Chapter 49
It is morning in Los Angeles. The sky is blue, cloudless.
Outside of LAX, a light breeze stiffens against concrete.
A driver is waiting on the curb with the trunk open, sunglasses wide over his nose.
He is holding a sign that reads “Bliss.” Sebastian and Viola step out of the automatic door, bags in hand, into the beginning of a dream.
“Can I get that for you, ma’am?” the driver asks. He is wearing a cap low on his forehead, smiling broadly under thick eyebrows. The thin film of an accent.
“Thanks,” Lola says.
His sister is happy, nervous. Ready for something. But he isn’t sure what.
The sliding door behind them swishes open with another flurry of passengers, all checking their phones for their taxis, checking that they know where they are going.
They are loud and distracted, all kinds of America tumbling onto the pavement, looking for magic and money and the promise of a life not yet lived.
“So. What can I show you?” Orson asks.
“Everything,” Sebastian says.