Hailey could tell Cressida was well and truly pissed. She didn’t come down to work in the bookstore, texting Hailey—texting, from her damned bedroom, not even to saying it to her face!—that she wasn’t feeling up to it. That she “couldn’t handle it.” And yes, she’d added quotes, as an added slap, referencing Hailey’s treatment of her as an “infant.” Hailey was hardly in the mood to deal with it, but she didn’t have the coffee shop shift now, and the bookstore was getting customers in. Which meant that there she was, manning the register.

She was re-reading William Gibson’s Pattern Recognition for probably the fiftieth time. They’d gotten a wave of people in from the con, people who would be leaving that day. They were disappointed that the memorabilia had all sold out. Some had bought sci-fi novels, some romance novels, and lots had added their names to the mailing list that Rachel had set up on their website.

Hailey was hardly an optimist—okay, she was never an optimist. But this looked good. It looked promising. The town’s population was growing like crazy, with lots of fandom-hungry kids. Seattle and the surrounding areas had more conventions than you could shake a stick at: Sakura-Con, Emerald City Comicon, and a bunch of new ones every few months. If Frost Fandoms could bring in the business from those, and keep it going, then Cressida could stay here as long as she wanted. They could all stay as long as they wanted.

But was this what she wanted?

She frowned, putting her book down, choosing to straighten shelves instead. Cleaning, she realized—which meant she was stressed. She compulsively cleaned when she was anxious.

She was used to taking care of herself and taking care of Cressida. She’d expanded that to taking care of Rachel, too, even though Rachel was older. Rachel had been alone with Grandma Frost for years, when their mother had run off to L.A. and Grandma Frost had refused to let her take baby Rachel with her. Rachel had never known their mother, but she’d led a nice, sheltered life here in the small town instead. She didn’t know how horrible life could be. Not like Hailey and Cressida did. So Hailey did what she could to shield them both. She made sure that there was enough money in the till. She devoted her life to her family.

Was she hiding behind it, though?

She frowned. Worse . . . did she love Cressida because Cressida was physically incapable of leaving her?

What kind of fucked-up psychosis was that?

She dusted, hunting down every speck like they were war criminals.

Was that why she’d spiked the relationship with Jake? Because he could leave—more than likely would leave—and she just couldn’t risk it?

She’d never had a relationship, much less fallen in love. And for fuck’s sake, it was just a week. Nobody fell in love in a week. That was Lifetime Christmas movie shit. It made you feel good, but it was a sugar rush.

It always left a crash.

“I’m not a fucking groupie,” Hailey muttered to herself. At this rate, she might pull out their ancient vacuum. Or clean windows. Her skin felt like it was crawling.

Her mother had chased relationships, left her alone to fend for herself. She’d left Rachel behind completely, for fuck’s sake. Worse, her mother had blamed her groupie behavior and her man-junkie tendencies on the fact that Rachel’s father was her one true love, the one she’d never gotten over. Why that meant she went out and found a bunch of men to take care of her after, Hailey had no idea.

Of course, that might be why she felt so strongly about being “taken care of” by a man. Any man.

Hailey sighed, closing her eyes, leaning her forehead against the wall.

I’m not doing this. She’d made her decision. All the armchair quarterbacking in the world wasn’t going to bring Jake back from Brazil, and until she got her shit together, it was probably just as well.

“Hello? Anybody here?”

Hailey sighed, then turned, facing the questioner who’d just stepped in. “Yes, hi, we’re open. Welcome to Frost Fandoms. Can I help you?”

The woman was very thin. Her skin was sallow. She weighed maybe a buck twenty, soaking wet, but was tall and thin, like a sapling. Her hair was white-blond, like corn silk, and her eyes were a faded denim blue-gray.

“You’re Hailey, aren’t you?” The words were just over a whisper, and slightly singsong. She didn’t look straight at Hailey.

