Bespoke and Bespelled


 Contents
 
 
 
 Title Page Copyright Dedication -->
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Bespoke and Bespelled
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 A note from the author
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 About the author
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Riverwitch
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 More Witchy Fiction books
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Bespoke and Bespelled
 A Wellywood Magic Novella
 Karen Healey
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Copyright Copyright © 2023 by Karen Healey. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by relevant copyright law. Dedication For my best ladies, who know I can do it. Bespoke and Bespelled Standing on the bridge of her brutally beaten starship, Captain Judith Wren leaned forward, her teeth bared in something that could never be called a smile. ‘And why should we trust the Gorentheans?’ The Gorenthean ambassador swept his robed arms open, the long, brocaded sleeves glinting in the light of the dying star. ‘Because we have a common enemy, dear Captain.’ ‘I am not your dear anything,’ Wren declared, turning her back abruptly. The ambassador’s face showed pain, regret, even grief, before the captain turned around again and he presented her with an expression of ironic detachment. ‘You’ve made that apparent. But if you are not my friend, nor anything more, can you not, here, at the end of all things, be my ally? I tell you that the Crystal Array is our last hope, Captain! The last hope for both our peoples!’ Wren thrust her gloved hand forward. ‘Allies, then. And nothing more!’ The ambassador placed his hand under hers, in the manner of his people, and bowed. ‘As you say, my ally. And nothing more.’ ‘And that’s a series wrap,’ the director said. The actors standing in the starship set dropped their antagonistic poses and embraced as the set broke into applause. Marnie Taylor, crammed into the back of the soundstage with most of the other crew members, inhaled sharply as the double-sided tape holding the back of Dana Sellen’s jacket together finally gave way, and then let the breath out again. It didn’t matter now. After five seasons, multiple Emmy awards, and a frankly still surprising amount of critical acclaim, The Stars are Falling was wrapped. Her work as costume supervisor and key costumer was over, and she’d never have to apply hot glue gun to a rank badge, safety pin an actress into an artfully disheveled space suit, or discreetly use her magic to fix a broken alien tentacle ever again. At least, not on this show. ‘We’re done!’ Shatinka exclaimed. ‘I can’t believe it!’ Marnie laughed. Shatinka was the newest addition to the writing room, joining only at the end of season four and, unlike several of her more experienced colleagues, she’d been very eager to attend the shooting of the final scenes. ‘You’re finished. My crew and I still have to sort and store the costumes.’ ‘Will that take long?’ ‘About a week.’ Actually, Marnie knew the work could be done in a few days if it had to be, but the producers had authorised the week of extra pay, and Marnie didn’t plan to finish early. She and her team could spend their time repairing what could be repaired, dumping what couldn’t, and storing everything else in the studio’s huge costume warehouse. A leisurely pace, after years of frantic action, would be a nice break. Then there were all those little requests the cast had made. People tended to get sentimental about characters they’d played for years, and they wanted mementoes. They didn’t necessarily want those mementoes to be stuck together with bulldog clips and some strategic use of glue gun, so Marnie would have to make them presentable. Dana was making the rounds, hugging the production crew members she was close to, and shaking hands with others. She went a step further and clasped Marnie’s hands in both of hers after the hug. ‘Marnie, we’d never have managed without you.’ Marnie squeezed back. ‘Of course you would, Dana. Just as you’ll manage your next project. Break a leg.’ ‘Back to Broadway,’ Dana said, looking profoundly grateful. She was booked for a four month play run, which would make more use of her considerable gravitas, and require no 5 AM makeup calls. She nodded kindly at Shatinka, probably because she couldn’t remember her name, and headed towards the camera crew. ‘Every time I see her, I can’t believe she’s that beautiful,’ Shatinka said. ‘Like, in real life. You know?’ ‘Not really,’ Marnie said. ‘I mean, in costuming, we basically don’t notice.’ She’d seen Dana naked many more times than she’d had a work day end on schedule, and she’d never felt a moment of attraction. Bodies weren’t objects of desire when they entered her fitting workshop; they were canvases for expression, or the basis of some imaginative problem solving. If she’d met Dana socially, she might have been as enamoured as Shatinka was, but it just didn’t happen at work. Shatinka looked as if she’d argue, then shrugged. ‘What’s next for you?’ ‘I’ve got some possibilities for the fall line-up.’ ‘Costume supervising?’ ‘I’m hoping for a design position, this time.’ The studio had, in fact, told her to make a bid for being the costume supervisor on any show she liked, with the extra carrot of not also having to act as key costumer. This was the reward for being reliable - and for the four Emmy nominations the costumes had received. They’d been considerably less encouraging about her desire to be a designer. Marnie was sick of assiduously, diligently - perfectly - carrying out someone else’s vision. She wanted to be the one creating