High Bidder
High Bidder
The forty-third International Wildlife Conservation Gala is an elegant affair held over every floor of Reykjavík’s grand Harpa concert hall, a futuristic glass structure that glitters beneath the navy-blue sky. The Harpa sits along the harbor at the northeastern edge of the city, and just beyond its sheer walls, the ocean churns in dark, foamy waves.
At the entrance, Marsh stares up at the sparkling, diamond-like fa?ade in awe, and breathes in the salty evening air.
“You look beautiful,” Ren says beside her.
A smile breaks out across her face at that, and she looks down. She’s wearing a fancy gown, a sweeping deep green number that she would have been terrified to try before All This and More , but now looks like something she was born wearing, and Ren is dashing in his tuxedo.
He really does look more polished in this episode. He stands straighter, and his hair is combed back and his face cleanly shaven. He seems as comfortable now in the dressy clothes as he did in his outdoor wear. If Marsh handed him a snifter of Scotch, he could be James Bond.
She’s so glad she talked Talia into letting her come to the gala—and let Talia talk her into tinkering just a little bit with Ren. He’s going to fit in so well. She can’t wait to see him charm the crowd.
“And so do you,” Ren adds, turning to his other side.
“Thanks!” Harper laughs and does a little spin. She’s in all black, the way a concert musician might be. “This is so cool. I’m kind of nervous to go inside.”
“Of course you are! This is a big night for you,” Ren replies, looking lovingly at her. He squeezes Marsh’s hand. “For both of you.”
Marsh’s heart soars. Is Harper also performing at the gala?
“I bet Mom’s photograph is going to be the star of tonight’s charity auction,” Harper says, staring at the imposing building with awe.
“If it is, it’ll all be thanks to your music,” Marsh replies.
That makes Harper grin.
“Let’s do this,” she declares, and raises her arms, as if she’s stroking a bow across the strings of an instrument. “I’ll see you guys after the opening sonata. And good luck, Mom. You’re going to crush it!”
Her daughter scampers ahead, excited, her dress shoes clicking on the concrete walk. Guests are trickling in, the path a tapestry of silks, satins, furs, jewels. Ren turns to Marsh, and gallantly extends an arm to escort her to her grand entrance.
“Ready to make history?” he asks her.
Marsh excitedly takes his elbow.
Inside the glamorous hall, she’s greeted by a standing ovation, which makes her blush. The attention has her heady, almost drunk. The room is full of photographers, biologists, conservationists, museum directors, and more from all across Europe—they all know who she is, and the daring discovery she just made. Onstage, the curtains are closed so that the gala can project rotating images of various endangered species onto them, interspersed with quotes from various important people, in order to drum up excitement and prestige. Amid stunning shots of breaching whales and soaring Arctic eagles, Marsh spies her photograph of the elusive ísv?ngur .
“This is the most important discovery of the current century,” a scholar of Arctic ecology studies has said of her picture.
“Our field of understanding has irrevocably changed,” a Pulitzer Prize–winning conservation author has written.
Even the prime minster of Iceland has submitted words of congratulations to her.
“A national treasure—and the foundation of our new national gallery, if we’re lucky enough to win Marsh’s ísv?ngur at the auction tonight.”
That last one makes Marsh gulp.
Moms4Marsh: Amazing!!!
Notamackerel: This is totally unrealistic. Iceland is going to build Marsh her *own* gallery for one photograph?
YanYan242: Wow, jealous much?
SharpTruth: Everyone, listen to Notamackerel! They’re on to something. I know what I’m talking about.
StrikeF0rce: Yeah, right. Isn’t SharpTruth the wannabe hacker? Can we ban them for disruptive behavior?
SharpTruth: Just listen! I have insider knowledge about the show, and—
[Automatic security filters have deleted this account]
Notamackerel: Nice, guys. Ever heard of free speech?
The comments abruptly snap shut as Marsh sends them away, relieving her of the argument.
She wishes she could roll her eyes at her trolls, except the cameras would pick it up. Obviously, this turn of events is outrageously over the top—and so what? That’s the whole point! The whole reason she’s here. If she wanted normal, she could have just stayed in her original life.
If anything, this makes her even more determined to knock this episode out of the park.
The show isn’t about facts. It’s about happiness. That’s why everyone watches, and what everyone wants.