A few more people wandered in, wearing Mystics sweatshirts and laughing raucously. Hailey waved at them, then looked back at the woman. “Yes, I’m Hailey Frost. My sisters and I own this store. Looking for anything specifically?”

“Just you,” the woman said. “I’m—”

‘Hey, is there anything signed left?” one of the newcomers interrupted.

Her companion, a sunny-faced guy with a flamboyant bouffant and a rainbow scarf, winked. “Girl, tell me you’ve got autographed pictures.”

“They all sold out,” Hailey said. “We should be getting more in, though, and we’ve got lots of other fandom stuff.”

Just like that, the visitors started snapping up tchotchkes and trinkets, and going through the books. Hailey felt a burst of relief, and gratitude, as she turned back to the thin woman. “Sorry. What can I do for you?”

The woman sighed. “Well,” she said, and pulled out a knife. “I guess you could die. For starters.”

* * *

Jake managed to track down the producers, Phil and Veronica, on the main drag of North Bend. It was brisk, but the sun was shining—they were scouting the location, pointing to various restaurants and shops and buildings. He’d rarely talked to them in the past, only during a wrap party or the season intro stuff. They were more hands-off than other producers. He walked up to them, trying to keep his anxiety and impatience in check.

Ask them why, he told himself. Make your case. Get this done.

Don’t be a dick, he reminded himself, grinning as he thought of Simon. But don’t back down.

“Hi, Veronica, Phil,” he said. “Your, um, admin said you’d be here.”

They looked at him, their expressions puzzled. Phil held out his hand.

“It’s great to see you, Jake,” he said. “I have to say, we’re sorry to see you go, but we understand that that’s how things sometimes work out.”

For a second, Jake was too shocked to respond. The hell? Was that Hollywood speak . . . like corporate speak? “We’re going in a different direction” or “you’re being downsized.”

They fired him, and now they’re sorry to see him go?

“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually,” Jake said. “Why am I going? Precisely.”

If they looked puzzled before, now they looked downright confused. Veronica started looking pissed. “We had this runaround with your agent already, Jake. We did everything we could.”

“You did everything you could?” He couldn’t help it: the bitterness came out. “I went out and boosted my Q Score. I did everything I could to fulfill my contractual obligations. I did everything I could. But apparently, that wasn’t enough!”

He ran his fingers through his hair, fighting to keep it together.

“I don’t know if you understand this, but I loved your show. I’m a huge sci-fi and fantasy fan,” he admitted, feeling irritated when Phil grinned. “I was a geek in high school. I frickin’ loved this shit. When I read the script, I had to push my agent to put me up for it. I work really hard, even when I know you guys just had me on there as eye candy and I didn’t have as many lines . . .”

“You never said anything,” Veronica protested. “We were trying to figure out how else to use you, but you never agreed to any discussions on your character!”

That stopped Jake up short. “Wait, what?”

“We would’ve talked to you directly, but your agent made it quite clear that you don’t deal with producers, or writers. Everything went through her.” Phil’s look was one of dawning awareness. “What did she tell you about those meetings?”

“She didn’t tell me anything,” Jake said, feeling an icy pit in his stomach.

“We hired you because you did a good job with Rick, and we thought you could do more,” Veronica said, more gently. “We offered as much money as the budget allowed, but your agent made it clear that you had other offers. She turned us down.”

Susie.

Now that icy ball in his stomach was the size of a grapefruit. She’d lied to him. Tricked him.

Betrayed him.

“I told her I wanted to do the show, no matter what,” Jake said, finally. “I’m just now hearing about all of this.”

They looked at each other. Phil’s grin widened.

“I thought you were going off to film some movie in South America,” Veronica said carefully.

“My agent—my ex-agent,” Jake corrected, “wants me to do that film, yeah. I haven’t even signed the contract yet, though.” He paused dramatically. “And I won’t . . . if I can do the project I really want to do.”

Phil gestured down the street, toward a nearby coffee shop. “Well now, let’s go sit down, have a cup of coffee, and talk about that.”

