Chapter Eighteen
Three Hours Until Vexa LaRue
Ninety Minutes Until Silas Falls
“You’re wearing lingerie?”
“You’re wearing lingerie!”
My men cheered and jeered with equal skepticism and enthusiasm.
I wished I felt as confident as I looked, because damn, I looked hot.
I snapped a selfie in the gloriously flattering light of the bathroom mirror and sent it to Nia and Kirby.
(Marlow) Siren-hunting attire. What do we think?
(Nia) Shouldn’t you be at the concert already?
(Marlow) Yup. We leave as soon as I stop having a panic attack
(Nia) So…never?
(Marlow) Kirbs, you there? Why aren’t you drooling over my thirst trap? The only appropriate response when friends send hot selfies is, “I love you, sit on my face.”
(Marlow) Speaking of, Nia…
(Nia) *clears throat* Raw. Next question.
(Marlow) That’s more like it. Have you heard from Kirby?
(Nia) I’m guessing they silenced their phone when they followed Ella into that meeting. Probably wouldn’t be polite to have your pocket buzzing in front of an Egyptian god. They’re pretty epic, right? Big shots?
(Nia) I’m sure you’ll exit the concert to a million texts from them. I’ll keep my eyes on the live stream. Go get ‘em, tiger.
I didn’t like it. But I didn’t have a choice.
But the angel’s ticking clock was almost up. Our three days to comply had ended. It was about to be open season on my head.
I’d picked a black lace bodysuit that plunged to my belly button, clinging tightly to keep my tits in place.
I’d repurposed my high-waisted black silk pants with the bodysuit and paired them with black heels.
I’d tucked the broach between my skin and the black lace.
I grimaced at how it pinched uncomfortably every time I moved, but I knew better than to leave the house without it.
I’d channeled my inner pop star, slicking my hair into a high ponytail as I’d stared in the bathroom mirror.
My skin prickled with anxious, sickly sweat. The adrenaline had nowhere to go, so it pooled in my temples, in my heart, in my stomach. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to hold it together and finish getting ready when it felt like I had the flu, but, as the saying went, the show must go on.
I held up two tubes of lipstick, struggling to keep the tremble from my hands. “Red lipstick? Or black?”
To my surprise, they both voted black.
Marlow couldn’t pull it off, but Maribelle could. Unfortunately, it was Marlow’s worry plaguing me. The boys had promised me three separate times that they knew what to do, and that they wouldn’t miss.
The problem, of course, was ensuring the audience saw them both. And when they did, that they believed them.
“Good luck,” I’d mumbled as I’d sent them off with black-light spray paint.
Theft was probably wrong, but this wasn’t the time to worry about minor notches in my morality belt as I’d had them step in and out of a warehouse, emptying its UV cans.
It had taken them longer than I’d expected to spray the true-sight sigil over the stadium floor.
At Azrames’s urging, the two of them hadn’t left until they’d added the sigil on the drop-down screens and doors.
Silas would pull his be not afraid act, revealing himself to the audience. It was Azrames’s visibility that worried us. Though, ultimately, we decided Silas looking like a dick was more important than Azrames looking like a hero.
The prep work was done.
My outfit was a triumph.
My nerves were at an all-time high.
It was time to nab a siren.
***
The concert was in full swing when we arrived.
I’d need a re-up on my Botox if I continued to furrow my brow with thinly concealed panic at Silas.
“It’s fine,” he said through gritted teeth.
“But the ultimatum…are they here? Are you safe?”
He responded by guiding me deeper into the chaos.
We’d timed our arrival this way, assuming we’d be caught and thrown out if someone saw me loitering backstage during soundcheck.
Our jumps were getting better, even if we had bigger fish to fry than being apprehended by human security.
Still, we nailed our attempt on the first try, stuck between thick, velvet curtains, stashed out of the way of prying eyes, while Vexa screamed into her microphone.
“Are you ready to rock tonight, Vegas?”
The crowd matched her energy, then tripled it.
I wanted to shove my fingers in my ears, but I knew that now was not the time to get overstimulated. I had to hold it together. The realms depended on it.
The more human of the two, Silas had dropped me into a shadowy corner before taking off. I’d grabbed his hand.
“Your wings?”
He rolled his eyes. “I thought you were going to say something sweet. Like ‘be safe.’”
“Answer the question,” I pushed. From somewhere beyond the curtain that separated the bustling ant farm of workers with the public, the audience screamed the lyrics back at Vexa as she reached the chorus of one of her first hits. The vibrations tickled the bottoms of my feet through my heels.
