Giselle came back in around eight. She wasn’t dressed in red anymore. Sometimes in the past, he’d found her love for the color a little much. Now, he kind of missed it. She was wearing a leather jacket over a white shirt and black jeans. She was even smiling. Coop couldn’t tell if it was genuine or just work related. It made him both sick and hopeful and then sick again, even if a load of emotions were not what he wanted at the moment.

They went back to the underground garage and she drove them in a DOPS Honda Civic—the least conspicuous car currently on the road, she explained—to Hollywood Boulevard. They parked by the Pantages Theatre and walked west, ground zero for tourists.

“Sorry about that thing I said earlier,” said Coop. “I’m not saying I’m not pissed about, well, a lot of stuff, but that was kind of a cheap shot.”

“Forget it,” Giselle said. “And I didn’t just steal your Contego stone because I needed it. I took it because I was mad and I knew you wanted it.”

“I had a feeling it was something like that.”

“Yeah.”

“So, how often do you go to Rancho Weirdo?”

“Not often. Mostly for work these days. And don’t let anyone hear you call it that. You belong there as much as any of the rest of us. Even if you can’t cloud minds or open doors, you’re as magic as anyone else down there.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just immune to it.”

“Which is a kind of magic, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“And this is where I call you a fuddy-duddy again.”

“Oh, good. I was afraid you’d forgotten.”

They reached the Hollywood Walk of Fame, where metal stars were embedded in the sidewalk with the names of old movie, TV, and music stars. Tourists took photographs. Some stood over them or lay down next to their favorites. Coop almost tripped over a couple of the tourists and was extremely over the scene by the time they passed by the Roosevelt Hotel.

“It’s just up ahead,” said Giselle.

“You sure you don’t want to stop for a drink first? I know a couple of places around here.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, sugar. You’re what we call a flight risk, which means you’re on a short leash. Be good and I’ll buy you a Slurpee when we’re done here.”

“Unless that’s code for bourbon, I’ll pass.” He looked around. “And where is ‘here’?”

Giselle stopped walking. Coop went on for a couple of more steps before he realized she wasn’t by his side anymore. When he turned, she was clearing cigarette butts and crushed drink cups off one of the street stars. Coop went over and looked at the name. It was above the outline of a movie camera: CATHERINE MONVOISIN.