Chapter #5Eclipse by: imaj   Previously: "Chekhov's Gun" 
"Ms Lovelace, Ms Lovelace, over here." A dozen voices call out, each one vying for your attention. You pout for the briefest of moments. It's inevitable really, wherever you turn up there'll be a horde of paparazzi cameras looking to snap a few pictures for the gossip pages. You wave an expensively manicured hand at them. It's easier to feed the beast than anything else.
"Fi, be a darling and get my luggage," you tell your put upon PA with a dismissive little wave of your hand. You ignore her exasperated sigh and swan over to the photographers, pulling off your oversize sunglasses and folding the legs. "Hi guys," you say to the assembled photojournalists . You flash your thousand dollar smile at them and they show their appreciation by taking a fresh round of pictures.
"Ms Lovelace, Portia," calls one. You realise she has a tablet rather than a camera - an actual journalist. It must be a slow news days. "Do you mind if I ask a few questions?" She's a mousy thing - dusky, brunette and with a sharp features. And glasses, actual glasses, for seeing! Who still uses those?
But what you say is: "Oh go on." You give the reporter another well faked genial smile. You know, if she lost the glasses and maybe dressed a little better she might be cute, in a vapid sort of way.
"So what brings you to Glasgow," asks the reporter breathlessly. "Epic parties in the offing?"
You titter girlishly. "Oh you know me: I don't go where the parties are, the parties follow me." It's the answer that fits for Portia Lovelace, heiress and international party girl, but it's not the true answer. You can hardly tell her that you weren't even Portia Lovelace a few months ago, or what you did with the real Portia. Nor can you tell her about the Stellae. You certainly can't tell her that you are here to collect one last piece of information that you need to complete your plans, and who you plan to take it from.
The reporter smiles at you shyly. "I bet you can't wait. Can I ask you one more?" You wave one hand to indicate that she can. "So how does it feel to be voted the second sexiest woman on the planet, according to last month's poll in..."
"Second," you interrupt, acting purely on the stolen personality of Portia Lovelace. "Only second? Who came first," you ask icily.
The reporter doesn't notice the change in your tone. "The supermodel Malaika," she answers earnestly. You snort contemptuously. Unlike Malaika Mbulu, you don't have supernatural beauty as a prodigy. You do have a new and relatively untried one that meshes well with your current desire for a little malice.
None of the assembled paparazzi notice your shadow flicker and grow long. It edges round the feet of the young reporter, melding into her shadow until the two are conjoined. This is your new gift, and though you had to give up Eldibria and the power to control emotions to gain it, and your new ousiarch, the trade is worth it.
You force a giggle for the benefit of the assembled pack. "You know, this is silly place to have an interview." The reporter nods, blinking uncertainly. You smirk, she must be very weak willed to be affected so quickly and so completely by your shadow. "My PA has a limo waiting for me, we should continue this interview there."
The report nods jerkily, her head moving as if it is being pulled on a string. In a way it is. "That... would... be... awesome... Gary... stow your... gear." One of the paparazzi starts stowing his camera. Receding hairline and running towards fat, you mark him mentally under 'do not want'.
"Only got room for one guest sweetie," you say, leaning forward and running a finger under the reporter's chin. Your shadow convulses beneath you and the reporter's eyes go glassy. "Tell your friend you'll meet them later."
"I'll... meet... you... later..." the reporter says to the photographer. This is very impressive, you've never had a reaction like this to your shadow, though you suspect that it's because the reporter was not much of a mental giant in the first place.
"Shall we then," you say gently leading her out from the rest of the crowd. She follows you meekly, like a tame lamb. "Ah there you are Fi," you say as your PA hovers into view, hauling a couple of very large suitcases. She looks at the befuddled reporter beside you with a knowing twinkle in her eye. You resist the urge to pout at the hint of insubordination, you made Fi this way after all. "Is the limo ready? Do tell the driver to take a scenic route. We aren't in a rush."
Ten minutes later you are in the limo, the reporter sitting at your side. She stares blankly at the partition that separates you from the driver's cab, your shadow having completely eroded her will. You wave a hand in front of her face as a test. She doesn't react at all.
Your PA sits across from you, wordlessly working on her tablet computer to update your schedule. "Fi," you say, catching her attention.
The diminutive woman looks up at you. "What is it Portia," she asks. Now that you are alone - or alone enough since the reporter is too insensible to pay attention - Fi looks at you with blind devotion. The insouciance that she shows towards you when with other is merely an act. One that you've imprinted upon her to make her seem more convincing.
"Write up an interview for... ah, I don't know her name. Tell me your name sweetie," you ask the reporter.
"Reet Saraf," she answers in a hollow voice.
"Write up an interview for Miss Saraf Fi," you tell your PA. "Find out whatever blog or news-site she works for and write something up. Match her style, but make it look bad. Make her look like an idiot." The childish impulse sits well with your adopted Portia persona. You really should override it and attend to more important matters, but you've found that indulging a personality makes them easier to run in the long term. Besides, this is fun.
"Of course Portia," replies Fi. She looks back at her tablet and starts tapping furiously at it.
You climb over Reet until she is sitting between your legs. "Let's take that jacket off," you tell her. She complies, moving stiffly and revealing a white camisole top. "And those glasses." You pull them off her face and throw them to the side. "Show me what you can do Reet sweetie." You pull her head up and lock your mouth to her unresisting lips. It feels like you are kissing a dead fish. "Oh Reet, try a little harder," you say pulling back for her. "You want me, you need me." You let yours shadow loosen a little. A little life returns to the reporters eyes and she suddenly seems a touch more aware. More like a human than a lifeless doll. She moans a little then pulls you back down towards her.
This time she kisses you like she means it.
*****
"Don't forget your review Miss Saraf," says Fi.
The reporter looks at your PA, her expression confused. "What?"
"You asked me to have a look at it for you," adds Fi. You nod in agreement, pulling the last little tendril of your shadow away from Reet. "It's very good. I can transfer it back to your tablet now."
"I did? I mean of course I did." You smirk a little again, rather pleased at the way the reporter seems to have no recollection of last thirty minutes whilst she was under the effects of your shadow. You'll need to test it further of course, and on people with more mental fortitude than Reet. "Uh, where are my glasses?" She looks at the floor. "How did they get down there?"
Fi picks up the glasses and hands them to the reporter. "There you are Miss Saraf. I'll be in touch if Portia wants to talk to you again."
"Thank you," replies Reet. She takes the glasses with an unsteady hand. "Both of you."
"I'll be watching your career with great interest Reet," you tell her. Your smile is broad and radiates false sincerity. The driver opens the door and the still befuddled reporter steps out. You can't help but giggle as the driver closes the door after her. "I think that went well," you smirk. "Tell me what you have for me Fi."
If Fi has any opinions regarding your behaviour she keeps them to herself, but then you are alone and she has no audience to play for. "Various reports. The most important are from the Spartacus team tasked to watch Kaliope Valentine. I've also finally tracked down the last report on David Pendleton that you asked me to look for." Her voice is matter of fact, and she never looks up from her tablet.
"I've always wondered what happened to him," you muse to yourself. It's been three years since you last encountered the Fane executive. So much has changed since then. Your mind starts to drift as you reminisce about what you have been doing in that time.
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