And her happiness is certainly real.
“Oh my, it’s an honor,” a man standing near Marsh and Ren says as he recognizes her, shaking Marsh’s hand. “An absolute honor!”
“Tell us about the shoot,” another woman begs. A crowd is gathering around her now. “We heard it was quite harrowing!”
Marsh regales them with the story of ?r?faj?kull , a little shyly at first, but with Ren’s charming encouragement, she grows more enthusiastic. The room is rapt, hanging on every word. Every time her photo of the ísv?ngur appears in the rotation against the curtains again, they all gasp and coo at it.
“Just fantastic!” an elderly gentleman cries. “What a thrilling adventure.”
“And what a priceless treasure,” his wife adds. “I can’t believe the detail on its wings.”
Marsh tells a few more stories, and Ren jumps in at just the right moment every time with a funny quip or well-timed laugh.
He really is a fantastic date. Although, now that she’s had some time to observe him, maybe he’s almost too fantastic. He’s so concerned with supporting Marsh and making her look impressive, she’s not sure she’s heard him say one original thing all night. He’s almost more like a butler than a partner.
That might need another tweak or two.
Just as Marsh finishes her last anecdote, a distinguished ding intones over the hall’s intercom.
“Good evening, everyone. Velkomin til Reykjavíkur! ”
Talia is onstage now, holding a microphone and waving to the crowd. As usual, she looks like she was created for the part—her makeup is flawless, her artfully draped black gown is without a single wrinkle, and her hair probably took an entire day to pin up.
“Tonight is a historic night, not just for Iceland, but for wildlife and environment conservation efforts around our world. We thank all of you for being here with us.”
The curtains begin to open behind her as she speaks, revealing a stage full of teenagers and young adults holding their instruments. Marsh’s eyes dart quickly, then fix upon their target, spellbound. Just to the left of center, in the very front row, is Harper—sitting in the first chair’s seat.
Talia sweeps her arm.
“But first, to open the auction, the Icelandic Symphony Youth Orchestra has prepared a very special piece that they will now play live.”
The audience applauds, and Marsh pushes to the front, to be as close to Harper as possible. This is the concert she never got to in the midseason special, and she won’t miss it again.
Her daughter does look nervous, but not in a way that diminishes her. It’s made her sit taller, made her eyes even sharper. Her fingers look even longer against the delicate neck of her instrument—not a violin this time, but an Icelandic langspil, Marsh can see, since they live in Reykjavík now.
Marsh ignores that detail. She doesn’t care about the instrument. Only her daughter.
And Harper is ready.
Marsh knows she is.
The audience holds its breath as the conductor raises his baton, and Harper sets the thin, straight bow against her langspil’s strings.
The first note begins softly, then grows. A high, keening wail that fills the room but leaves no echo, like the wind from Vatnaj?kull . Every inch of flesh on Marsh’s body prickles, a cold rush from her toes up to her neck and out through her cheeks at the beauty of it, followed by a warm wave that makes her eyes sting. The ballroom contracts around Harper, rapt.
“Amazing,” Ren murmurs, as she touches her bow to the strings again.
No, Marsh thinks.
Perfect.
“Marsh!” someone whispers, and Marsh turns to see Victor and Jo making their way toward her through the crowd.
“She’s incredible,” Jo hisses as she hands Marsh a glass of champagne, and they clink rims. “Even better than the last time I heard her! You’ve got a prodigy on your hands.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” Ren agrees proudly, and accepts a glass from Victor.
Marsh turns back to Harper with a huge grin on her face, and watches her daughter strike another piercing, mournful note with her bow that sends a shiver rippling through the gathered patrons.
“Harper is the real prodigy,” she says to her friends. “My photograph was all luck.”
“Chance, hard work, genius—whatever it was that got us that photo of the ísv?ngur , I’ll take it,” Victor says softly. “Keep winning cases like you are and I’ll happily hire a full-time second cleaning crew just for these celebrations.”
Huh?
Marsh startles, confused.
Didn’t Victor say that exact line before, in a previous episode? Back when she was a lawyer at Mendoza-Montalvo and Hall?
But she’s not a lawyer now, in this new path.
How could Victor ever remember she was?
Something’s wrong.
“Cases?” Marsh asks him nervously. “You mean photo shoots?”
