Morthisal strode after Serena as she walked through the door with Richard Moss on her heels. He leaned in and said something to Serena, and she shook her head. The pages of the movie script crumpled in his fist. He strode after them, reaching the door before anyone could stop him. They were moving at a fast clip, but Morthisal was not letting this go.

  Richard Moss spotted Morthisal and stopped, turned, and blocked his path with one hand raised.

  "Vince. Let's give everyone some space."

  Morthisal reached for the last remnants of his power. A sliver. Barely enough for full influence. He directed the thread at Richard and sank the power into the man's head.

  "This is not personal, Richard. I am not done here. Move aside," Morthisal quietly commanded.

  Richard's hand dropped. He moved to the left without another word.

  Serena had stopped and turned around to catch Morthisal in action. She placed her hands on her hips. Her auburn curls shifted with the movement. Those large blue eyes studied him with renewed interest. Yet Morthisal could not read her look; was it an icy appraisal? Or simple curiosity.

  Morthisal needed to act fast. He did not have enough power to spend on her. Instead, he drew on his decades of experience as a dark lord.

  "A moment if you would," Morthisal's voice was firm, commanding.

  He closed the distance between them. Stopped just outside her personal space. Met her gaze without flinching.

  "You can be persuasive." Serena's eyes flickered in Richard's direction.

  "Yes. Allow me a moment," Mortisal said, then quickly unleashed his hastily formed plan. "I have been so locked into playing a villain that I forgot how to be vulnerable." He kept his voice level. Firm. "Give me a few days to find Julian underneath the dark lord."

  Serena's eyebrows arched. Her lips parted slightly. She tilted her head and examined his face with fresh curiosity.

  "That's..." She paused. "Actually, the most interesting thing you've said all day. The fact that you can recognize that shows more emotional intelligence than most actors I work with."

  Morthisal inclined his head. "Thank you. I promise you that I will wrest myself from the clutches of my dark lord persona."

  A smile tugged at the corner of Serena's mouth. She opened her small purse and extracted a cream-colored business card. Extended it toward him.

  "This number connects to a service. Leave a message, and I'll try to get back to you."

  Morthisal accepted the card. Slipped it into his pocket. "About the agent situation."

  "Right." Serena nodded. "I was going to help with that. Let me think about it. I'll get back to you with a few suggestions if you leave me a message."

  "You do not wish to give me your personal number. Understandable."

  Serena gently shook her head. "There you go again, being smart. I knew there was something I liked about you."

  Morthisal again inclined his head.

  "Okay. Three days. My people will be in touch."

  The conference room door burst open. The woman with severe glasses rushed out. The camera operator followed close behind. They pushed past Morthisal as they descended on Serena.

  "We need to get you to the next meeting," the woman with glasses said. She grabbed Serena's elbow.

  "Your car is waiting," the camera operator added from the other side.

  They practically dragged Serena down the hallway. She glanced back over her shoulder at Morthisal. Offered a small wave.

  Morthisal stood alone in the corridor. The business card pressed against his thigh through the fabric of his pocket. The crumpled script still clutched in his other hand.

  Marty emerged from the conference room. His face had lost its earlier enthusiasm. He walked up to Morthisal and clapped him on the shoulder.

  "Well. That could have gone better."

  "Indeed. However, I have secured a second audition that will take place in three days."

  "No shit?"

  "No. No shit," Morthisal responded.

  "You got another shot. That's something. Serena Winters wanted to walk away. You can be very persuasive, Vince. One thing I love about you."

  Morthisal stared down the empty hallway where Serena had disappeared. "Confidence comes easy. I must now learn something curious."

  "What's that?"

  "Empathy and vulnerability."

  "Yeah." Marty scratched his chin. "That's gonna be a challenge for you. No offense."

  "None taken."

  Morthisal returned to the hotel under a sunny sky, cloudless, yet hazy enough to fool the eye. The relentless sun threatened to cook the residents of Hollywood in the next few hours. The smells of this town once again gratified him. The nearly overpowering exhaust from passing cars and trucks reminded him of simpler times in various pits and noxious swamps.

