Chapter 30
CHAPTER
THIRTY
MYLO
Three hours later
‘State-of-the-art sound stage’ perhaps conjures a different image than a nondescript gray rectangular warehouse bearing no markings except a giant 4 painted on the side, sitting between a freight train depot and a graffitied Combiwash with teal paint long-faded by the sun.
The real magic is tucked inside.
We pile out of the van—me, Gabriel, Bella, and a cluster of the stunt crew. There’s less chatter than usual, breaths held as we step through the doors of the sound stage—and into another world.
At one end, Electra’s space plane perches on an alien landscape, rocks and rubble rendered with such detail that they look as if they were carried in from outside, except for their unnatural glow in neon pinks and oranges.
On the other side sprawls the interior of a gleaming glass facility, modern and slick, complete with cluttered desks and functional walls and doors to fill out the headquarters of the Vengeance League, the group of superhumans Electra allies with.
The franchise’s other A-listers will be here soon for their cameos, schedules optimized so they can fulfill their contractual duties in a day or two.
Smaller sets fill the rest of the space: three walls of a cluttered bedroom, a series of small-town storefronts, a meticulously rendered cave. The warehouse feels like an otherworldly maze, one that lets you journey through space and time in the span of a few paces.
It’s a shame we won’t be here for longer.
According to the schedule, they finished most of the sound stage shooting while waiting for the weather to be perfect for the outdoor shots.
There are just a few more scenes to finish, and the briskly efficient schedule concludes in a little less than a week.
As we make our way back toward the green room, Bella rests a gentle hand on my arm, and we fall behind the others.
“Are you feeling alright, Mylo?”
I nod firmly. “Yeah. Of course.” Nevermind that the small of my back is soaked with sweat from the ride over.
Bella frowns. “Your eyes are red…”
I rub the back of my neck, offering a wry wince. “To be honest, I’m still a little hungover from last night… but nothing some electrolytes won’t fix.”
Bella’s expression softens, a slight smile pulling across her lips. “Good. I’m glad you were able to have some fun.”
“It’s a really fantastic crew. You’ve brought together some amazing people.”
“I sure have,” Bella says, giving me a pointed look. She continues on, and I fall in step behind her, hoping she doesn’t see too much of my blush.
Or maybe it’s a flush. It feels like the heat is cranked to a hundred in here, even as the AC rumbles, bringing the temperature down as far as possible to offset how hot the lights will get once shooting begins.
I’m about to follow Bella into the room set aside for the stunt performers when June flags me down, blonde braids trailing behind her. “Hey Mylo—we’re gonna have you in Haley’s dressing room, actually.”
“Oh, sure.”
Bella nods with an encouraging smile that says, see, this could be your big break.
I hope my expression shows my gratitude as I follow June a few doors down to a door labeled Haley O’Hare.
“Mylo!” She’s already in her makeup chair, and she waves at me but tries not to move her face as Sharon works. The reason for Haley’s extra-early arrival is clear: she’s getting special effects makeup done—including a nasty gash and splattered blood—for an after-battle scene.
“I don’t envy you today,” I say, settling down into the chair next to her.
Sharon laughs. “Not so fast. Lana wants you done up today too. Your profiles are similar enough that she’d rather not have to do face replacement if she can get away with it.”
“Oh, goodie.”
Sharon gives me a sly look. “What, too manly for makeup?”
I scoff a laugh. “Oh, I’ve done drag. I can cut a crease like nobody’s business. Prosthetics just aren’t my favorite.”
Haley tries to sit still, but her eyes widen. “You’ve done drag?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “I needed to learn how to move more naturally for female characters, and it was a great way to make some extra cash. I only stopped doing it ‘cause I had a messy breakup with my boyfriend at the time, who’d gotten me into it. Just never got around to finding another club to perform at.”
“Oh. So you’re…”
“Lazy?”
“Oh god, now I sound like an arse. I was going to say ‘gay.’”
“Bi. So you’re half-right.”
Haley looks relieved. “Ooh, so you’re all sorts of fluid.”
“Something like that. Though I wasn’t kidding when I said I was lazy.”
“Do you ever dress up girly just for fun?”
I set my backpack by the door and sink into the empty chair next to Haley. “Eh, maybe for Halloween. Usually I need a carrot.”
Sharon flicks her makeup brush toward me. “You have to let me doll you up sometime. I need to get my hands on those cheekbones.”
I smile and put up my hands. “Hey, if all I have to do is sit in a chair, I’m game.”
Haley gives an excited gasp. “Could we wear, like, matching dresses?”
I laugh, a smile banishing the lingering ghosts of my past. The absence of my family will always ache, but if I’d stayed home, I never would have met Haley.
“Absolutely,” I say. “If you want me to dress up, I’ll dress up.”
“Oh em gee, we need another cast party, STAT!”
Once Haley’s makeup is done, it’s my turn in the chair.
I get Haley reminiscing about uni so I can sit back and listen as Sharon gives me a fresh shave.
A special elastic adhesive binds thin molded silicone to my skin, creating the texture of a jagged gash along Melinoe’s face.
Sharon blends the edges with foundation, applies a complex series of colors to mimic a real injury, and tops it off with a crimson dye that will dry like blood.
She spins me back toward the mirror. “Ta-da!” With Haley and me sitting side-by-side, it’s an eerie match. The identical faux-injuries blur the already subtle differences in our facial structure.
“You sure you don’t want this to be the red carpet look?” I tease.
Haley gasps, excited. “Stop, wait… could we like… match at the premiere?!”
“Saves me having to pick an outfit, so I don’t see why not. Also, did you just hear yourself?”
