And that’s when I remember Cassidy was based on a real person. For ninety minutes, she and Maura’s other characters have been a story for us to laugh at. A cautionary tale. But here, I can’t deny that Caroline was an actual person with family. With friends. She had hobbies, and she loved and was loved. She was a living person who now isn’t, like my mom.

Mom. With dull, yellowing skin and final breaths that scraped up her throat like radio static. Eyes I can never describe the horror of, the light gone. The person gone. The hollow nothingness that death leaves behind.

The clapping crowd titters with excitement. A superfan whispers behind me, “She’s supposed to have a crown. They didn’t even get the details right. I’m not tipping.”

And I throw up.

CHAPTER SIX

The tour breaks up after I lose my lunch (or brunch, in this case), the splash of half-digested bagels and stomach acid on one’s shoes a real mood killer. Guilt tugs at me when a few customers demand their money back. I’ve propped myself against the brick wall, waiting for Ben and Luke to finish so I can apologize, when someone approaches.

“Cecelia? Hi, hello.” The lanky midthirties man from the tour goes so far as to grab me by the clammy hands and shake them.

“I’m Chris Wang. Huge fan of your grandmother’s. It’s such an honor to meet you.”

“Thanks? She does all the hard work. I’m just, uh, related.”

Chris hasn’t let go of my hands. The vibration up my arms is uncomfortable. “I wanted to take this opportunity to introduce myself properly, to chat.”

I inch back, not too much to let him know I think he’s creepy, but enough that my hands slide from his warm, slick fingers. I hide my recoil behind a pasted-on smile. Maura will lose her shit if I’m rude to a fan.

“I’d love to buy you a coffee. Maybe at Quinn’s? I’m staying at the hotel for the con, of course, and—”

“There you are, sweetheart. I was looking for you!” Cutting off my would-be stalker, Ben sidles up close, crowding Chris out.

Disappointed but undeterred, Chris hands me a business card. “Email or text me about that coffee.”

He leaves without much more fuss, but the whole thing raises the hair on the back of my neck.

“Sweetheart?” I turn to Ben.

He shrugs. “Thought it would work best if I pretended to be your boyfriend. How are you doing? Better?”

My body flushes warm at the word boyfriend. I don’t forget where I am, though. This is not the place for romance.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “But this is a messed-up little business venture you have going.”