He made a face. “Yes, I’ll show up with my wings. Anything else the humans need? I think a halo is a little too kitschy.”
“Can you set your sword on fire?”
He looked down to the hilt on his hip. “What?”
“I’m serious. Flaming swords are a whole thing.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Are angels cartoon characters to you?”
“Pretty much.” I fought the urge to cross my arms. I’d dressed as Maribelle for the occasion and was feeling particularly exposed.
As much as the restraint pained me, I planted my hands on my hips, digging my fingers into my flesh to stop myself from covering up.
Fortunately, most of the people sprinting around didn’t have time to pay me notice.
They had quick costume changes, lights, sound, water, high wires, harnesses, and if I wasn’t mistaken, a firework cannon to deal with.
“You’re shaking,” he said, putting his hand on my elbow.
“I wish Caliban was here,” I said honestly.
He sagged at the words, but it was so subtle, I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t known what I was looking for. “Unfortunately, I’m the one you’ve got. Do you need anything?”
“Just for this to be over.”
Silas’s gaze darted to somewhere behind me. “Marlow—Az and I aren’t the only entities here. I can sense them, though I can’t tell if they’re fae, or something else. The human stagehands are in black. If you see someone else—”
“Man? Woman?” I asked, eyebrows lifting.
“Yes,” he said unhelpfully. “Pretty much everyone who isn’t Vexa and her band, if they aren’t in black. Keep your wits about you. I know your tattoo has gotten you into trouble before in seeing things you shouldn’t. The stadium is crawling with beings.”
“Good beings? Bad?”
With a crooked smile, he said, “Isn’t that a little subjective? You’re better off being suspicious of everyone.”
“But why are they here?” I demanded, looking over my shoulder as if expecting a poisonous spider to be dangling just behind my ear.
“Do you really think you get to be one of the richest and most influential humans in the world without external help?”
“Kinda!” I threw my hands out to the side.
“Did you?” he pushed.
My eyes narrowed. “Go do angel things.”
To my surprise, he caught one of my outstretched hands. He gave it a squeeze. I swallowed, heart stuttering as I breathed in a rush of his natural cologne the moment he invaded my space. He swept up my hand, pressing the poppet into my palm. “You almost forgot your most important accessory.”
I scarcely had time to react before he disappeared, leaving me alone amidst the curtains, cords, and bustling stagehands. I slipped the poppet into my pocket and scanned the faces. I didn’t see anyone too beautiful to be real, but I kept my eyes peeled as I navigated away from the alcove.
The time for preparation had come and gone. We’d gone over their lines a million times. We’d practiced as much showmanship as we could while remaining discreet. Then I’d disappeared into the bathroom and reemerged once I was ready to take on the world.
On stage, just beyond my line of vision, Vexa finished a story that was either very sweet or very sad, as tens of thousands of people let out their sympathetic sounds in response. She struck a chord on her electric guitar and began to strum the next ballad.
I found a stagehand and readied myself for my first line.
“Excuse me,” I said, tone straddling the line between commanding and polite. I kept my chin high and purposeful as I stepped around a stagehand. Bass rumbled through my heels, vibrating my bones with every step.
I forced my shoulders back as I worked my way to the side stage. If our intel on the set list was to be believed, we had one more song before “Satan’s Gospel.” Vexa had spent a few albums playing toward the global good side before spiraling into the world’s iconoclast.
Her shows had gotten bomb threats, death letters, and manifestos posted to 4chan.
One thing they had yet to receive was an attack from Heaven.
I rounded the curtain just as the tempo changed. I recognized the opening chords just as the crowd went wild.
“Ma’am?” came a voice as a broad man grabbed my elbow. “Where’s your pass?”
A second man in blue strode past him. He pressed a microphone into my hand and said, “Tell him you’re a surprise guest,” before walking off.
I sucked in a breath, fighting the urge to look over my shoulder at the man.
The security guard had paid him no mind, nor had he noticed the sudden appearance of a cordless mic.
Was he…? I’d have to worry about members of the fae later. Right now, I had to lie.
Merit and Maribelle fought to lead as one answered with cool confidence, tipping the mic toward the guard, “I’m guest starring in the second chorus. If you don’t mind?”
He backed off apologetically, allowing me to advance toward the stage. I looked for the man in blue, but he was nowhere to be found. I’d thought Silas had been sending me a warning for enemies lurking about. Then again…
I’d keep my wits about me, but I didn’t have time to hunt down the supernatural.