Chapter 11

Brave New Worlds

I barely slept, tossing and turning, unable to escape the fact someone here was out to get me. Oh, they probably wouldn't physically attack me; I mean, that would be too risky. Still, there were a million ways SapphicLover69 could ruin the conference, using me to do it. Hopefully, she'd stick to harassing me and leave everyone else alone.

She ripped up my books and the outfit I'd worn at the book fair, I contemplated, while leaving other things alone. That has to mean something . I thanked all the gods and goddesses she hadn't stolen or destroyed my laptop. A few of my other clothes had been crumpled or damaged but not the formal gown for the awards dinner. Was it an oversight, or on purpose?

I dragged myself into the shower, hoping the hot jets would reinvigorate my lethargic body. After towel-drying my medium-length, medium-brown, ordinary hair, I applied my makeup as Alice had taught me. Because I needed something to perk me up and because they always made me feel sexy—even though Mary Jones was anything but—I donned my red silk and lace Victoria's Secret bra and panty set. I smiled in the mirror at how they made my average-shaped body look a little more tantalizing. No one will see them anyway. They'll be my little secret—well, mine and Victoria's.

Needing clothes that would work well with the bold color and fabric, I selected black slacks, a snug, crimson V-neck pullover, and sockless, black canvas slip-on shoes etched with decorative white swirls. It was something I pictured Aspen would choose as casual wear. Now, what to do with this hair? I'd had the curling iron heating, and the bottle of spray was right there … along with mousse and anti-humidity sealer Alice had packed for me. I'm not supposed to use all of them, am I?

If I had a lick of sense, I'd have trusted Beth and asked her to do my hair. But I still had enough of Mary inside to be insecure and was afraid to let anyone know I was a novice at this, that a popular, up-and-coming, erotic romance author didn't even know how to style her hair without help.

As I stared in indecision at my reflection in the mirror, a knock rapped on my door. "You know you don't need hours to look stunning, Aspen," Tammy hollered. "We're ready to eat."

Oh, screw it! Making a daring command decision, I snatched a scrunchy off the Italian marble vanity and twisted it around a mid-skull-height tail. At least I shouldn't sweat too much with it like this.

When I exited my room, they were all waiting for me in the hallway. Self-reliant, brawny Tammy narrowed her eyes at me. "You look like you didn't sleep at all."

"Oh, of course she didn't, silly sweetheart," Beth chided. "Poor dear had quite a fright, but don't you worry a bit," she aimed at me. "You look beautiful, and we'll be your valiant shield from the spiteful arrows of small-minded people."

"Thanks," I said and joined my posse.

Elaine beheld me with sincere compassion. "I heard about what happened last night. Beth is right, Aspen; we're all here for you."

Such devotion from women who barely knew me truly touched my soul. I'd spent the vast majority of my life trying to fit in somewhere and never quite accomplishing it. I couldn't be straight to please my parents and classmates. Neither butch nor femme, I didn't even have a lesbian identity. I couldn't utter a word about my sexuality to my peers or students when I was teaching, and, when I quit to focus on writing, I found most of my friends were people I communicated with over the internet rather than in person, friends who only knew me as Aspen Wolfe—the exciting, courageous, foxy persona I had fabricated to represent my books.

Right then, in that hotel hallway, I felt an undeniable comradery with these unlikely women more powerful and absolute than any I could recall since the innocence of my early childhood. It was most baffling and wonderful.

Winter peered at me through her silly, round glasses, laying bare the deep concern radiating from the bluest eyes I'd ever seen. She bit her lip and swallowed. "I know I'm not Tammy and can't yank her up by the scruff of her neck and kick her in the butt," Winter whispered. "But I'm smart and quick. If this evil swine makes a try for you, I'll be right by your side to trip her up somehow."

With each passing moment, my affection for her grew, and my smile reflected the sincerity of my feelings. "I appreciate it."

We ate at the coffee shop attached to the lobby and headed up to the twenty-third floor, where the panels and presentations would soon begin.

"Is everyone happy with ‘How To Be Your Own Editor Sometimes'?" Beth asked.

Since the five of us filled the elevator car, Winter's shoulder brushed against mine. Even though our skin didn't touch through our short sleeves, a tickle of electric heat wiggled its way into my veins at her nearness. I shook my head, thinking it had just been far too long since I'd enjoyed sex … or a kiss … or even a date. I needed to think about something besides Winter Bliss.

"Sounds good to me," I voted.

"There's also a panel on world-building," Elaine mentioned. "I'm sure Winter and I could benefit from it, but Tammy's already an expert and Aspen writes contemporary romance, so …" She flicked a questioning glance at me. Why did I have to be the deciding vote?

"Look, it isn't necessary for all four of you to station yourselves around me the entire day," I said. "It's inconceivable she'd try something in front of hundreds of witnesses."

"Yes, but we're attending presentations specifically to observe how other attendees act and look at you," Tammy clarified. "Where you go, I go."

The elevator doors opened into a bustling foyer of noisily chatting women. I sighed and met Tammy's gaze. "I suppose one day I may decide erotic romance isn't confined to the here and now. Fairy-tale fantasies have always appealed to me."

"World-building it is," Beth concluded.

We exited into a din of excitement. The conference-goers came in all shapes and sizes, from tattooed, muscled butches with crew cuts to dainty femmes in tight skirts. They were tall, short, black, white, trans, nonbinary, with a scattering of plus-sized and petite women of each identity. One wore sunglasses and carried a red-tipped white cane. Another guided her electric wheelchair into a conference room while a handsome woman maneuvered through the throng on crutches with her leg in a cast. My heart swelled to see so many diverse people come together over their love of sapphic literature. Then I remembered one had essentially threatened my life.