Jake felt a bubble of hope. “Yeah, let’s talk about that.”

* * *

“Excuse me?” Hailey said, straightening and taking a step back. Now that she was really paying attention, the woman had crazy coming off her like mall perfume.

Shit, shit, shit.

Rainbow Scarf guy and his Midwest friend were staring. She saw the guy take out his phone, and prayed for a quick second that he was calling 911 and not, say, taking a . . .

The flash on his phone went off. “Crap,” he muttered to his friend. “I meant video. This should be good.”

Because of course getting this on YouTube is more important than calling the cops. It’d be funny if she wasn’t right in the middle of it.

She got a good look at the knife. It was a big, Crocodile Dundee survivalist thing. That said, the woman didn’t look like she was that heavy—she probably couldn’t drive that thing very far into a person’s body. She could get some lucky slashes in, but it’d be just that—luck.

Of course, she’s crazy, Hailey reminded herself, looking around quickly for a weapon of her own. That meant she was probably stronger than she looked.

Shit, shit, SHIT.

“Listen, if this is about me and Jake—we broke up,” Hailey said quickly.

“He’s Rick. And he’s mine,” Ghost Blonde said, moving forward slowly, the knife staying surprisingly steady considering it looked heavy and the woman’s whole arm was as thin as Hailey’s wrist.

“Well, he ain’t mine, so go nuts,” Hailey said, then winced. Probably a bad choice of words.

Ghost Blonde picked up on it immediately. ”You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“I’m not judging you. The guy’s wicked hot,” Hailey said, looking over at the tourists. Call the police, you idiots!

The guy finally seemed to get the picture—both literally and figuratively. The woman he was with whipped out her phone. “Hello, police? I’ve got a situation,” she said, then squealed when Ghost Blonde swung her knife around. They both fled out the front door.

Hailey saw the chance, and went to tackle her, but the psycho was quick—too frickin’ quick. She sliced Hailey’s arm and chest. It wasn’t that deep—at least, Hailey didn’t think it was, but she had enough adrenaline in her system to bench-press a bus—but it still had her moving back, heading for the kitchen if she could . . .

Ghost Blonde cut off that avenue, no pun intended. Hailey picked up a nearby book.

“I’m going to kill you,” Ghost Blonde hummed, weaving slightly.

“But why?” Hailey said. “We’re not together! We only knew each other for like a week. It’s not like we were in love!”

“That’s a lie!” the woman screamed. “I saw you two. He’s never looked like that, at anyone. NOT ANYONE!”

Hailey blinked.

“You think you can understand him, but you don’t. You don’t know him like I do! I understand his secret soul! I know his pain! I know everything about him!”

Bleeding, hurt, scared, and pissed, Hailey felt frustration bubble through her. She was not going out this way. Not at the hands of some twiggy little psycho.

“Oh, yeah?” she said, hoping to press her into making a mistake—and anger her more. “You don’t even know his real name, for Christ’s sake! He’s not ‘Rick,’ he’s Jake Reese! He’s an actor, get it?”

“He’s a Mystic Knight!” The knife slashed out, and Hailey dodged. Ghost Blonde’s blue eyes were foggy but furious. “He and his brothers are trying to SAVE THE WORLD! They need women who understand the sacred mission they’ve been given. Women who will support them. I have powers . . .”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you do,” Hailey muttered.

“I can take care of him. He was just dallying with you,” Ghost Blonde said. “When you’re dead, he’ll need me more than ever.”

“Fuck’s sake, lady, when will you get it through your thick skull?” Hailey let her fury loose. “He’s not even going to be on the show! He’s going to South America or wherever, he’s going to be ogling those A-lister women with no waists and huge tits and he’s going to forget all about this crappy show, do you get it? It’s over! He’s gone!”

Ghost Blonde now paused. Then she smiled wickedly.

