Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(79)

Justine gave him a skeptical glance. “I thought there were a lot of people who did what Jason does.”

The remark was received as near-blasphemy, with all three of them hastening to enlighten her. Yes, there were thousands of great game directors and developers, but Jason did epic RPGs—role-playing games—better than anyone else in the business. He had taken them to a level so far beyond what others were doing that, at the moment, he didn’t really have a peer. His work was often cited as an example of video games as an art form, offering up worlds so compelling that anyone who played an Inari game was helplessly pulled into its sad, sinister beauty.

Although Inari games had earned a reputation for technical wizardry, like the stunning realism of water effects or the details of character’s faces, the true magic was in the way the games created emotional connections.

“Inari always puts you through the wringer,” Marlie said. “Skyrebels made everyone cry like a baby at the end.”

“I didn’t,” Ross said.

“Oh, come on,” Marlie said. “When the guy fatally wounds the dragon and he realizes it’s his wife?”

“And she takes off to go die somewhere alone,” Troy added. “You felt nothing, Ross? Really?”

“I may have misted up for a second,” Ross admitted.

“He sobbed until he was dehydrated,” Marlie told Justine.

As Jason returned with a glass of wine for Justine and a cocktail for Marlie, Justine told him, “I may have to try one of your games. They were just telling me how amazing your work is.”

“The credit goes to my group at Inari—they’re the best at what they do.”

A new voice entered the conversation as a pair of young men approached them. “How come you only say that stuff behind our backs?”

“Too much praise is demotivating,” Jason replied, reaching out to shake hands. He introduced them as Inari game designers who had been part of a panel discussion earlier in the day. Grinning, they proceeded to inform him that so far, a demotivating level of praise was not something they or anyone else at Inari had experienced.

Noticing that one of the other hosts was gesturing for him to come to the other side of the room, Jason slid his hand beneath Justine’s elbow. “The mayor and the port commissioner just arrived,” he said in an undertone. “Would you go with me to meet them?”

She smiled at him. “Of course.”

Jason spoke to the group around them. “If you’ll excuse us, Justine and I have to go mingle.”

“You’re not going to spend the entire evening with us?” Troy asked, looking mildly perplexed.

Jason grinned. “It was nice meeting you. Good luck on the launch next month.”

But just as he began to turn away with Justine, Marlie asked bashfully, “One quick thing … Jason … is there any way I could get a picture with you? I’ve got my camera phone right here, and it would only take a second.”

Jason looked apologetic. “Sorry, but I avoid having my picture taken like the plague.”

Marlie covered up her disappointment with a smile. “I figured as much. Thought I’d give it a shot anyway.”

One of the Inari designers said slyly, “We have a theory about Jason’s camera phobia. He secretly fears it’s going to steal his soul.”

Jason glanced at Justine, a flicker of private amusement in his eyes.

“One more thing,” Marlie said. “After the cocktail party, a bunch of us are going to one of the events downstairs. Feel free to come with us if you’d like.”

“Which event?” Justine asked.

“The Miss Klingon Beauty Pageant.”

“I used to watch Star Trek!” Justine exclaimed, pleased to encounter a subject she actually knew something about.

“It’s a great pageant,” Ross said. “During the talent portion, last year’s winner did baton-twirling with a Klingon pain stick. But what really put her over the top was the evening gown competition, when she threatened the entire audience with blunt-force trauma.”

“That sounds fun,” Justine said, laughing. She glanced at Jason. “Should we go see it?”

“I would rather be beaten with the pain stick.”

“We could stand at the back of the room,” she wheedled. “No one will see you.”

“I’m more worried about what I’ll see,” Jason said. But as he looked at Justine, he smiled ruefully and murmured, “How can I say no to you?”

* * *

After the cocktail party, they took an elevator to the banquet and conference rooms. The doors slid open to reveal a festivallike chaos in which it seemed that anything and everything was allowed. Nearly everyone was dressed in costume: Romulans, robots, Storm Troopers, warriors from Mortal Kombat and Assassin’s Creed, even a pack of dogs dressed as the canine corps of Starfleet.

Keeping Justine’s hand firmly in his, Jason pulled her through the packed crowd. The noise approximated the decibel level of an airplane runway. One of the common areas was especially tumultuous: It appeared that someone in a Jabba the Hutt costume had gotten stuck in the men’s-room doorway, and bystanders were trying to pull him out.

Someone solved the dilemma by poking holes in the Jabba costume with a curved saber. The crowd was highly entertained by the flatulent deflation. When the costume had shrunk sufficiently, volunteers worked together to pull the man out of acres of latex and fabric. They all cheered as he was finally freed. “Let’s all hug,” one of the rescuers exclaimed to the others. “Can we hug?”