They’d closed the street for the premiere, forcing Sebastian’s cab to drop him off around the corner.
The producers of Midnight Force: Sunset on the Sands had booked the Marigold Cinema for the film’s UK debut. It was a small, independent movie theatre in Soho that’d been around since the turn of the last century, its facade an eclectic mix of classical architecture and gaudy neon.
They wouldn’t let Sebastian in through the back entrance. He’d checked. Fortunately the photographers lined up along the red carpet weren’t interested in a mere consultant, and Sebastian passed through the cacophonous gauntlet of questions and flashbulbs quickly and unnoticed. Security checked his invitation with the barest level of interest and waved him through.
Stepping into the foyer of the Marigold was like stepping back in time. A chandelier hanging from the high coffered ceiling lit the room in bright warm tones, bringing out the vivid red of the carpet underfoot, the subtleties of the patterned wallpaper, the wood grain of the bar along one wall.
As a child, Sebastian had been enchanted. Whenever he came home from school for the holidays, he and his mother would always celebrate by coming to see a film at the Marigold—just the two of them, while his father was on assignment abroad. More often than not, the promise of it was all that got him through the semester.
There was a cocktail reception planned, but it wasn’t due to start for a few more minutes. Through the sparse crowd milling about the foyer, Sebastian spotted Anika Roy at the far end of the bar where she nursed a glass of straight Jägermeister.
Lanky and angular, Anika was dressed fairly well by her own standards, which qualified as a dress code violation by most others’: her good combat boots, black jeans instead of the usual acid-washed blue, and a long cardigan over a t-shirt that didn’t even have anything demonic or vulgar on it. She’d made an attempt at putting on makeup before giving up on the endeavour and cleaning it all off again, leaving a few dark smudges at the corners of her eyes.
Sebastian sidled up next to her and slung an arm around her waist. “Hello, my darling.”
Without any preamble, Anika replied, “That’s what you’re wearing?” She made a show of eyeing up his outfit; he’d chosen a dark suit for tonight, tailored very precisely around his shoulders and hips, and foregone a tie, leaving his collar unbuttoned. “You look like you should be human furniture in a kink club somewhere.”
Sebastian winked at her. “That can be arranged.”
Anika grinned, the tip of her tongue peeking between her teeth.
Sebastian and Anika had bonded on-set, once Sebastian realised his job was mostly to stand around and be ignored. Anika’s job, as the set’s animal handler, was much more interesting. And once Anika figured out that Sebastian actually listened when she spoke, she was more than happy to talk—about her work, her cousins in India, and whichever exotic pet vlogger had pissed her off most recently.
The bartender caught Sebastian’s eye, and Sebastian ordered a Negroni.
“I thought you were bringing someone,” Anika said, peering over Sebastian’s shoulder as if hoping to find his date hiding behind him.
The bartender slid Sebastian’s drink across the bar, and Sebastian downed half of it in one go. “Didn’t work out.”
Jay hadn’t texted him back in weeks—or at all, actually. Sebastian was no stranger to one night stands, but he’d expected more longevity out of a relationship built on the gleeful ruination of a corrupt aerospace executive.
In hindsight, perhaps he shouldn’t have.
The foyer was starting to fill up, now that the actual names in attendance had finished parading in front of the cameras. A crush formed at the bar, provoking a noise of annoyance from Anika, and Sebastian moved his arm up around her shoulders to deflect any wayward jostling as they made for a quiet corner.
“They do know the film’s shit?” Anika groused.
“Open bar.” Sebastian studied the crowd. There was a vaguely familiar face among the guests—not an actor or a producer, but a stocky man roughly Sebastian’s age, moving stiffly in a suit that looked to be brand new and incredibly expensive. He roamed from one group of guests to another, inserting himself into each conversation with the insistent aggression of a purse dog.
Anika noticed Sebastian looking and said, “Who’s that?”
“I think it’s Derek Chapman,” Sebastian replied. “He bought the Marigold last year.”
A spindly man Sebastian didn’t recognise appeared at Chapman’s elbow. Among the suits and cocktail dresses of the crowd, the man’s simple dark turtleneck stood out like a crow in a flock of tropical parrots. He had a bird tattooed on the back of his hand, at the join of his thumb and forefinger.
Chapman and the newcomer exchanged a few quick words, and Chapman stepped away from the group he’d been in conversation with. Before Sebastian had time to wonder where they were off to, his attention was drawn to a commotion near the foyer’s entrance.