Haley blinks. “What?”
“You didn’t hedge about the premiere. I’m proud of you.”
Haley blushes under her makeup and musters a bashful smile. She flips her hair over her shoulder. “I guess I’m getting used to being a star.” She manages a smug look for about two seconds before devolving into nervous giggles again.
Sharon checks the clock, then hands us each our costumes from the clothing rack in the corner. “Alright, time for you two to get suited up.”
The dynamic in a soundstage is totally different from being out on location. Everything’s more compartmentalized, more precise: a thousand gears in a small space that have to mesh perfectly.
I’m on standby for the morning as Haley films a series of scenes with Melinoe and her underlings. I step in occasionally to throw a punch or take a fall, and otherwise sit with Sharon and Keysha at the monitors for the hair and makeup team.
Between takes, Keysha calls to Haley, “Hair over your left shoulder, love!”
Haley gives a hurried nod, resetting her hair into the right place for continuity in the scene.
There’s enough to distract me from the uncomfortable warmth in the first part of the day, but as the lights slowly increase the building’s internal temperature, sweat beads along my skin.
Right before lunch, we film a scene where Melinoe rolls out from a billowing plume of smoke. It’s another Texas Switch where I roll in and stay low, then Haley pops into frame.
We block it out, practice a few times, and then we’re ready to go. Bella oversees the effects team as they prep the smoke machines, and we all take our marks.
Lana calls action, and the fog machines hiss. I wait for a signal from Bella. When the smoke is at the perfect height, I charge forward and roll, making sure it’s a smooth, acrobatic maneuver fitting for Melinoe.
I stop in a crouch right next to where Haley kneels, and she rises into a ready stance.
“Cut!” Lana calls. “Let’s do that again; I like it. Haley, give me a little more oomph when you pop up.”
“Got it.”
I expect to have some time to kill while we wait for the smoke to dissipate. But with a low rumble, an air exchange system kicks in, sucking the smoke upwards toward the ceiling and drawing a breeze past us. In under a minute, the air is totally cleared, and we’re ready for the next take.
Haley and I watch in awe.
“Bloody brilliant,” Haley whispers.
I nod. “Oh, that’s slick… Guess that’s what makes this place state-of-the-art.”
Bella calls marks, and we’re into the next take.
Then the next. And the next.
Smoke effects are fickle and unpredictable, and now that Lana doesn’t have as much of a time constraint, she’s being very perfectionistic about it. One take is too wispy. The next is too billowy. The third is perfect except a thin spot in the smoke made me visible too early. And so on.
Exertion heats my body from within as the lights beat down, and sweat gradually soaks my costume.
After more than twenty takes, Lana finally calls that we can move on—to doing the same process from a second camera angle. With every roll, I get dizzier and dizzier. But I’ll keep popping up and taking my mark until I fall over, whether that’s wise or not.
After take fourteen, Alejandro reminds Lana that it’s almost lunch time. She goes over the shots on the monitor. “It’s a little wispy, but… alright, it’ll work.”
I unzip the top of my costume and peel it back from my neck, which is about the most I can get away with right now.
Silver catering dishes have been set out near craft services. Haley loads up her plate, and I grab a tangerine.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asks. “You’ve been rolling around all morning.”
“Starved,” I lie. “Just forgot something in the dressing room; I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll save you a seat.”
I follow the edge of the warehouse to the hall lined with dressing rooms and push into Haley’s. It’s quiet and much cooler than the set, since the air conditioning can still run here.
I peel my costume off my arms and let it hang around my waist, sitting topless as I pick at my tangerine.
Eating it is slow going. Whether from the heat or the rolling or whatever the fuck my body’s deciding to do right now, the nausea has returned with a vengeance. I turn on a fan and sit in front of it, and the cool air settles my stomach a little.
If this is how the coming days will be, I can work with this. It’s not too much longer before all of Melinoe’s scenes are done. As long as I can get through the stunts, I don’t care how uncomfortable I am.
But one critical variable remains…
I haven’t smelled Christine yet today.
Sitting on that rock, staring at the ocean, she just looked…
sad. Tired. I’ve never seen her that… still.
Even when she’s standing around, waiting for a shot to start, she’s always moving.
If not fidgeting, then you can see it behind her eyes—wheels turning, the quirk of a raised brow, the tug of a smirk.
Nothing like that… emptiness.
Something tugs at my gut just below the nausea, and it might be guilt.
It’s not like her to not be on set, even if she’s not filming until later. She does that obnoxious ‘I may be a star but I’ll put in just as many hours as anyone else’ thing.
I can only think about Christine for so long before memories flicker: a gasp of breath, roving hands, her arm heavy across me.
My cock tightens in a flash of heat.
Fuck.
A sudden anxiety grips my chest: where is she? Why isn’t she here?
Just… stupid omega hormones.
As I sigh, there’s a low buzz from my backpack where it rests against the wall. I go fetch my phone and settle back into the chair.
The top notification is a new email.
Artemis Pharmaceuticals Patient Portal - You have new test results
My heart thumps faster as I open the email and follow the instructions to log in.
I find a list of two dozen results, each with a cryptic abbreviated name and a number, some green, some yellow, and some red.
It might as well be gibberish.
There’s a yellow disclaimer at the bottom of the page: Your physician may not have reviewed these results yet. Please call patient services to schedule an appointment to review your results with your physician.
I try to google a few of the names whose numbers are red, but it’s no use.
I lean my forehead against my hand, scrolling back and forth on the test results page as if the numbers will suddenly make sense if I look at them long enough.
“What the fuck does this mean…?”