Page 170 of Smoke and Fire
BASTIAN
Psycho purred through my phone, her head butting up against the camera.
Dahlia laughed and tumbled backward, nearly dropping her phone in the process. She sat on the kitchen floor. The layer of cat hair on top of her pants meant she’d likely been petting Psycho for a while.
“Sorry,” she cried in the video sent not long ago. “Your cat is strong.”
The corner of my mouth twitched up as she laughed again. Psycho attempted to climb on her lap. I could only tell by the way the video angled at her outstretched legs. Legs I’d like to have wrapped around me while I kissed her breathless.
“Anyway,” she continued in the video, “not sure when you’ll get this, but I got in the house and all is well. I was going to stop by and check on Mrs. Cortez, too, but I think she’s still in the hospital. All the lights are off at her house. Oh, your mail is on the counter.”
Finally, she flipped the video around and her bright face filled the screen. She blew a raspberry and wiped her lips off with the back of an arm.
“Sorry.” She did it again. “Cat hair.”
I laughed. The sound echoed off the nearby tree and drew a few interested gazes. Two guys were sitting on a log nearby, staring into the forest. They glanced my way, but I ignored them.
“Anyway, things are good to go for the launch in two days. Well, one-point-five days, technically. The social media groups are bursting at the seams. I actually requested to join all of them from my personal account so I can snoop around a bit more. Weird what goes on in some of those places. One of them is a writers group. They analyze your sentence structure. Enlightening. Do you really choose your adverbs carefully, with the intention of foreshadowing or creating a certain energy? Or does it just flow?”
A little ridge formed in her brow as she spoke. My brain mulled over her ingenious idea to join as a reader from her personal account. Why I hadn’t thought of making a dummy account and watching that way, I had no idea.
She certainly went above and beyond what I asked of her. I liked the trust that built. If I had thought of that idea myself, I may not have asked her to snoop with her own name. Seemed like too much to ask. Now, however, she could really check what was being said.
I made a mental note to give her a bonus.
She sighed and leaned back against a chair. Psycho continued her obnoxious purring from where she stood on top of Dahlia’s thigh, kneading. I felt jealous of that cat, because I'd like to get my hands on those thighs.
I shook the thought free. Dahlia ran a gentle hand along Psycho's back, not seeming to mind Psycho’s relentless attention.
“Nothing concerning in any of the groups that I could get into,” she continued thoughtfully. “One, out of Portland, required a certain ‘password,’” she did air quotes “to enter it. I mean, come on ladies! What is there to hide? Well, maybe something. That is why I want in.”
She held the camera closer to her eye.
“And I’m gonna get in.”
I chortled. No, it didn’t surprise me that people had branched off in their own groups. Rarely did I delve into the depths of what women said about Jess and her books on social media. Too overwhelming. I tried once and it locked me up for a week.
Priyanka did that kind of sleuthing for me, and said she thought the marketing team at my publisher tracked them also.
Platinum status,Pri had once said of Jess.No publisher is going to dedicate that kind of marketing to an author unless they really sell.
Which only made the pressure to stay hidden—and relevant—feel that much stronger. My attention flipped back to Dahlia. Psycho finally settled on her lap like she owned Dahlia now.
A very lucky cat.
“Emails are going much better now that I’ve read so many of the books.” Dahlia leaned back against the table, hair on her shoulders. “I’m halfway through thirteen and closing in fast. Obviously, I won’t get all of them read by the launch, but I’m close enough. I’ve mostly figured out what happens anyway. Sorry.” She grimaced. “This video is probably too long. Send me any questions. Byyyyyye.”
It clicked off too soon.
When I glanced at the time on it, it had run for over two minutes. Her first videos were about thirty seconds. Either she’d been growing into this, or I had. Or both. Either way, it wasn’t long enough. I rubbed my hand over my eyes. Another week and I’d be home.
In less than two days, the book launched.
With a muttered hope for reception to hold, I navigated to my email, just to check. The gods of the internet let me in, and I stared at it in surprise.
The 1,456 emails I’d left her had whittled down to 245. Of those, only ten were fresh in the last few hours. The rest were scattered, old emails that I hadn't known what to do with, so I left there.
New labels populated down the side of the screen, and my mind caught on one titled BASTIAN. I left that page to deal with later, navigating to a new browser to log into my publisher.