Multiple voices were raised in argument—and one of them was hauntingly familiar.
Sebastian handed his drink to Anika. “I’ll be right back.”
There was a moving disturbance in the crowd, like the wake left by a shark fin—someone was shoving their way through. Sebastian moved to intercept and found himself face-to-face with Jay Moriarty.
He was dressed like he’d just walked in off the street; a nervous sweat dampened the hair at his temples, and he’d been chewing on his lower lip, leaving it a little flushed and swollen. Sebastian squashed the urge to reach out and run his thumb over it.
Jay didn’t seem at all surprised to see Sebastian, and the expression on his face almost looked like guilt.
“Sir!” A large hand landed heavily on Jay’s shoulder. “I told you, this is an invitation-only event—”
Without a moment’s thought, Sebastian swooped in and hauled Jay into an embrace. “Darling! There you are!”
The security guard froze, eyes darting between Sebastian and Jay. “He’s, er … with you, then?”
“And dreadfully late.” Sebastian pulled Jay in close against his side. Jay tensed in his grip.
Even the most brazen of homophobes tended to behave themselves around Sebastian—some instinctual sense of self-preservation, perhaps. With a polite grimace, the guard said, “Right. Apologies for the confusion, then.”
As the guard made his way back to the door, Sebastian dragged Jay to the edge of the crowd and cornered him against the wall. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Jay looked up at him with wide eyes; he was afraid, but not of Sebastian. “You need to leave.”
He’d been avoiding Sebastian for weeks, had clearly dreaded coming here, but done so anyway. Sebastian quickly arrived at the only logical conclusion. “What did you do?”
“It was a job.” Jay was fidgeting now, avoiding Sebastian’s eyes. “That’s all, it just—easy money, right? I didn’t think—”
Sebastian put both hands on his shoulders, holding him still. “What. Job.”
“The security system,” Jay said, all in a rush. “They wanted it down for tonight. Specifically tonight. I didn’t think anything of it, until—”
“Until you figured out I was going to be here,” Sebastian finished.
Jay nodded. “It was through a fixer. I don’t know—it could be anything.” Then, like the words were being dragged out of him with fish-hooks: “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Sebastian turned and scanned the room, thinking quickly. Midnight Force wasn’t exactly an A-list production. “There’s nobody here worth taking hostage.”
“Could be a robbery,” Jay suggested, hovering nervously at Sebastian’s shoulder. “Or a burglary. Anything valuable in the building?”
“Load of old films in the archive. Not worth much, though. The land under us is probably the most valuable thing—”
Jay’s fingers clamped over Sebastian’s bicep. “The fire suppression system is part of the security network.”
A horrible suspicion dawned. “So it’s down right now.”
“Yeah.”
By the time Sebastian reached the closest fire alarm and pulled it, the scent of smoke had already started to drift through the room.
Nitrate film was notoriously flammable and had caused the destruction of more than a few cinemas before it fell out of use in the 1950s. It had to be stored under carefully controlled conditions, cool and dry, due to its tendency to spontaneously combust as it aged. Nitrate fires burned at thousand-degree temperatures and were nearly impossible to extinguish until they burnt themselves out.
Jay gleaned all this information from his phone as he stood at the far end of the street and watched the Marigold Cinema go up in flames.
Many of the premiere’s attendees had already fled the scene; those that remained milled around either end of the street, gawking as the fire brigade worked to try and save the building. It was a losing battle.
Sebastian sat on the curb, taking slow drags off a cigarette as he watched the proceedings with red-rimmed eyes.
He looked like his best friend had just died.
“Is this the rest of my life?” he wondered aloud. “Everyone’s life? Everything just gets worse for no reason?”
Jay tucked his hands under his arms and shivered. It was starting to rain, intermittent droplets misting down over the anxious crowd.
“I’m sorry,” he said, because it was the only thing he could think to say.
Sebastian’s attention focused unsteadily on Jay, as if he hadn’t fully registered he was there until that moment. He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply.
“The police are taking statements,” he said on the exhale, and turned away. “You should go.”
Jay nodded, lingering—but Sebastian didn’t look at him again.
Nobody paid much notice as Jay wove through the crowd, fleeing the scene. His skin felt too tight, guilt sitting heavily in his gut. Striding away from the burning cinema, he started to think.
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