Serena hurried after the director. "Gus, wait!"

  "By the shadows," Morthisal cursed under his breath.

  Morthisal faced a difficult decision. While he had enough power in reserve for a few uses, he needed to save those for the audition in case they asked him to try multiple times. He could always blast Gus into seeing things his way. If he did that, he would also need to hit Serena with a thread as soon as the director was slack-jawed and agreeing with Morthisal to whatever the dark lord commanded. It would snowball from there since he'd have to hit every other person in the room. If only he had a larger power reserve.

  Gus had stopped near the end of the hallway, still clutching his binder. Coffee stained his plaid shirt in a dark splotch that spread across his considerable belly, not to mention dripping from the open pages.

  "Gus, please." Serena put herself between them again. "It was an accident."

  "An accident?" Gus dabbed at his shirt with his palm. "The man was standing in the middle of the hallway with a cup of coffee like some kind of—"

  "I was stationary," Morthisal interrupted, as he drew up to them. "You walked into me." Morthisal silently cursed. Centuries of dealing with warlords and unreasonable leaders had taught him that one needed to be strategic to navigate tricky situations.

  Gus's face flushed red. "Listen here, you—"

  "Mr. Mancini." Morthisal straightened his shoulders. "I recognize passion when I see it. You were absorbed in your work. Focused. That level of commitment to your craft is admirable. From your resume, well, what else can be said? You are a true auteur. A master of the craft. One does not reach those heights overnight."

  Gus blinked. "They most certainly do not," His mouth opened, then closed.

  "In my former life, er, as an executive," he didn't add that it had been for all of five minutes, "I worked with many who refused to compromise their vision," Morthisal continued. "Men who demanded perfection from everyone around them. That intensity creates great things, but it also creates moments like this." He gestured at their coffee-stained shirts. "Collisions and friction."

  "What are you—" Gus started.

  "I am saying that I understand." Morthisal met the director's glare without flinching. "You are uncompromising about your work, as am I. The question is whether we can match that intensity together, or if this unfortunate incident will prevent us from creating something quite remarkable."

  Serena glanced between them, her mouth slightly open.

  Gus studied Morthisal for a long moment. The hallway remained silent except for the director's flustered breathing.

  "You're not what I expected," Gus said finally.

  Morthisal fell back on a popular colloquialism, "I get that a lot."

  "Most actors would have groveled." Gus shifted his weight. "Or stormed off by now."

  "I am not most actors."

  Gus barked out a short laugh. "Maybe you're not. That remains to be seen." He looked down at his shirt, then at Morthisal's. "This is a hell of a first impression."

  "I do like to make an entrance."

  Gus guffawed once and said, "Fine." Hewaved his binder toward the door. "You get your audition. But only because Serena's been hounding me about you for three days straight."

  "Thank you."

  "Don't thank me yet." Gus turned and walked back toward room 2B. "You still have to prove yourself in front of me."

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Morthisal grinned at the challenge.

  Gus entered the room and settled behind the table. He flipped through his binder, pausing at several pages marked with coffee rings and handwritten notes.

  Morthisal followed him into the room. Serena quickly moved to a spot near a tan wall, and motioned for him to join her.

  "We're doing the scene from before," Gus said. "Julian is comforting the grieving customer. You remember it?"

  Morthisal nodded. He'd rehearsed it repeatedly with Serena a few days ago, and Rex more recently.

  "But first." Gus extracted a single page from the back of his binder and slid it across the table. "Different scene. Julian's daughter died three years ago. He's talking to her empty room."

  Serena frowned as Gus slid her a copy of the same page.

  Morthisal picked up the page.

  "Take a minute," Gus said.

  Morthisal scanned the monologue. Julian stood in his daughter's untouched bedroom, speaking to the silence about his inability to let go.

  Rex's voice echoed in his mind. Find something real.

