Holy Mother of God.

Twenty-one.

FREDERICK FELT THE SWORD BEFORE HE TURNED HIS HEAD. This was it. He'd felt the disturbance the night before. Knew something powerful had come into being, but he could not name it. There were rumors of rumors, of course, but his kind had acquired all the relics long ago. How had this sword suddenly appeared from nowhere? It was a power he had never felt before. Something about it raised the hackles on his neck. Items of power were dangerous, especially in the hands of humans. Legends told of foolish deeds perpetrated by the humans, fanciful rantings that urged the one who controlled the artifact to attempt to kill his kind. He motioned to Mr. Philips with a jerk of his head, and his faithful servant approached, leaning in to exchange quiet words.

"Our foolish dwarf was as good as his word," Frederick said.

"Yes, Mr. Sawyer."

He always appreciated Mr. Philips's efficiency and no-nonsense attitude. "See that he is rewarded adequately. We may have need of his services again in the future."

Mr. Philips nodded and turned to walk toward the back of the studio.

Immediately, Frederick turned his attention to the next bit of business here. "Who was that excitable young woman just now?" he asked Carl, who had just returned.

"That was Sarah Beauhall," Carl said. "She's our prop manager." He clenched his hands a few times, nervously, Frederick noticed. "She's been having a bit of trouble the last few nights."

"Yes, I can imagine the stress of budget woes, and an erratic schedule, must be playing havoc on your fine crew."

Carl blinked at him, confused.

Silly humans. "Of course, this remains your studio as we agreed," Frederick said calmly. "I wouldn't dream of telling you how to run your business."

"Right," Carl said, his attention focused on the back of the studio, following Jennifer and Sarah's passage long past the time they'd moved out of sight.

"I think we can clear up your immediate cash flow problems," he said, pulling a thick envelope of money out of his jacket pocket and handing it to Carl.

Carl took the envelope, glanced inside, and looked up, shocked. "Yes, this will get us back on track."

Nothing like an envelope stuffed full of hundreds to make them putty in your hands. They are so much easier to manipulate than conquer, he thought. Money truly is power.

"Of course," Frederick continued. "A twenty-five percent stake in Flight Test, Limited and any current or future project will be a lovely addition to my portfolio."

Carl shuddered. "This will get us through the next few weeks," he said, almost apologetic. "But it won't clear all the debts and make us liquid."

"Oh, of course not," Frederick said, waving his manicured hand. "This is just a good-faith gesture. Mr. Philips already has a list of your creditors. I will be settling up with them in the next few days."

Carl gawked at him. "All of them?"

"Well," Frederick said with a predatory smile. "We won't be paying off your parents' mortgage, but any debt acquired or owned by this studio will be free and clear by close of business Friday." He paused. "I include your obligations to the less-than-savory influences."

"That's a lot of money," Carl said, breathless. "I don't think you understand just how much."

"Tsk, tsk, Mr. Tuttle. Don't insult my business acumen."

"I meant no insult," Carl began.

Frederick waved him off. "No insult taken, Mr. Tuttle. But my job is money. I make quite a lot of it, and I know a good investment when I see one. Your prior work alone would be a good enough resume for me to invest."

"You know my work?"

Flattery was next to money when it came to power. He chuckled, despite his best effort. "Carl, my new friend," he said, placing his arm around Carl's shoulder and turning him to face the working stage.

"This is your canvas. You are an artist I can appreciate. You work your magic here, I will handle certain monetary transactions and see to a few glitches in the distribution channels you have found in the British Columbia area. I have connections." He grinned, and Carl seemed to relax.

"It would be great to see Blood Brother II released in Canada."

"Not to worry." Frederick steered Carl toward the set, walking briskly. "Later I would love to meet your prop girl." He smiled. Meet, eat, whichever worked out for the best. "But for now, I must meet this leading man of yours. I have heard many interesting things about him."

Yes, Frederick thought. There was a man both vain and shallow. He could mold JJ Montgomery, guide him to stardom, and sweep the power from his shadow.

An excellent pawn in the long game.

Twenty-two.