“What?” Victor looks puzzled.
Marsh quickly glances at Jo and Ren, but they’re busy watching Harper, absorbed in her solo.
“You said ‘cases,’” she repeats softly to Victor.
“I did?”
“Victor, are you all right?” Marsh asks, taking his arm.
He quietly clinks his champagne with hers. “Of course! I’m just so happy that you’re going to be our deputy director of eco photography.”
Marsh gapes, stunned, as Victor sticks out his hand.
“Congratulations, Marsh,” he says. He’s beaming at her. “It’s yours if you want it.”
In her real life, she’s fantasized about this moment so many times, as she sat at her small desk outside of Victor’s door, watching important attorney after attorney stride into his luxurious corner office for meetings, even though it would be impossible for him to promote someone to lawyer who hadn’t finished law school or passed the bar. She added to it year after year, like an imaginary personal highlight reel—Victor calling her into the boardroom, Victor asking her to take a seat across the table from him and all the other partners. Victor telling her that he’d seen her potential since the day she began at the firm. Victor pushing his beloved box of celebratory cigars toward her as he stretched out his hand to her in just this way.
And now it’s finally within reach. Maybe it isn’t exactly the same, but it’s close enough. Victor has finally noticed her, and he’s impressed. He’s inviting her onto the path, to someday be equal to him and Jo.
Marsh stares at his palm for another long moment, still in disbelief. Then she lunges, grabbing hold and shaking hands vigorously.
“Thank you, Victor,” she says, and Jo wraps her arms around and hugs them both as Ren whispers congratulations. “Thank you.”
Just then, the orchestra’s sonata ends, and applause engulfs the ballroom. They all turn toward the stage to see Talia gesturing to the bowing musicians, her compliments to them drowned out by the drone of clapping.
“What a magnificent performance!” she’s exclaiming. People are tossing roses overhead to the stage, up to Harper’s feet, and she’s grinning so hard her cheeks are red. “The perfect way to open tonight’s main event.”
Behind the orchestra, against the black background, Marsh’s sapphire ísv?ngur appears, and the musicians all turn toward it as they clap, too.
“Marsh,” Ren shouts over the drone, and she turns to look at him. “I just want to say how proud of you I am. And how happy I am that this is our life.” His eyes look misty. “I mean, can it ever get any better than this?”
Marsh takes his hand and squeezes hard. “I’m not sure it can, Ren,” she replies.
Ren kisses her cheek, and when he pulls back, an usher has arrived beside them, whispering directions to reach the backstage area. Talia wants all the wildlife photographers in the wings, so the winners can give a speech once the final bid comes in, he explains.
“This is it, Marsh!” Ren says. “Your moment!”
“Go!” Jo encourages. “We’ll be cheering you on from here.”
Marsh leaves them, heading for the unmarked door at the far corner of the ballroom that the usher indicated. Another usher opens it, touches her headset, and then waves Marsh through and up a short flight of stairs to the wings of the stage. Everything is more muted here—the lights dimmer, the sounds softer—and the dull roar of the crowd beyond as the auction begins makes Marsh’s heart beat faster in anticipation.
“There you are,” Talia says, appearing behind her. “Congratulations on your promotion!”
Marsh whirls. “You heard?” she asks excitedly.
“I did! And with the way I’m sure this auction is going to go, this is only the start!” Talia claps her hands. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll do next! Go on another daring shoot? Open a new gallery? Maybe even create a foundation in your name?”
A burst of applause punctuates the question, exquisitely timed.
“I can’t even imagine,” Marsh says, awestruck.
Talia elbows her playfully. “Well, by the sound of how well it’s going out there, I think you’d better start.”
Marsh turns to peek out at the stage, hoping to steal a glimpse of the bid tallies from their odd angle. Her eyes go misty as she listens to the cheers. What could a foundation in her own name be like? Not only would she be able to leave her mark on history, but she could also help other young, bright women like herself break out of their shells and find their way to their passions. Maybe she could join with a library in London, or a charity in Oslo, a museum in Reykjavík, a university in Stockholm...
SharpTruth2: Everyone, this is important! I’m trying to tell you that something’s wrong!
[Automatic security filters have deleted this account]
JesterG: How is this guy back? He’s more annoying than Notamackerel.
Notamackerel: Excuse me!