  He kept his eyes on the building tops and his

  Most of the regulars must have been working or on auditions, because the pool area was deserted with the exception of an older woman Morthisal had spotted a few times. She had a head of perfectly coiffed curly red hair. Deep lines etched her face and exposed neck. She wore a dress that looked almost like a robe. She waggled her fingers in a gentle wave and went back to reading her magazine.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Morthisal picked up a cup of iced coffee on his short walk back to the hotel. He sipped it while he considered his options. Perhaps one of the hotel's inhabitants, mostly out-of-work actors, could assist. Surely one of them was an expert at displaying empathy on the screen or stage. Eddie had been in countless movies and television shows. He didn't think he would get much out of Kenadee or Kristol, both of whom participated in reality series.

  Morthisal paused as his phone buzzed. He withdrew the device and found a pleasant message.

  Landed in Seattle. Thinking about you. It's raining. What a shock.

  In some ways, I miss the dreary weather.

  He slowly took the stairs as he typed back.

  …bold for someone who left the city a week ago.

  Accuracy is a virtue.

  Mhmm. Well, Los Angeles had better treat you well. I don’t want you regretting the move.

  Only thing I regret is not convincing you to stay one more day.

  Three dots appeared. Disappeared. He walked to his room and unlocked the door. More dots appeared, then were gone again.

  Morthisal sipped his cold brew as he patiently waited.

  Sorry. Got cornered by one of my new VPs. I would have figured out a way to stay if you had asked. I'm being pulled into a meeting. Talk later.

  She ended the message with a kiss emoji.

  Morthisal grinned. The morning had not gone as expected, thanks to his audition with Serena. But Marty had not mentioned any more shoots for the day. He opened his browser and started a search for an acting coach, because what was easier in this world than simply 'googling that shit'?

  Morthisal scrolled through page after page of results. Each website promised the same thing with minor variations. "Hollywood's Premier Acting Coach." "Transform Your Performance in Just Three Sessions." "Work with the Coach Who Trained Oscar Winners." The claims grew more outlandish as he scrolled deeper.

  One site featured a woman in her sixties with impossibly smooth skin and teeth so white they hurt to look at. She claimed to have coached "over fifty A-list celebrities" but provided no names. Her rate was listed as $300 per hour, with a minimum booking of 10 sessions.

  Another showed a man in a black turtleneck posed dramatically against a brick wall. His bio mentioned studying under "the masters" in New York and London. His rate started at four hundred per hour.

  Morthisal leaned back in his chair and calculated. He had received payments for his work on Dark Realms. A respectable sum for someone living at the Hollywood Hacienda. But not enough to last forever in this city where everything costs twice what it should.

  He needed to be cautious and strategic. The wrong choice would drain his funds and leave him with nothing to show for it.

  He picked up his phone and dialed the first number. A woman answered on the third ring.

  "Stella Monroe Acting Studio."

  "Good afternoon. I am interested in booking sessions with Ms. Monroe."

  "Wonderful! Have you worked with Stella before?"

  "I have not."

  "Perfect. She has an opening next Thursday at two. Her rate is three-fifty per hour. We require payment upfront for the first five sessions."

  Morthisal did the math. Seventeen hundred and fifty dollars. "I see. And what is her background?"

  The woman rattled off a list of credentials that sounded impressive until Morthisal realized she had not mentioned a single actual production. "She studied at the Actors Studio equivalent in Prague and has worked extensively in experimental theater."

  "Thank you. I will consider it."

  He ended the call and tried the next number. This time, a man answered. His voice dripped with affected gravitas.

  "Blackwood Performance Academy."

  "I am seeking an acting coach. Is Mr. Blackwood available?"

  "I am Damien Blackwood." The man paused as if expecting recognition. "What specifically are you looking to work on?"

  "I need to access vulnerability. Warmth. I have been typecast as a villain and need to expand my range."

  "Ah." Another dramatic pause. "Yes. This is my specialty. I work primarily with method actors. We would need to excavate your emotional core. Tear down the walls you have built. It requires commitment."

