Chapter Eighteen #2
I rounded the final curtain, and what I saw stole my breath.
Tiers upon tiers of attendees sparkled and glowed from the dark sea of audience members.
I craned my neck to see how high it went, feeling like I was looking up at a skyscraper.
Vexa wasn’t the only one about to perform in front of tens of thousands.
The stage was shaped something like a W, with legs on each side for backup singers, band members, and dancers, and a straight line down the center for the artist to perform uninterrupted.
She hit another note and pulled my attention from the enormity of it all as I soaked her in.
There she was. Our siren leading the masses.
I wondered if my outfit had given credence to my believability as a guest singer, as Vexa was most certainly also in lingerie.
She, too, wore a bodysuit, but in lieu of pants, she wore black fishnets and over-the-knee heeled boots.
She’d been wrapped in leather and rolled in diamonds.
Cameras dangled from wires and buzzing drones around the stadium.
The screen changed to a close-up of her face.
She winked, blowing a kiss with painted red lips, and the crowd went wild.
Fog filled the air behind her in a transition between songs.
Vexa lifted her hands to seventy thousand screaming audience members.
It was a sea of faces and camera lights, twinkling like a drunken, crazed galaxy.
“Guess where we’re going next, Las Vegas?” she shouted into the mic.
The crescendo of their excitement shook the stadium.
“Sing it with me!” she screamed.
She started them off on the opening note, then let tens of thousands take over. She joined in on the second line, grinning from ear to ear, sweat plastering her face-framing bangs to her cheeks and forehead as she flipped her hair from one side to the other.
My hands became so sweaty, I nearly dropped the cordless mic. Stress became panic became nausea as my stomach rolled. I was going to throw up.
She began the bridge. My nerves couldn’t take it. Lights went down as she said, “Whose Gospel are we bringing to the Sin City?”
The music idled dramatically, edging seventy thousand frothing fans as they waited for release. And waited. And waited.
Lasers cut through smoke in an explosion of red, simulated hellfire as she burst into the first note. I struggled to breathe as I began searching the stage. We’d agreed to get through the first chorus. That should mean…
My hands shot to my ears to cover the ear-splitting crack. I nearly went into cardiac arrest as I winced against the shock.
Silas arrived with a bolt of thunder. The stadium shuddered, stage cracking under his impact.
He faced the singer, his back to me. White-gold feathers had to stretch over twenty feet from tip to tip.
He’d landed with one fist to the ground, stage splintering like a frozen lake beneath his punch, the other extended behind him as he gripped a blazing sword.
My breath knotted in my throat. My hand flew to my heart as if to catch it from leaping from its cage. My knees wobbled.
Three things happened at once.
First, the band screeched to a halt, though pre-recorded backup vocals continued over the speakers. Second, Vexa cut off mid-note, falling to the ground as she stumbled backward. Third, the jumbo screens cut from her on the ground to a wide shot that included both the icon and the angel.
The audience erupted into shrieks.
It was working. It was…
Those weren’t shrieks. They were cheering. Tens of thousands of fans were losing their goddamn minds. The stadium shimmered as ten thousand phones went off, their flashes like twinkling snow in the baking heat.
“They think it’s part of the show,” I said, blood draining from my face. “They think it’s part of the fucking show.” I worked up the oxygen needed to yell. To the back of his head, I urged, “Say something, Silas!”
Vexa hadn’t gotten up. The camera moved to a tight shot of Silas, roving over his strained expression, sweat beading on his brow. The band hadn’t attempted playing. And he remained still, wings extended. The cat had his motherfucking tongue.
“So help me, you piece of shit and your stage fright.” I stamped my foot, flexing my hands into fists only to have my tendons meet the hard, dark cylinder that still rested in my palm. I pushed a breath and flipped the tiny switch on the side of the microphone until the red light came on.
My vision swam. My head spun.
“Say something!” I shouted. The window was closing. The element of surprise was nearly over.
The ripple changed from excitement to confusion as Vexa remained propped up on her elbows from her backward scurry. A cameraman switched to her face, only to see her lips parted in speechless shock, hair askew from where she’d landed. She couldn’t so much as lift her mic.
If I took the time to think, I’d talk myself out of it.
I acted without thinking.
I sprinted onto the stage. I took off toward the center, covering as much ground as I could in heels. Pressing the mic into my lips, I screamed, “Security! Security, help!”
The audience stopped cheering.
I rushed to Vexa’s side, shrieking in panic over the mortal danger as I held up my hands to protect her from Silas.
A new sound moved like a wave as shouts and murmurs became outcry. Then the wails began. No longer the sounds of enthusiastic fans, but ones of terror. Good. This plan wouldn’t work unless they were scared.