“You’re lying. And jealous. He left you.” Her tone was triumphant. “You were just a receptacle for his seed, and then he moved on. Just like he always would have. Did you really think a slut like you could keep him?”

That hit Hailey so hard, it was like getting the wind knocked out of her. Knife or not, she felt rage, like a bonfire. She grabbed nearby books blindly, throwing them at the blonde. They bounced off her shoulder, causing her to screech.

“FUCK. YOU.” Hailey threw another.

“How dare you?” Ghost Blonde demanded.

“Are you kidding me with this?” Hailey dodged another stab, then wrestled with her. She got another lucky slash in, this time against Hailey’s collarbone. She gasped. That had hurt—and was a little too close to her throat.

The fury, the fear, all dropped away as she clicked into a ready state: just this side of numb, hyper-alert.

Survive. Protect Cressida. Look for your opportunity.

“You’ll never love him like I do,” Ghost Blonde shouted. “I will NEVER let him go! I would give up EVERYTHING for him!”

“That’s not love, that’s fucking insanity,” Hailey said quietly. Goading her. Heading toward the door—away from Cressida. Get her out of the house. “So, who’d you fixate on before Mystics started? No way you just started this with Jake, if you’re already at the stalking and stabbing stage. Who got you started?”

“There’s only ever been Rick,” Ghost Blonde countered.

“If you really care about . . . Rick,” Hailey echoed, “why trash his room? Why send him hate messages? Why try and kill me?”

“If you love someone, you sacrifice for him,” Ghost Blonde said.

“If you love someone, you protect them.” Hailey said, her voice sharp. Just a few more steps.

She was almost to the door . . . and then tripped. Fucking tripped on a pile of paperbacks that tumbled beneath her feet, making her heels slip out from under her. She screeched.

Ghost Blonde hovered over her, knife in both hands.

“He’s mine.”

Hailey tensed, putting her arms up defensively.

Then, suddenly, Ghost Blonde got clocked as a big tome hit her right upside the head. She grunted, her eyes rolled back, and she fell to the ground.

Hailey grabbed the knife away from her and stood up, looking Cressida right in the eyes. Cressida was panting, and held the heavy book in two hands.

“It’s the Hamiltome,” she said, her breathing uneven. “Thank you, Lin-Manuel Miranda.”

“I always knew that damned show would save my life,” Hailey said, then touched her slashes and wounds. “Ouch.”

“The police are going to be here soon,” Cressida said. She grabbed a nearby extension cord and tied the woman up. “You need to get to the hospital, get that . . . fixed. That looks like a lot of blood.” She sounded weak.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Cressida said. “I’ll probably break down a little later, when I’ve got my bearings. But yeah.”

“I’ll say,” Hailey laughed, sinking down, hoping she wasn’t going into shock. “You saved my life.”

Cressida stood straighter, her eyes staying trained on the knocked-out blonde on the ground. “Guess I did. Told you I can take care of myself . . . even if I can’t leave here.”

“You can,” Hailey said. Her body went cold, clammy. “You totally will.

“But even if I have to stay here—I swear, Hailey, if you stay, and think we’re going to be two spinsters with a bunch of cats or something when we’re eighty, you’re out of your mind,” she said. “Yeah, I love the house. And you love me. But I want you to be happy, sweetie. You can’t just stay safe. That’s like saying jail is safe. You’re meant for more than this.”

Hailey started shivering. “I just want you to be taken care of.”

“And I want to take care of myself,” Cressida said. “I’m not thirteen anymore, Hales. I’ve got this. So do you.”

The police came in. They took Ghost Blonde away, and Hailey was taken to the hospital in the ambulance. As they rode off, Hailey realized that Cressida was right.

She was through playing it safe. For somebody who talked a big game, she’d been running scared—hiding behind the very people she swore she’d protect and love.

She wasn’t doing them any favors. She wasn’t doing herself any favors. It was time to stop hiding.

That meant dealing with Jake.