  Morthisal frowned. The man sounded as if he were performing rather than conversing. "And your rate?"

  "Five hundred per session. I only take serious clients."

  "I am quite serious. Which actors have you taught?"

  The pause stretched longer this time. "I prefer not to discuss my clients. Confidentiality is paramount in this business. You know how it is. I mention that I coached an A-list celeb, and the phone's ringing off the hook. Makes it hard to weed out the serious actors. That sounds like you."

  Morthisal's eyes narrowed. "I shall take it into account. I have a few more calls to make."

  Damien Blackwood loudly cleared his throat. "Hang on a sec, padre. Lemme look at something."

  Morthisal waited.

  "Yeah. Here it is. I had a sudden cancellation. I can get you in for two sessions next week. I'll make it three fifty per class. That's a hell of a deal for an actor of my caliber."

  "As you say," Morthisal pushed the button to hang up.

  Pah. Were any of these actual teachers?

  Morthisal plopped onto the bed and pulled up the remote while he searched for more coaches. He powered on the old tube television and flipped through the fourteen channels until he settled on one playing black-and-white classics.

  He tried several more numbers. Each conversation followed the same pattern. Impressive claims. Vague credentials. High prices. And when pressed for specifics, the coaches deflected or grew defensive.

  The sixth call connected him to a gravelly voice that sounded like it had been soaked in whiskey and cigarettes for decades.

  "Yeah."

  "Is this Rex Hollinday?"

  "Who wants to know?"

  "My name is Vince Logan. I am seeking an acting coach."

  "Never heard of you."

  Morthisal frowned.

  "Not yet, you have not. I am nearing completion of my work on Dark Realms: The Rise of Malakar."

  A long exhale. "Hey, yeah. I heard of that. It's a B-movie thing with Marty Klein, right? Heard he got a sucker on the hook for a few mill. What's her name? Rich chick."

  "Yvette Sterling."

  "Yeah. That's it. Did you know Klien still owes me money from a creature feature we did in '97?"

  "I did not."

  "Course you didn't. He'll owe you money, too, if you let him. Don't let him." Another exhale. "But sure. You calling about my ad? Why else would anyone call me? What d'you need?"

  Morthisal explained his situation in broad terms, avoiding mention of the movie role or Serena Winters.

  Rex listened without interrupting. When Morthisal finished, the man grunted. "You want me to turn you into a pussy."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You played a badass. Now you want to play some sensitive book nerd. That's what you're saying."

  "I suppose…er…in essence, yes."

  "I can do that. Hundred bucks an hour. Cash only. I got a studio in North Hollywood. You come in for one hour. If it don't work out, then we part as friends. If I like you, and you got the goods? Well—we'll get to work."

  The price seemed almost too reasonable. "Are you auditioning me?"

  "Yeah. Sure. Call it that. Or call it the fact that I don't like no one wasting my time. Look, mostly I teach guys how to look tough. But I know the other side too. Did some Shakespeare when I was younger. Couple a smaller films with some up-and-comers. Back then, up-and-comers. Most of them up and burned out. Not me, man. I'm still here."

  Rex was different than the other coaches he had talked to. He seemed to be a man not so much in search of a paycheck, more an actor looking for a student. Perhaps Morthisal could fit the bill. Besides, what would be the harm in spending an hour with Rex Hollinday? Morthisal would be out a hundred dollars, but that was nothing compared to the fame this role might bring him if the acting classes paid off. In a pinch, Morthisal supposed he could force the man to teach him, but a thread of power might make Rex too nice.

  "Hmm. Can you teach empathy? My future role requires me to be a nice and sympathetic character. I find the task daunting."

  Rex laughed. It sounded like gravel in a blender. "Kid, I can teach you something better than how to show empathy. I can show you how to fake it, every goddamn second, like you actually give a shit about people. Look. I been in this biz for longer than you've been alive. You want this big role? You come to me. No bullshit."

  Longer than Morthisal had been alive? He fought back a chuckle.

  They agreed on a tentative time to meet, provided Morthisal was not required on set tomorrow afternoon.