*
James put his phone down.
“Not a chance, hon. It’s completely sold out. Media, investors, industry. Wristbands went weeks ago.”
“Okay,” I said. “So it’s not ideal.”
“It’s notpossible.” He looked at me. “It’s at Battersea Power Station… they’ve hired the whole venue. The public can’t get near it. And don’t even think about pulling another art gallery stunt. Security will be feral.”
“But Liam hates that sort of thing,” I said. “What evenisit?”
“According to the High Priestess of Corporate Fuckery—”
“Do you meanBonnie?”
“Yeah, her, it’s some sort of high-end franchise thing. Invitation only. Star Wars is involved, plus other stuff. Comics, films, whatever,” he said. “Basically, a nerd’s wet dream.”
“Why doesLiamhave to be there?”
“He’s speaking, apparently. Some sort of keynote thing.”
“And then he goes to New York?”
“Straight after his speech. He’ll get a car to Heathrow and then an overnight flight.”
“So that’s it, then.” I looked down at the counter.
“There is, technically, one way in.” He glanced at Eliza, then back at me. “But you’re not going to like it.”
*
The shop smelled like nylon and body odor. It was the fifth place I’d tried. There’d been nothing in Soho, Kilburn, or Chiswick. I’d even been to Lewisham.
Lewisham.
I was running out of time.
Behind me, two men with beards grumbled in low tones.
“I’m telling you, if it’s not close to screen-accurate, they won’t even let you queue.”
“No way.”
“Way. They’re checking at pre-reg. You upload photos. If it’s not good enough, you’re already out.”
“So like… original trilogy only?”
“Yeah. No reinterpretations. Proper canon.”
The racks were crammed with plastic, wigs, and shiny fabric, and I rifled through, scanning for white. I could pull off Princess Leia, I was sure of it. Maybe even force my hair into the side buns if I had to, although a wig would be safer.
“They can’t expect everyone to have their own film-grade costumes,” one of the men said.
“They don’t, that’s the point. It’s a filter. Fan-first.”
Every nerd in London must have been out hunting for weeks, hoping to get in. That—or making one yourself—was the only way if you weren’t a VIP.
I wasn’t anything anymore—not toLiam.
