Chapter Eleven #3
“Revolution is done, and I have to say, whoever is making their glamours really came up with some nice effects—they had white doves flying from the stage, a line of waving French flags, and even a shadow crowd marching off the stage and into the audience,” Skye said when she and Billie returned from watching our competition.
“Shadow crowd?” I asked, looking up from where I was creating a detailed glamour for Yrian. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that.”
“They were transparent, like spirits,” Billie said, plopping down next to me, her face flushed with both time in the sun and excitement. “It was straight out of Les Mis, you understand. The shadow people marched down off the stage, and everyone danced with them.”
“People interacted with these spirits?” I asked, wishing I’d gone with them to see the band. I had a feeling something wasn’t at all right.
“Yes! There weren’t enough of them for the entire audience, but everyone at the front was dancing with them,” she answered, casting me a curious glance. “Can we do that?”
“No,” I said, thinking hard. “To be honest, I don’t think that’s a glamour.
Even my best illusion glamour can’t make something that is an image be corporeal.
It’s why we don’t get burned by the firework glamours being cast so close to us.
Shadow crowd ... I think I’m going to mention that to Yrian. ”
Just as I pulled out my phone, Deni trotted up with one of the competition officials, a thin man with blue hair. She spoke so rapidly in French that I only caught half a dozen words.
“Our time has been moved?” I asked the official, since Deni and Billie ran into the tent to start changing into their outfits.
“Yes, yes, the Furry Kittens of Unbridled Doom have had a catastrophic argument, and three of the five members have already left,” he answered, running a hand through his choppy hair.
“I tried to reason with them. I told them they were just twenty minutes away from performing, but the ladies, eh. They did not wish to stay when Daoud and Carlton insisted they bring in a Swede to join them in bed, so they left. They said that since they are currently in second place, they are guaranteed at worst the third-place prize. I tried to tell them that was only if they performed, but they would not listen, and drove off in Daoud’s van. ”
“Ouch,” I said, feeling conflicted. I sympathized with the female band members, but at the same time, I was hoping that Yrian would be back in time to see us perform. Immediately, my inner narrator pointed out how telling that thought was. I ignored her, as usual.
The official took a deep breath, glancing over his shoulder toward the main stage. “Carlton said they would perform without the women, and asked if they could take your spot. I said no, but you know how he is.”
“Bitchy,” Skye said, going into the tent, obviously to change, as well.
“Very much so, yes,” the official said, and spread his hands wide in supplication. “He insisted, and since you were all here, I told him they would take your spot. You have ten minutes.”
He hustled off before I could protest. Given that the ladies were clearly not bothered by our change in time, I kept my disappointment to myself, and simply texted Yrian that our set was moved up, just in case he finished with his father early.
The crowd was pretty amped up by the time we stepped onto the stage, and once again, I doubted if I needed to deploy the special-effect glamours, but cognizant that the other bands were using them, as well, I lined ours up, and set them off as we progressed through our four-song set.
We had fireworks that sparkled despite it being the middle of the day, and showers of light resembling glitter that drifted down onto the crowd, only to fade to nothing before actually touching them.
For our final song, a thousand butterflies made of light flitted around the audience.
I’d worked hard on those butterflies for the last week, and was proud to see that they not only landed on people but remained with wings gently fanning for a good three minutes before they disappeared into nothing.
“We have to win. We were so good!” Deni crowed when we made our way back to our tent after taking three bows. “The butterflies were the best I’d ever seen, Becket! And I love the silver shower of sparkles that trailed after me on my song. You didn’t tell me you’d made that!”
“I figured we needed a little extra oomph for the finale,” I said, sipping at an icy bottle of water.
One of Christian’s vampires, a tall black woman named Hannah, poked her head into the tent and told me to not wander, because they’d caught sight of a couple of lesser demons.
I nodded to her, and added, “But I agree we were on fire—so to speak—and everyone did phenomenally.”
“There’s no way we can’t win,” Billie said in voice thick with satisfaction. “Especially since the Doom Kittens can’t possibly be as good without their singers.”
“Mm-hmm.” I checked my phone, but there was no response from Yrian.
I stayed in the tent for the next hour, aware that the last band was performing, but not needing to see them.
“I feel guilty that I’m more focused on the demons lurking out there than the actual contest,” I confided to Hannah, who had remained on guard outside the tent.
“The band has worked so hard for this, but ...” I stopped, not wanting to admit just how selfish were my thoughts.
“You’re more concerned about your safety,” she finished for me, nodding. “I don’t see anything wrong with putting self-preservation at the top of your concerns.”
Ten minutes after the Kittens finished their set—complete with two rather confused-looking replacement singers who warbled their way through the band’s songs—we were summoned to the stage for the awards.
The final three bands were lined up across the stage in small clumps.
As the tallest member of my group, I stood behind the other three ladies, the emcee to my left, while beyond him were the others.
The audience was loud and clearly had imbibed the local beer, since many of them were dancing and singing despite no music being played.
“We so have this,” Billie whispered to me over her shoulder, her eyes dancing with anticipation.
After a good two minutes of the emcee praising all the festival workers, administration, and executives, he finally heeded the crowd’s chanting to name the winners.
“Third place,” the emcee almost yelled into the microphone, the roar of the excited audience nigh on deafening. “With one hundred ninety-seven points, the Furry Kittens of Unbridled Doom!”
“Shit!” their drummer snarled, then stormed off the stage, while the other members—including the two ladies roped into singing—accepted a glass trophy with much more grace.
It was at that moment that I noticed a man standing to the side of the stage. When I turned my head to look more closely, he immediately turned around and was swallowed up by the mass of people pressed up against the stage.
It was the same person wearing a poorly made glamour.
“Demon,” I said under my breath, and glanced to the rear of the stage where my vampire guard had left me, hoping to see one or more of the guards, but the back area was filled with festival workers, volunteers, and the technical crews hired to deal with all the equipment.
“Second place!” the emcee screamed into the mic.
My bandmates clutched one another’s hands, Billie shooting me an excited grin over her shoulder.
“This is it!” she said.
A nasty, smoky smell hit my nose. I glanced to the side again, expecting to see the demon, but the herd of people bopping up and down and yelling enthusiastically appeared to be all mortal.
“I should say there are only three points separating second place and the winner of the Battle of the Bands!” the emcee said, causing another eruption of cheering from the audience.
“In second place with two hundred forty-two points, Unstoppable Beings!”
My bandmates, despite no doubt being disappointed we didn’t win, cheered, hugged, and blew kisses to the crowd, Skye accepting our glass trophy and check.
“Which means our winners tonight are Revolution!”
Just as I was turning to congratulate the winners, a shape loomed up behind me, and Candy’s sibilant voice hissed in my ear, “This time, you won’t escape,” before stabbing something sharp and painful into the back of my neck.
I half turned, catching the sight of a syringe in Candy’s hand before blackness seemed to flop over me like a wool rug, dragging me downward with it until I sank into a pool of ebony, the sounds of the celebration around me fading away into nothing.