The Princess and the Fangirl (Once Upon a Con #2)(72)

“You need me to…work the lights,” he clarifies.

“Elle will distract the tech guy and you, wearing a black shirt, will just squeeze into the booth and hijack the lights.”

“But I don’t have a black shirt,” he says helplessly. He begins to scratch at the side of his face still covered with shaving cream and then stops himself.

I hurry over to my suitcase, pull out a black shirt, and hold it up to his torso. It’s a women’s medium, so it should easily fit over his scrawny shoulders. “It might be a little short, but it’ll have to do.”

“Is this punishment for being mean to Imogen?”

“Yes,” I reply happily, shoving the shirt into his chest, “it is. Now finish shaving and go change.”





THIS IS THE LAST TIME I WILL EVER BE Jessica Stone and, starflame, am I going to make it count. The panel is about to begin, and I’m pacing back and forth in the small space behind the curtains that block the audience from our waiting area, chewing on my thumbnail because, screw the rules, I have pink hair. You know, under my wig. Hidden.

It’s still pink, okay?

This is it. Our moment of glory. We’re on the edge of it. Just waiting.

On the other side of the waiting area, Vance Reigns flirts with one of the volunteers, and I restrain myself from losing the fries I ate back at the diner.

I check my phone. Three minutes before the panel. I’m trying not to hardcore freak out but honestly? It’s much harder than I thought it’d be. One, I’m playing with my new friend’s career, and two, I really hope things go according to plan.

I should’ve warned Jess that my plans usually fall spectacularly to pieces.

Nah.

“Something eating you?”

I jump at the voice and look up from my phone. Darien is standing in front of me, all glorious black curls and long eyelashes and warm brown eyes. I wait for my fangirl senses to kick in and freak out but…they don’t. Ethan’s eyelashes are much longer.

What am I doing? This isn’t an eyelash-length competition. Weirdo.

I put my phone away and clear my throat. “Well, um. You know, just the usual.”

He nods. “Uh-huh.”

From across the room, I hear Vance chuckle at something the volunteer says. It’s smooth like honey and makes my entire body go rigid. I can’t believe I fell for that—for him. How naive could I be?

Darien glances over his shoulder at Vance and then back at me. “You know, he disguises himself pretty well for a bag of dicks.”

My eyes widen. “Darien.”

“I can say it,” he replies, and takes a bottle of water offered by a volunteer. “He’s a piece of trash. He shouldn’t have tricked you like that.”

He’s in on the plan, too. After apologizing to Ethan, Jess’s second order of business was to find Darien because we couldn’t pull this off without him. Jess shot him a text, and we reconvened in Jess’s suite so she could freshen my makeup. By the time we made it back to Jess’s suite, Darien and a girl with crimson hair were waiting outside her door.

She had grinned at us—that kind of troublemaking grin I recognized from the gossip news proclaiming her Geekerella—and brandished a box of red hair dye. “So who needs to become a princess?”

And that is how I met Elle Wittimer.

If I ever shipped people in real life (which I don’t, because it’s weird to me, unless it’s me and someone really hot and it’s only in my head), then she and Darien would be my FOREVER OTP. But I totally don’t ship real people.

…except maybe them.

“I just hope this plan works,” I mutter to Darien, eyeing Vance as he and the volunteer break out into a flirtatious laugh. “I’m kinda mostly afraid that Bran won’t get his phone number in time. And…”

I hesitate, because this part I hadn’t really wanted to say out loud. I don’t want to jinx anything.

“And even if we do expose him, Jess will still take the blame for throwing the script away in the first place. And even though she said she wanted to take the blame, I don’t understand why she would.”

Darien nods. “I know. But let’s trust her, yeah? She’s not the brightest witch of her age for nothing.”

I gasp, fake-shocked. “Darien Freeman, did you just refer to something other than Starfield?”

“I know, right? It’s like I’m multidimensional or something.”

“Shocker.”

Then he checks his phone. “Oh gosh, look at the time. It’s distraction o’clock!”

He winks at me and hurries to the exit of the waiting area. A volunteer stops him, but when he says he has to go to the bathroom, she lets him escape into the hallway.

I quickly text Jess.

IMOGEN (5:55 PM)

—The Carmindor is in motion.





THERE IS SOMETHING TO BE SAID WHEN the actress playing the new Amara in the reboot devises a plan to steal the original Amara’s gown from a coffin case while half of the con watches.

Although I don’t know what that something to be said would be, honestly.

I guess I’m about to find out.

The dress is located in the center of the exhibit, beside the original Carmindor’s uniform, which is, as Dare once pointed out, the perfect shade of blue. A hue that matches the swirls in Amara’s dress exactly.