A huge gasp and burst of applause from the audience startle her, and Marsh accidentally snaps the comments shut as she blinks.
“Sounds like someone might have just placed an unbeatable bid,” Talia says with a wink.
“For my photo?” Marsh asks, a rush of adrenaline making her giddy.
A bell sharply clangs over the commotion, old-timey and jarring like one aboard a ship, signaling the end of the auction. The applause is so thunderous, Marsh can feel it in her gut. She’s too excited to wait any longer. She steps out of the wings—just a few feet, just enough to see the giant list projected onto the back of the stage, to see the winners and the final bid tally.
It takes no time at all to find her photograph in the list. “ ísv?ngur ” has the highest bid of all.
The amount of money Marsh’s winning bidder has offered is eye-watering. More than anyone else in the world could match, it seems.
But as surprising as that is, it’s not the price that freezes her in shock.
It’s the name of the bidder.
The word hovers in elegant, Sharp Purple serif font beside her lot.
Chrysalis
It’s here.
It’s followed her to Iceland.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” Talia cries, over the roars of the audience. “Look at those numbers!”
SharpTruth3: PLEASE LISTEN!!! Chrysalis is not part of the show!
[Automatic security filters have deleted this account]
TopFan01: Mods, is there a way to ban this guy permanently, so he can’t keep reentering by making a new account?
Marsh fights the comments away nervously.
It was one thing when Chrysalis was no more than an Easter egg, a prop merely inserting itself into her episodes just to be there, but ever since the midseason special, there’s no denying it’s becoming more powerful. Now it’s taking action, attempting to directly influence events or change things inside Marsh’s Bubble. Almost like it’s trying to make choices for her.
But to what end?
And why does it want a photograph so badly?
She doesn’t know. And she doesn’t want to.
Talia keeps grinning for a moment longer, but finally, she sighs.
“Oh no,” she says. “I know that look.”
Her host seems astounded that she’s not thrilled with the auction—and exhausted.
“I’m sorry,” Marsh replies. “I know you said not to worry about how many paths it takes to find the right one, and I know how hard you worked on this one—every one!—to make them everything I could want. I just—”
But as soon as she glimpsed Talia’s weariness, it’s gone, and she’s her usual, boundlessly energetic self again.
“I don’t want you worrying about me for even one second!” Talia insists adorably. “This season is about you, and that’s who I’m here for. And this is what the show is all about. I’ll make a hundred lives, a million lives, for you to try, if that’s what it takes.”
“You’re not mad?” Marsh asks.
“I’m not mad at all,” she assures her. “Just the opposite. Watching you blossom, asking for what you want—I’m thrilled for you. And we’re going to find you that perfect ending before the finale. I just know it.”
Talia opens her arms, and Marsh falls gratefully into the hug as the comments overflow with hearts, until there are so many little red shapes crowding her view that Marsh can hardly breathe.
As she finally pulls back and turns to dab her eyes, feeling optimistic again, a big thump echoes across the backstage. Talia has pulled the Show Bible out from somewhere and set it on a giant cargo crate, which nearly crumples under its weight. It’s so large, it’s almost grotesque at this point, like some kind of medieval tome that requires a pedestal to read. Talia can barely maneuver it by herself.
“Well, even if you don’t remain a photographer, you’ve made amazing progress in your professional life! We can preserve that, no matter what your career becomes next,” her host says. “And Reykjavík is beautiful, but how about somewhere more urban and bustling? A big city, perhaps?”
Marsh nods eagerly.
“Is there anything else you want to improve?” Talia asks.
“Ren’s still not quite right,” she admits, a little embarrassed. “He’s got no... edge.”
Talia giggles. “We can definitely fix that,” she says. “And Harper?”
Marsh smiles. “Things are much better between her and Ren now, thank goodness. And she’s definitely proud of me—but I still miss our special bond. I think Harp misses it, too. I want us to be as close as we were when she was younger.”
Talia solemnly peruses the Show Bible. After a moment, she looks up at Marsh, and taps the open page near the middle of the book, where some new, amazing path is scrawled, and Marsh’s hope soars.
A path where she can be just as successful, but even more happy.
And most importantly, a path where there’s no Chrysalis.
“You could have All This ...” Talia sings cheerily as the end of episode music begins.
“ And More, ” Marsh replies, hopeful and relieved.