JENNIFER WAS A DOLL. SHE HUSTLED ME BACK TO THE LOCKER room and basically stripped me down and shoved me into the shower. I stood under the spray, letting the hot water run over me while my brain processed what had just happened. Either I had suffered a blow to the head when I was sparring with the twins yesterday, or I had lost my mind.

The thought that the dragon could be real, no matter my body's reaction, just couldn't fit inside my brain. I was under a ton of stress. People under stress see and hear strange things. That had to be it. Besides, Rolph had set me up. First he mentions the dragon at the smithy when I'm exhausted, both physically and mentally, then he messes with me here at the set. No wonder I hallucinated a dragon. I was dealing in the land of make-believe every day here on the set. Just my imagination running amok.

In the meantime, I'd have to be careful around Rolph. I didn't like the games he was playing.

I scrubbed myself with the bar of soap Jennifer had in her shower caddy, and let the stress and anxiety flow down the drain with the suds.

When I got out, she had two large towels waiting next to some clothes. I dried off, packed the shower caddy, and examined the clothes. These were sorority sweats. I'd be spending the rest of the evening with Greek letters across my big pink ass. That wasn't humiliating. At least it didn't read SPANK ME.

I draped the towels over the shower rack and bundled my dirty clothes into a very tight ball. I dropped them into the washer in the costume area and walked back into Jennifer's office. The sword lay right where I'd left it. I was surprised at the sense of relief I felt seeing that black blade.

I picked it up, comforting myself with the weight of it, and walked back to the crew.

I had to go through three doors to get to the set. No outside noise, and all that. I walked to the prop cage, slipped Gram into her case, and settled to the left of the stage where I normally watched the shooting.

Jennifer was there, watching rapt as Frederick regaled the cast and crew with his love of film, and his entrepreneurial spirit.

"He's a shark," Jennifer said as I stepped up to her.

"Or some other predator with large teeth," I said.

She looked at me and smiled. "You can be very pretty, when you don't dress down so much."

Dress down? Hell, I was in sweats. My jeans and T-shirts were cool. And the boots I normally wore were totally kick-ass. Of course, now I was two inches shorter and padding around in my bare feet. I guess to Jennifer blond hair, bare feet, and pink sweats were hot.

"You trust him?" I asked.

She turned back to the crowd and shrugged. "You know what they say about things that seem too good to be true."

"Yeah. You gonna read those contracts before everything is finalized?"

"Too late," she said. I could tell she was angry about that. The clenched jaw and tight shoulders were a good clue.

"Carl is a big boy, knows his business and all that."

"True," she said, letting out a long-held breath. "But I have a stake in this, too.

"He's already complimented JJ on his fine acting ability, and even winked at one of the young grips."

"Eww," I said. "Not Kimmie."

Jennifer nodded. "So, shark and lecher. She's only sixteen."

"We'll keep her out of his way," I said, patting Jennifer on the shoulder. "The JJ thing, we can't help. He's a dumbass, no matter how big his head gets."

This brought a laugh from Jennifer that was good to hear. Frederick stumbled a bit in his soliloquy, looking over at us with a bemused smile. Real bastard, that one, no matter my stress levels. I may have hallucinated the dragon thing, but my instincts told me he was bad news all around.

It took another twenty minutes to get things back in order and start the shoot, but things went amazingly well after that.

The goblins were all in rare form, and JJ belted out his lines like a pro. I was fairly impressed, until he swung the sword up to smite the goblins, just like Monday night. Only this time, he let go on the upswing and the sword sailed through the air, slicing through an aluminum support light and sending it shattering to the ground.

While the techs replaced the light and the grips cleaned up, I assured Carl and JJ that the sword was not sharp, and that he just didn't know his own strength. This seemed to mollify the little pisher.

The second take went even smoother. We were up to JJ's big line when things went wrong.

"I declare this land free from oppression," he called out. His white sequined armor glowed, and the lighting was immaculate. He held the sword above his head and his voice rang clear and sonorous.

"I claim this, my birthright. This sword-"

Rolph, I know it was him, started forward, his goblin hand outstretched, with a mewling cry loud enough to interfere.

"-made from the shattered horn of Memphisto . . ."

JJ wound down, not sure how to proceed, so Carl called cut, and we started all over again.