  He closed his eyes and formed a thread, delicate and precise, directing it inward to amplify the ache in his chest he'd felt when he had almost lost Yvette following the unfortunate attack in Seattle. The power wormed its way into his mind and fed on the emotion.

  When he opened his eyes, they burned.

  "Ready?" Gus asked.

  "Yes."

  Morthisal began reading. His voice cracked on the third line. Moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes. The thread pulled the emotions forward, making them real.

  By the time he finished, tears had tracked down his cheeks.

  The room remained silent. Faces stared at him. Serena's eyes had widened. She rubbed his shoulder, leaned forward, and whispered, "damn."

  The cameraman pointed at his rig and shook his head.

  "Hold on." Gus stood abruptly. "Camera's acting up again. Give us a second."

  He fiddled with equipment behind the table. Richard joined them, and they spoke in low voices about technical issues.

  "This thing keeps cutting out," Gus muttered.

  "That is unfortunate," Morthisal grumbled.

  They restarted twice more. Each time, Morthisal had to reset, find the emotion again, let the thread work its way through his consciousness. The interruptions made it harder to maintain the intensity, but he managed. It also drained his power at a rapid pace.

  After the third take, Gus moved to the scene Morthisal had already practiced. His power reserves were nearing the end. It would be disastrous if there were any more camera issues.

  Morthisal wiped his face with the back of his hand and prepared a thread, one that would leave him nearly empty. If this did not work, he would need to excuse himself and find a pair of metal knives and a power outlet. The dark lord shuddered at the thought.

  "The camera is operational?" Morthisal asked.

  The director nodded.

  He closed his eyes and sought out his power, unleashed the thread upon himself, and lifted his head.

  What came next was as powerful as his last

  Off to the side, Serena mouthed the words. You're in.

  Morthisal kept his face neutral. He stepped forward and extended his hand to Gus. The director's grip was firm. Morthisal shook once, released, then turned and walked toward the door.

  Regina stood in the hallway, phone in hand. When she spotted him, she latched onto his elbow and guided him toward the exit.

  "Brilliant working with you. I understand the audition was a formality. Unless you borked it, reckon you're in." She pulled a folded piece of paper from her briefcase and handed it to him. "An outline of your contract. Ten percent commission for the first year. Twelve thereafter if you hit certain benchmarks. Jordan wasn't pleased, but she agreed."

  Morthisal unfolded the paper and scanned it.

  "Wait a day before you call her," Regina continued. "Let them sweat a bit. Then tell Jordan you're ready to sign. Make her come to you."

  "Understood."

  Regina patted his arm. "You're going to do just fine, Vince. Just fine."

  As Regina departed, it took all of Morthisal's cool not to break into a ridiculous dance.

  The rideshare arrived ten minutes later. Morthisal climbed into the back seat and grinned. He couldn't help it. The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror but said nothing.

  The car pulled through the studio gates and merged into traffic. Morthisal stared out the window at the palm trees and billboards. His phone buzzed with messages. He ignored them.

  When the car pulled into the Hollywood Hacienda's parking lot, Eddie, Marcus, Kristol, and Kenadee sat by the pool. They all turned toward him as he stepped out.

  "Vince!" Eddie shouted. "Get over here! We saw the video!"

  Morthisal waved and shook his head. He gestured that he'd fill them in later.

  "You better come back soon!" Eddie yelled. "We want all the details!"

  Morthisal climbed the stairs to the second floor. His room waited at the end of the walkway. He reached into his pocket for his key.

  A man stood in front of his door.

  Tall. Black. Muscular. He wore an NYFD ballcap and a dark jacket despite the heat. His arms were crossed over his chest.

  Morthisal stopped.

  The man turned his head and studied him.

  "You, Logan?"

  Morthisal tore into his power reserve, but there was nothing to work with. He formed the strongest thread he could manage, which amounted to a pittance, and held it ready.

  "Who is asking?"

  gone. What a wild past 4 months.