At least I was starting to recognize more faces. Weaving our way toward Chin B, I bumped into Q.L. Shade and Marty Sanderson conversing outside the open doorway.

I struck a confident stance and curved my lips in salutation. "Good morning. Are you ready to create some brave new worlds too?"

"I think it's more we're intimidated by the thought of being our own editors," Marty confessed.

"Intimidated?" Q.L. scoffed. "Speak for yourself. I simply don't have time to do everything."

"Hey, Winter," Marty greeted and waved, ignoring Q.L.'s rebuttal.

"Disgusting!" growled a voice behind us. I glanced over my shoulder to spy the Femlove Ink. Publisher's booth along the wall a few feet down from where we stood. Valery Preston might look like a million dollars, but her character wasn't worth two cents in my book. Sure, she'd done all that advocate work for lesbians and deserved recognition, but why'd she have to be an exclusive bigot when it came to other queer people? Her assistant, Cary Snearface, with her square jaw and bristling cut of silver hair, diverted her hateful gaze once she noticed me staring back at her. The two of them continued whispering conspiratorially, sparing an occasional scowl our way. I wished I could hear their venomous dictates and superior utterances.

When Selina Fowlerton sashayed up to the table in her swoon-worthy dress and heels, Valery's expression instantly transformed into a lavish bouquet of kindness. Cary tried to follow her lead, but I had yet to see her with a truly pleasant expression. They both wore stylish business suits again today, Cary's with slacks and Valery's with a skirt.

"I wonder what they do with all the empty space inside their heads, considering how small-minded they are," I muttered. Despite their age, experience, and notoriety, I couldn't bring myself to think well of the publishing powerhouse and her aid—or was it bodyguard? Who knew? Maybe someone had made threats against Valery too; or had she made the threats? Still, who was I to them? A lowly, self-published author they had summarily rejected five years ago. An insect.

I didn't think anyone had heard me, but I caught the appreciative gleam in Q.L.'s keen eyes as she flicked her chin at me in recognition.

"Let's get seats before the room fills up," Tammy directed to move us along.

"Good idea," Elaine concurred. "Q.L., may I sit next to you?"

"I would be honored," she replied and took Elaine's arm.

I can't quite recall seeing a sight so peculiar or sensational as the six-foot-tall trans woman taking the arm of her squat, physically-impaired comrade to be escorted into a chamber brimming with their competitive peers. Even as my lips curved in blessing, Winter looped her arm through mine.

"We're going to sit near the front," she murmured. "Tammy and Beth are taking the back row to watch for anyone acting suspicious. Isn't that the sweetest thing?" Her gaze locked onto Q.L. and Elaine, and an adorable smile brightened her creamy face. "So sad about Shane. How does Elaine do it? I'd be so devastated, I'm not sure I could get out of bed."

I realized how out of touch I'd been since sacrificing my online presence. Once they arrested my stalker, maybe I could go back. I'd be starting over, but at least I would know what was going on in my world.

"She's amazing—that's for sure," I answered in a hush. "So, does that mean you have a sweetheart waiting for you back in the land of cows and snow?" I suspected she didn't, but, before my imagination got the better of me, I figured I should ask.

Winter giggled, lowered her chin, and shook her head. "No sweethearts for me, I'm afraid—not yet, anyway."

"I suspect Wisconsinite women are missing out on a grand prize by overlooking you." I didn't intend to flirt, and, luckily, we arrived at our seats before I could step in it even deeper.

"Aspen!" R.B. Taylor occupied the second row with two empty seats to one side and the tastiest-looking athletic woman in jeans and a Literary Laurels rainbow T-shirt, bearing a purple stripe in her side swept, short ebony hair, occupied her other side. The striking butch's energy almost outshined R.B.'s, and I hadn't thought that possible.

She greeted me with a friendly hug. "This is Jeri Callisto," R.B. introduced. "She writes paranormal, vampire, and werewolf stories when she isn't battling fires back in Kingston, Ontario. This is her first year to have a finalist for Best Horror Novel."

"Pleased to meet you, Jeri," I said. I took on her firm grip with one of my own. Aspen Wolfe doesn't have a weak handshake, or a weak anything, for that matter.

"And your friend?" The queen of romance royalty peered around me at Winter, who looked like she was trying to hide. Her blue eyes went wide behind her glasses, and I clamped my hand over hers on my arm so she couldn't bolt in terror.

"Winter Bliss," I answered, trying to project a glow of pride. OK, so I didn't have a hot Canadian firefighter on my arm; I had a nerdy Cheesehead. Still, I appreciated her for her loyalty and sweetness. "She's published a few science fiction books so far and is growing a following in the genre. This is her first time at a writer's conference."

"Hey, Winter." R.B. reached a pristine hand to her. With my elbow in her ribs, she took her hand and blinked without a word. "How are you enjoying the conference and New Orleans?"

"Great," she squeaked out.

"I simply couldn't miss a chance to meet all the best authors and absorb the atmosphere of North America's most fabled, haunted city," Jeri confessed in her eastern Canadian accent.

"OK, everyone, if you'd please take your seats, we're ready to begin." The microphone squealed, hurting my ears as the moderator made the announcement.

"Later," R.B. signaled with a smile, and we all settled down to gain valuable insights on how to create a world that readers could see, hear, touch, taste, and smell as tangibly as if they had lived there for years. I hoped Tammy, Beth, and Elaine were gaining insights into the identity of my elusive stalker.