Those names will make for good hashtags. And yours?”
“My what?”
“I have to put some name on the account, something like Bleak Night. Maybe with a K: Bleak Knights.”
“Mourning Notes,” Marna said, “With anoufor grief.”
“I like Mourning Notes better,” Abbie said.
“I don’t really care,” Sommer said. “Do whatever. But the howling thing didn’t go on very long.”
“Videos are very short—thirty seconds. If you have longer, that’s good because we can make several videos.”
“It might get nothing,” Sommer said, as Wendy started down the trail.
“Fine, so we wasted an hour,” Abbie countered. “Or it might just get a couple million views like Miss Priss did when she was sitting with the flowers and the butterfly landed.”
They let the other teammates file past.
“Nowadays, people wouldn’t believe that happened. They’d think it was AI,” Marna said.
“I hate not knowing what is real and what isn’t. It’s too much damned work,” Abbie held out her pack to Marna, who held it in place while Abbie wiggled into the straps.
“What do you think?” Abbie asked Sommer. “Should we try?”
“Sure. Why not? I’m not actually expecting a vacation out of the effort, but I don’t see how it would hurt to try.”
Chapter Fourteen
Gabriel
Jogging at a competition-worthy pace, Gabriel passed a pile of fresh-looking scat that might have come from a dog, or could be one of those boars Reaper was talking about.
