Day 9

Chapter 6-1

Chapter 6“Would you come to my chambers and make love to me?" Sweet Quincy Windsor clasped Hannahlee's hand in both his own and gazed beseechingly into her eyes.

They were the first words he'd said to her. Dunne hadn't even had the chance to introduce them. He and Hannahlee had simply walked up to Quincy after the crowd had cleared...and Quincy had pushed right past Dunne to make a grab for Hannahlee's hand.

"Please, sweet lady, sweet goddess." Quincy's speaking voice was thin and nasally, utterly unlike his deep, rich singing voice. "Fulfill the lifelong dreams of this humble servant."

Hannahlee pulled her hand away. "No."

"Que sera!" Quincy jammed his thumbs in the pockets of the leather vest he wore over his puffy white shirt—black leather etched with red and gold flames. "I couldn't live with myself if I didn't at least ask Kitty Willow for a date when I had the chance!"

"No date," said Hannahlee. "You can, however, help with my mission." She pointed at Dunne. "My aide, Dunne Sullivan, will explain."

"Yes, of course." Quincy turned and clamped his big hands on Dunne's shoulders. "I already know the help you need."

Dunne frowned. "What's that?"

Quincy was at least six and a half feet tall. He had to bend down to whisper in Dunne's ear. "Writing help."

"You think so?" Dunne said it with sarcasm.

Quincy leaned back. "You need a partner on your next Willows book."

"And you can be that partner?" said Dunne.

"There is no bigger fan." Quincy drew himself up to his full height and puffed up his broad chest. "In more ways than one!"

Dunne nodded. "Then maybe you can tell me what a...'slashfic filker' is."

Quincy chuckled. "It's what I do." He swung up his stringed instrument and strummed a chord. "'Filk' singing is like folk singing, but it's about things fans can appreciate. Weeping Willows fans like songs about their favorite Willows characters...songs that tell stories." Quincy sang the rest, returning to his operatic bass. "And sometimes the stories are filthy."

Quincy leered as he strummed another chord. "One type of filthy story is s***h fiction—slashfic—in which unexpected combinations of characters get it on. Like Kitty s***h Leif. Get it?" Quincy strummed a series of fast chords flamenco-style, ending by smacking the instrument's body with the palm of his hand. "And I am the first and best of the slashfic filkers."

"Wow." Dunne shook his head, but not because he was impressed. He'd really missed out a lot since his last convention over a decade ago. "So what can you tell us about the Weeping Willows fan underground?"

Quincy's eyes sprang wide open. "I can tell you everything...but it would mean the death of us both."

Dunne sighed. "What if we wanted to find someone in the underground?"

Quincy pulled his waist-length black ponytail forward and held it in front of his nose and mouth like a mask. "Funny you should ask! Someone in the underground recently inquired about finding you. Red-skinned fella, pointy horns, cloven hooves."

Suddenly, Hannahlee spoke up. "If you can truly help us," she said, "you'll be paid."

"Wha-?" Instantly, Quincy straightened and dropped his ponytail. "In Earth money?"

"I'm authorized to offer p*****t," said Hannahlee, "courtesy of Halcyon Studios."

For the first time since they'd met, Quincy was speechless.

So was Dunne. Other than travel expenses, he hadn't known there was money in play till she'd mentioned it.

"However," said Hannahlee. "It all depends."

"On what?" said Quincy. "My star sign? My blood type?"

"On my bullshit detector." Hannahlee raised an index finger and flicked it from side to side like the needle of a gauge. "As soon as it detects you're full of s**t, you get nothing."

"Understanding, of course," said Quincy, "that I am always somewhat, if not totally, full of shit."

"The bullshit detector never fails," said Hannahlee.

Quincy cleared his throat. "You say you're looking for someone?"

"We've been told he's in the fan underground," said Dunne. "He doesn't want to be found."

"Who's 'he?'" said Quincy.

"Cyrus Gowdy," said Hannahlee. "Creator of Weeping Willows."

Quincy's face lit up with wild excitement. He let loose a girlish shriek so loud and piercing that it hurt Dunne's ears.

And at first overpowered another, horrified cry that was coming from the hall outside the Bradford Room.