By the third take, things went perfectly. So well, in fact, we wrapped the night with that scene. Carl called cut on the final take and everyone cheered. Finally, we'd beaten the fickle fates and sunk another scene.

JJ stood on the stage, holding the sword, more amazed than the rest of us. He was really good, I hated to admit. Frederick walked onto the stage and began congratulating the cast and crew, a handshake here, a high five there. I walked from the opposite direction, making a line to JJ. I needed to get the sword back in its case before too long.

"James, my good man," Frederick bellowed, holding his arms out as if to hug the fop. "That was astounding."

JJ lowered the sword and grinned like a little kid. It was almost cute.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

Sir? Holy . . .

"Fine blade you have there," Frederick said, walking up to the ferrocrete rocks and craning his neck up to JJ. "Fine indeed."

"Thanks," JJ said, glancing over at me. I started walking his way as fast as I could without running, or losing the sweats that didn't quite fit.

"I'm a collector," Frederick said, working his way over the cables, through the milling goblins, and to the ramp up the rocks. "I'd love to see it up close."

"Um." JJ looked between Frederick and me, unsure of whose wrath to risk. He knew what kind of bitch I could be, but Frederick Sawyer was money. "Sure, I guess," he said, turning.

"JJ, you've done enough damage tonight," I bellowed, storming up the right side of the stage. "Give me my damn sword, before you hurt the suit, you ham-fisted hack."

Not my best work, but I was under pressure.

The word "hack" was the final bit. JJ swung around and snarled. "It's just a piece of trash. Not unlike certain people around here." He dropped the sword on the stage with a clang and stormed off, past the blinking Frederick Sawyer and straight to the smokers' exit.

"Nice," I yelled, bending to pick up the sword several steps ahead of Frederick. He stopped as soon as I touched the hilt, a smile slowly spreading over his face. For a moment I shuddered at that toothy grin, but I turned and stormed back down to the prop area, clutching the sword like it was the last line out of the water.

"Smooth," Jennifer said to me as I stomped past her, my bare feet slapping on the concrete floor. "You have his attention now, that's no mistake."

I just kept walking, straight to the prop cage and through the door. Once Gram was nestled in its case again, I carried it with me to the back to switch my clothes into the dryer.

I locked it in the prop cage again, and began disassembling goblins. Once all the assorted pieces were stowed, and I had the stage hands putting away the extra bits, I began to calm down. He was going to touch my freaking sword. For the briefest of moments it was as if I'd stood before him naked or something, vulnerable and weak. Bastard.

Finally, we finished breaking down the set, now that we were finished with this god-awful scene, and wrapped at two in the morning. Late night, but we'd finally be on to the next scene. That was enough to put a spring in my step.

Jennifer let me know my clothes were dry, and I slipped to the back to change. I folded her sweats on top of the sword case, not daring to let it out of my sight for even a moment with him in the building.

Jennifer smiled when I tried to return the clothes. "Keep them," she said, holding up her hands. "After a long night commando, they belong to you now." She smiled when she said it, so I smiled back.

I liked her. Classy and hard-working. Not sure what I'd do with a pink outfit, but maybe Katie would approve. If she ever spoke to me again.

I said good-bye to the crew and gathered my stuff to head home. As I walked past the office, I saw that JJ stood in the doorway, ranting at Carl.

"Yes, I'm familiar with your differences with Ms. Beauhall," Carl said diplomatically. "But I'm sure she's just tired like the rest of us."

"Jesus," JJ barked. "Before I found out she was a dyke, I thought she must be giving it up for you, but dude. She's a menace, and you aren't even getting any nookie."

At the word "dyke," Carl turned to me, a look of shock on his face. Another Kodak moment.

I just shrugged and walked past them. I was not going to argue with the idiot, and Carl was a big boy. I'm sure Jennifer would explain it all to him. I just wanted to go home.

Of course, before I made it through the door Sawyer's lackey stepped in front of me.

"Pardon me, miss. My name is Mr. Philips," he said, his accent nonexistent, his manners faultless. "Mr. Sawyer would like to have a word with you about the sword you used in tonight's theatrics."