Shiny Things: Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

One camera flash stood between her fixed smile and a case of lockjaw. Just one. Krysta Ishtar looked sidelong at her publisher. “How much longer do I have to keep this up?”

Jane Autumn’s face powder cracked in three crooked lines around her bright smile. “As long as you can. Your novel is the first thing to be published in five years that isn’t complete twaddle, dearie, so just keep smiling. Maybe you’ll even sell some copies.”

Krysta bared her teeth into the flash of a particularly obnoxious bright pink camera held by a woman in a hot pink tailored skirt suit and matching stiletto heels. She groaned under her breath. “Pinky’s here.”

“Of course Pinky’s here. A good review in Teen Scream will do you wonders. Teenage girls read too, you know.”

“Yes, but five minutes with Pinky will leave me needing a frontal lobotomy.”

Jane raised her eyebrows and studied Krysta over the glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Speaking of frontal lobotomies, did I not ask you to change your hair colour last week? These publicity photos will be everywhere, you know.”

“I did change it.” Krysta resisted the urge to pat down her hair in front of the cameras.

“I assumed you would dye it to your natural colour.”

“You’d be surprised how close to my natural colour this is.”

“Dear nobody’s natural colour is purple.” Jane took a deep breath, then drew her hand sharply across her neck and stopped smiling.

The cameras stopped, just like that. Krysta relaxed her facial muscles and hid behind a copy of her book.

“Thank you my dears, that will be quite enough. Ms Ishtar will sign books now and be available for interviews by appointment.”

The three photographers packed up their equipment so fast anyone would have thought they didn’t actually want to be taking photos of an unknown author to fill space in the back pages of their magazines.

“Come along dear.” Jane ushered Krysta to a desk set up in a cosy corner of the bookshop. Behind it, on a huge poster of the book cover, a freckle-faced woman with long, dark hair stared off into the distance. The font they’d used spelled out the title of the book in daggers that evaporated into mist at every corner.

She liked it. The Missing Muse, her island of salvation in ten years of writer’s block.

She sat down behind the piles of shiny new books. “What if nobody comes in?”

“Don’t be silly dear, we do book signings for debut authors all the time, there’s always at least one person wanting a signature.”

“Just one?”

“I can’t help the way the market is. Like I said, your book is the first thing I’ve read in years that didn’t make me want to bleach my eyeballs. Maybe all the muses really are missing, who knows?”

“Oh, ha ha.”

Jane winked. “There, you’re all set up. I have to go. Is Drew going to come by and pick you up later?”

“Yeah, as soon as he finishes work.”

“Such a nice young man.”

“My mum’s going to drop in and visit too.”

“Right. I’ll see you later then.”

Krysta grinned after Jane’s retreating form. Her publisher and her mother had been at loggerheads ever since they had that argument about whether or not fairies should have wings.

The grin dropped from her face at the sight of the first person to come teetering over clutching a copy of her book.

Pinky dropped into the chair opposite her, breathless, and laid her book on the table. “Krysta this is so exciting! I can’t wait to read your book!”

Krysta sighed, opened the book and signed it. “Thanks Pinky, I hope you like it.”

“I just know I’m going to love it, I don’t care what your mum said, it’s-”

“What? What did my mum say to you?”

Pinky’s eyes widened. She had on pink eye shadow and pastel pink lipstick, which hurt Krysta’s brain, but hey, the girl liked pink. “Oh, I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“What did my mum say? Tell me. Right now.”

Pinky pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Fine. Let me guess. I shouldn’t have published it because bad things will happen?”

Pinky went a shade paler. “You know she–but–it’s not–”

Krysta shook her head. “Look, I know you guys are close, but you’ve got to understand, nothing bad is going to come of writing fiction, no matter what Mum says. They’re just stories.”

Pinky decompressed her lips, gave her a big smile and picked up her book. “Of course it can’t. I have to go now. I promise I’ll write you a good review for Teen Scream!” She waved cheerily, then trotted away as fast as her heels would let her.

Krysta breathed a sigh of relief. Several sane people came to get their books signed after that. She had a conversation about Tolkien with a curly-haired boy in his early twenties, talked about the weather with an old man on a walking frame, signed a book for a mother with two small children and spent ten minutes entertaining three giggly teen girls.

She’d just signed a book for a skinny blonde when a weird old guy walked into the shop and looked around. He wore a tattered lime green top hat which scraped the roof, had long dark hair streaked with white and a sneer that could have shrivelled daisies. His tailcoat, pants and boots were the same lurid colour as the hat.

Their eyes met for two seconds. Then he wandered off into the bowels of the store.

“Thanks so much!” the blonde said.

Krysta blinked. “What? Oh, no worries.” She slid the signed book across the desk. A ten-year-old boy took her place.

She signed at least another five books before the next lull, where she just had time to wipe sweat off her forehead. Wow. Being nice to people took effort.

Then the old guy in the lime green slammed her book down in front of her, making her jump. “What do you call this?”

Krysta looked up, and up. That god-awful suit looked like he’d been in a fight with sixteen cats. “It’s a book,” she said. “They sell them here.” She pulled it towards her, opened the front cover and signed it. Krysta Ishtar, with love.

The old guy sat down and prodded the book hard with one long, knobbly finger. “I want to know where you got your information. There’s no possible way you could have known all this.”

Freaking hell. Jane had said there’d be weird ones. Krysta sighed. “What you have in your hands is fiction. It’s made up. It’s been a long day and I’m tired, how about you just go be somewhere that’s not here?”

The old guy’s sneer intensified, causing all sorts of interesting lines to develop around his eyes. “Young woman, I did not come here to listen to the obfuscations of a purple-haired-” he stopped, evidently at a loss for words, and flicked a hand at her. “You.”

“Pity.” Krysta checked behind him for someone, anyone. Damn it. Shouldn’t Drew be picking her up soon?

“Don’t interrupt me!” His fist clenched and unclenched on her book.

“Fine. Do go on.” She leaned back in her chair and made a mental note to add a grouchy old grandpa with hideous dress sense to her next book.

“I demand to know who you are!”

“Krysta Ishtar. Says so on my book. And my driver’s licence.”

“Rubbish. There are no Ishtars in Dream and you’re far too tall to be a Bloody Fairy. Although whether you’re actually human is debatable.”

Wow. This should make a fun story when she got home. “Mate, you’re taking my book a bit too seriously. I think it might be past medication time, don’t you?”

“I want to know who told you!” He slammed a fist onto the book. “There’s no way anyone could have known about these things! It’s impossible!”

Krysta flinched. Things stopped being funny when she stopped feeling safe. “I think it’s time you left.”

“My dear girl, I’m not leaving without the identity of your informant.” He picked up the book and shook it at her. “These are state secrets in here, my secrets, and I will have the head of whoever is responsible for this treason!”

Where the hell was Drew when she needed him? She’d have to lock herself in the back room and call the police-

The bell on the bookshop door jangled. Krysta closed her eyes, breathed a sigh of relief and stood up. “Drew?” Her voice rose a note higher thanks to the edge of panic.

“It’s only me!” a female voice called.

The old man shot to his feet as if he’d been electrocuted.

Krysta said a bad word under her breath. She had no desire to put her mother in a room with this guy. “Oh good, you’re going.” She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder for a quick escape.

Hippy Ishtar walked into the light. She stopped on a quick, indrawn breath. Her skin went a shade paler under her tan.

“You.” the old guy raised a quivering finger and pointed it at her. “Why aren’t you dead?”

Want to read more? Shiny Things will be out September 11 on kindle. You can preorder it here.