The crowd undulated. Some were clawing at the stage. Others were scrambling for the aisles. Most were trapped in horror, watching the events play out.
Silas craned over his shoulder to see me. He drew his wings in ever so slightly, then shot them back out again. His face twitched.
“Who are you, and how did you get here!” I demanded, voice pulsing through the stadium as I pushed him toward his line. He had to say he was an angel of the Lord, or this was all for nothing.
I flinched against the harsh white spotlight as the screens overhead switched to a wide shot once more.
Whoever managed the lights gave me a starring role, illuminating me for the world to see.
I floated on a cloud of adrenaline. So help me, if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass, he was going to single-handedly ruin everything.
“I can’t,” he said, only loud enough for me to hear.
I dropped the mic to my hip. “What do you mean you can’t?” I hissed.
“I can’t move.” He flared his eyes. I opened my mouth to ask about stage fright when I spotted the caged-animal panic in his eyes.
This was not stage fright.
Something was wrong.
My throat tightened as I sent a silent plea to the universe that this wasn’t what I thought it was.
Please, please, please, don’t be the angels, I begged.
My godless prayers went unanswered. Silas was stuck, and he needed my help.
“Fuck.” I swallowed. “Okay, Az, I’m gonna need you to save the day here.”
We hadn’t even discussed troubleshooting to the supernatural degree. We were goddamn idiots.
It was my turn to be frozen with stage fright as I ran out of options.
The band fidgeted nervously to one side while Vexa slowly got to her feet on the other.
Just off stage, security began to descend.
Men in black shirts swarmed from all sides.
We were running out of time, and we’d accomplished little more than a confusing, theatrical entrance.
On the far side of the stage, I spotted the man in blue who’d handed me the mic.
We locked eyes for the barest of moments before he turned to the swarm of human muscle and flicked his hands.
They crumpled where they stood, each man collapsing to the ground with a dull thud.
We had an ally.
Azrames was at my back a moment later.
The audience erupted in baffling murmurs. Those who’d been running stopped. Everyone was glued to the horrifying display onstage.
“Hope you’re ready to improv,” he said under his breath as he walked past me. I felt the anxiety roll off him like a tangible cloud as he passed Silas. I held my breath in the moments it took him to round the angel’s wings, terrified that the same fly trap that had caught the angel would harm him.
The reaction was immediate. Our sigils had worked.
Azrames took center stage. My eyes shot to the enormous screen where a cameraman had zoomed in on his upper body.
The light bounced off his horns. He approached the background singers, who scattered like mice, and snatched a microphone from its stand.
He gave the terrified chorus of women a polite bow in acknowledgment before turning to address the audience.
“And this is Heaven’s finest,” he said with a chuckle. “Did you show up to smite a musician because she’s speaking her mind about your King? Well, look what Hell does to protect free will.”
Vexa’s headset caught the barest of whimpers as she stared at Az.
Azrames turned directly to Vexa. He spoke to her as if they were the only two in the stadium, speaking into the mic as he said, “We do our best to keep angels and their violence against humans at bay. I’m sorry he got the chance to scare you. I’ll take care of it.”
My legs were numb. Between the lights, the thousands, the drama, and the adrenaline, I wasn’t sure if I could move. Azrames was taking credit for freezing Silas. This could work. We might still accomplish what we’d set out to do.
Except…
I caught a sprinkle of rose-gold light in the distance.
A second sparkle of pale blue erupted just beyond the nosebleeds.
I only knew one thing that glittered, and it wasn’t good.
My eyes shot to Az with urgency, begging him to look up over the audience and see what I saw.
The sparkles swirled, intensifying as they neared the stage.
Angels. My worst fears were confirmed. Of course it was the fucking angels.
I pictured the man with blond curls, the dark-haired saint at his side as they’d sucked the air from Nia’s home and tried to murder me through Kirby’s rearview mirror.
The threat of their arrival had been enough of a sword over my head.
I hadn’t even considered that they might be biding their time until Silas was as public as possible.
It was infinitely more damaging than I’d ever considered.
My mind raced. What could a human girl possibly do against enemy archangels?
Azrames brought his hand to his shoulder as if to dust off his knuckles. To all the world, it was a casual feat of showmanship as he strode toward the center of the stage. But I saw the double tap against his shoulder, just above his heart.
My broach. It was a signal.
He took a few steps closer, and I understood what I was supposed to do.
I could rescue Silas and activate the siren’s army in one fell swoop.
I bellowed, “I’m going to send you back where you came from. And give your master a message. Tell him that Hell protects its own.”
I lunged for Silas just as Azrames twisted his hand as if cracking a neck. The s?lje bit into my waist as I bent for him. I grabbed the back of his neck with one hand, his wing with the other as I pulled Silas into another realm.