The Princess and the Fangirl (Once Upon a Con #2)(77)

And then I turn, like a ghost, and return down the aisle whence I came, and behind me rises a tide of silence.

Amon stands abruptly and calls after me. “Jess! Jess, where are you going?”

“The horizon is wide,” I say over my shoulder, my words spoken in the steady, even cadence of Amara, “and I have a girl to kiss.”

Then I pick up the sides of my dress made of stars and wishes and impossibilities, and I run out of the room.





THE BACK DOOR SWINGS SHUT, AND silence swallows us whole. No one moves as Jess’s words sink in. No one breathes. It’s like the silence after a rubber band, wound too tightly, suddenly snaps. The tension is gone. And then—

Vance glances at Calvin. “Did she just say a girl?”

Calvin gives him a crude look. “Don’t talk to me,” he says—I think—because at the same time an audience member stands, picking up her magical staff, and follows Jess. Then another. And then an entire row of people. Filing out in growing numbers until everyone is trying to cram out of the doors.

That’s when it hits me—Jess is going to find Harper.

I jump to my feet and hurry around the table. Behind me, Amon shouts Jess’s name, but I don’t stop. That is not my name, and he definitely doesn’t deserve mine.

Ethan meets me at the edge of the stage, with Elle right behind him, and takes my hand to help me down. “I think I know where she’s going,” I tell them.

“This way!” Suddenly, Darien flings the backstage curtains wide, beckoning us to hurry.

“Oh, so you’ve returned,” Ethan says mildly.

Darien gives him a look. “You would not believe what just happened—”

“Let’s talk and run, shall we?” I interrupt. “Follow me! I know a shortcut.” There’s a door on the side of the room that is always barred, mostly because it lets out to the next panel space, where the old guy from Star Wars is taking questions and—

“Does he sound like the Joker or is it me?” I ask.

Ethan rolls his eyes, and we cut into the next hall, and then the next, Darien and Elle following close behind. I know this convention center like the back of my hand. I know every nook and cranny, every shortcut and quiet bathroom, and soon I navigate us outside into the sticky Atlanta night.

Darien and Elle speed ahead, folding their fingers together, leaving Ethan and me to follow.

A stream of people follows Jess from one side of the convention to the other, trickling down into the street like the parade we saw earlier, and I can’t help but smile like mad—because although it isn’t a marching band, this is totally my new favorite trope. A bunch of nerds following a princess in a dress made of galaxies.

Beside me, Ethan lets out a long sigh. “So, now that you’re you again, I think we need proper introductions. I’ll start. Hi there, my name’s Ethan Tanaka.”

“That’s a real smooth pickup line.”

“That’s a very long name you have, That’s a real smooth pickup—”

“Imogen,” I laugh, offering my hand. “But my friends call me Mo.”

“Mo, it’s a pleasure.”

We shake hands.

A block away, the crowd has stopped moving. I squint into the distance. “Is Jess trying to—”

He nods, looking as grim as ever. “Yep. She’s climbing on top of that food truck. She always does things the hard way. There is an elevator. She knows there’s an elevator.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and sighs.

I grin at him, secretive and sincere. “I never got to thank you for helping me out with He-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named.”

“Who?”

“The guy from the meet-and-greet. I knew him—well, Imogen knew him.”

He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and the lenses flash in the street lights. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry if I was a little…overbearing.”

“You, overbearing?” I snort-laugh. “Whatever gave you that idea? But that move you pulled was really cool. What was it, karate?”

He gives me a blank look. “Mo, not every Asian guy knows karate.”

My cheeks redden. “I didn’t mean—”

“It was Mortal Kombat.”

I blink. “What?”

“The game?” He explains: “I’m kinda a world champion Mortal Kombat player, so I guess my subconscious picked up Raiden’s—”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupt, and his lips twitch up into a smile. “Ugh, nerd.”

“Ugh, fangirl,” he mimics.

An impasse.

Down the block, Jess has finally climbed onto the food truck. The fans have gathered around her, and the Starfield song has somehow bled into the very fabric of the street. The street lights glitter off the tall buildings, green oaks lining the sidewalks beside lampposts and traffic lights. The streets are empty of cars. An older Luke Skywalker, peppery beard and shaggy hair, sitting on the shoulders of the tenth and eleventh Doctors, leads the singing, conducting the music with his lightsaber.

Jess grabs something from a green-haired girl standing on the hood of the food truck and hoists it into the air.

“Is that—? She has a megaphone,” I deadpan.

Ethan takes his hands out of his pockets. “We should probably stop her,” he advises, and begins speed-walking toward his charge standing atop the Magic Pumpkin food truck. I follow this too-tall boy into the sea of people, cosplayers and fangirls and fanboys and geeks and nerds, people pretending to be other people and people just trying to be themselves, and it hits me as we edge closer to the princess in a shimmering galaxy dress atop a food truck—