Siege of Shadows (Effigies #2)(88)
Another trap—a barely concealed one. Lake kept her smile plastered on her face as she waited for the attack.
Jo’s light brown ponytail swished as she tilted her neck and considered it. “Well,” she said, “personally, I’m just excited for her. And to be honest, I’m a bit surprised, too. I mean, little Vicky being nominated as a role model?” Her “friendly” laughter had a knife-sharp edge to it. “She’s really come a long way from faking injuries and illnesses to get out of fighting as an Effigy. I like to think of her as a little butterfly that finally spread her wings after years of being . . . well, whatever butterflies are first. Worms?” She smiled.
“Lake,” Kacey said, “we all know you had some kind of breakdown in Milan. Is it true you faked all that just to get put on leave?”
The veil fell. Lake looked terrified. Even with all the constant screaming, there were some members of the crowd watching the interview intently. Kacey must have gotten word from her producer through her earpiece, because she suddenly shifted.
“Okay, I see I’ve kept you for too long—well, enjoy the night, ladies! And, GBD, I have a few more questions to ask about your hit single!”
Lake composed herself as we continued down the red carpet, but I could tell from the creeping redness in her eyes that she hadn’t been prepared for that particular attack. Showbiz cattiness was all about the dog whistles and low-key shady remarks. But this was live, and regardless of what the truth was, the idea that Lake had purposefully wrangled herself out of her cosmic duty in favor of embracing what many called a failed celebrity life had now been televised.
“Lake, are you okay?” I held her hand when she stumbled a bit over her high heels—something I’d never seen her do.
“It’s true. So what? My parents didn’t want me to fight,” she said in a low whisper. “They still don’t. They don’t want me to die. What’s so wrong with that? Jo . . . She couldn’t possibly understand.”
I squeezed her hand as we continued down the red carpet through the glaring flashes. Lake tried to recover by taking selfies with fans and signing autographs. I followed suit the best I could.
“Chae Rin! Chae Rin!”
We looked for the voice. It was faint, but soon we could see someone pushing her way through the crowd to the barricade. Chae Rin’s whole body seized up, her lips parting as soon as the girl broke free from the rest, her hand touching the glowing metal bars.
“Unnie?” Chae Rin dropped her clutch purse and rushed to the metal bars. “Oh my god!”
The girl looked very much like Chae Rin, though her sleek black hair was longer and rather limp over her buttoned-up blue blouse—a little stuffy for an event like this. She was only slightly taller, and a bit chubbier, her round cheeks as rosy as the girl whose fingers she clasped. I’d seen her face before in Chae Rin’s electronic file, which Rhys had shown me on the way to Montreal. She was one of four faces on Rhys’s tablet screen as he told me all about Chae Rin’s family.
Her sister?
“Unnie!” I’d never heard Chae Rin’s voice like this, almost childish as she jumped up and down and hugged her big sister. “What are you doing here?”
“I know I’m not supposed to contact you, but I saw that you were nominated and I had to try to get here.”
She had a slight accent, which I could only assume came from living in Daegu for longer than Chae Rin had. She looked at us, her eyes stretching into beautiful crescents as she grinned. “You’re the other Effigies, right? I’m Ha Rin, big sis. Thanks for keeping my little sister in check.”
“Hey, nobody keeps me in check.” Chae Rin folded her arms brattily as her sister rubbed her head, messing up her hair.
The only thing I knew about Ha Rin was that she was studying to be meteorologist at the University of British Columbia. She certainly looked the part with her professional dress blouse, thin white sweater, and black dress pants—an odd combo in the middle of sweaty, screaming children in rocker T-shirts.
“Seriously, though, what are you doing here? Did something happen?” Chae Rin looked suddenly concerned when her sister’s smile fell. “Mom. Mom’s okay, isn’t she? Or did she have another—”
“I can’t explain here—I’ll meet you in your hotel room after the show, okay? Text me when you’re done. Don’t worry, it’s nothing really bad . . . ,” she added, though unconvincingly, when she saw Chae Rin’s expression begin to twist with worry. “You’ll be up onstage, right?” she added quickly. “I’ll try to work my way there.”
“How?” I said. “I’m sure the pit’s already completely occupied.”
“I have my ways. Okay, kids, move it!” What her mousy blouse didn’t show was the sheer brutality of the sharp elbows concealed within the fabric.
I laughed, hoping Chae Rin would follow suit, but she stayed quiet down the rest of the length of the red carpet.
? ? ?
The rest of the evening passed by like a dream. Backstage, celebrities I’d only seen before on television came up to me, asking me what it was like fighting monsters, telling me how cute my dress was, though obviously there were others who didn’t seem that willing to share the spotlight even if there were no cameras around. That clique of willowy socialites-turned-models every girl at Ashford High was obsessed with completely ignored me when I said hello. And that one British blue-eyed soul singer was too busy throwing his half-empty coffee cup at a volunteer’s face to even notice me trying to talk to him. At least pop sensation Aaron Jacobs spared me a minute. He’d gotten much nicer after coming back from rehab.