CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
VIGGO RASSMUSSEN
It’s right there, Lila. Right there.
LILA MURPHY
What is? Tell me what’s there!
VIGGO RASSMUSSEN
You are.
Vampire Falls. Season two, episode ten – “Death Cannon Kill”
My Trip to San Diego Comic Con and Megan Nicole Jefferies. ROUND TWO.
I close my eyes and imagine myself doing this in my sleep, or in a dream, like Fake McKinley said.
The steps and cues scrawled across Roxy’s clipboard are scrawled across the darkness in my mind and I see myself doing each movement like I have on my Insta reels so many times, but with higher stakes.
The quiet pulls me into its calm and I picture everyone turned to stone, unable to make a sound; they just have to sit and enjoy.
I open my eyes and a Headset Gal steps from the shadows on the other side of the stage and nods at me.
I nod back. She nods at a Curtain Guy who heaves the rope he’s clutching, and light slices through the curtains and the black space in front of me.
I look over my shoulder and give Team Awesome a smile.
“Let’s fucking do this,” I whisper to them, but more to myself.
I’m still hidden in the shadows and glance at Headset Gal who’s holding up her hand. I look down at my boots, focusing on the right stance, feet apart, head down. Headset Gal stage whispers five . . .
four . . .
three . . .
two . . .
and one!
Lights flash above me, presenting me to Conference Hall A, and the music starts with a bang and no apologies, straight into that guitar.
The crowd, who I still can’t see, erupt when they recognise my costume, and the sound of their applause is like a firework under my backside.
I fight the urge to partake with a spot of air guitar but pump my knee along with each crash of the cymbal, like I’m revving myself up to go.
I move forwards, keeping in time so I get to the first mark Fake McKinley has stuck down for me, then I slowly pull out my sword just as I come alongside the first drum, then hit the skin with the bottom of the handle in perfect timing with the song.
This is my call. This is my passion.
Thunder . . .
I glance up, and a few people in the audience have stood up from their seats, light squares waving around as they film me. I keep moving forward, my sword trailing in my hand until I reach the next drum. I pull out my other sword and smack the drum with its handle in time to the music.
Thunder . . .
I move back and forth between the drums, looking out at the audience as I hit the drums with my swords.
The song winds us up like a tightly coiled spring, until the lyrics scream out from the speakers.
I cross my swords down in front of me, then thrust them outwards and spin around, executing the moves I’ve spent hours of my life studying on YouTube videos by Megan Nicole Jefferies’ stuntwoman, Helen Yates, breaking down her favourite moves.
I remember her saying the fight scenes were like a dance, so I focus on my steps and my hands, moving together in perfect sync.
I move down the stage until I reach the runway, where I see Roxy sloping towards me, dragging a sword along the floor. I holster one of my swords, then hold my breath, take a run-up, and somersault off the runway, landing in front of her.
Yes, I said somersault. You weren’t expecting that were you?
Neither were they.
I flip the sword in my hand, trying not to let the audience’s screams crack my game-face, and look at Roxy, dressed in black and ready for combat.
Totally breaking character, she beams at me but makes the first strike like she has in our combat reels and like we practised this afternoon.
We swing our swords through the air and the blades flash under the lights.
The choreography takes us down to the dance floor so we’re right in front of the audience, who watch me like I’m about to take flight.
I take a running leap and hop onto a chair, my foot right between the guy’s legs.
He whoops as I jump over him onto the table, then I grab the beer he’s holding and take a swig.
The music is just audible above the screaming of the audience, and I run across the table, leaping over the guests (who naturally duck the fuck out of the way) to the next, and the next – Roxy running along next to me on the dance floor until I jump from the final table, swinging my sword through the air and hitting her (not really) in the stomach.
She falls to the ground, a worthy opponent, defeated (still beaming).
I turn to the audience, throwing out some high fives but still not breaking character as I walk round to the other side of the runway, looking up at Fake McKinley who’s skulking towards me, a sword in each hand.
I’ve never fought with him before, but I can tell by the way he’s holding his weapons this isn’t the first time he’s handled a sword.
His face is stern; he’s taking this seriously. Another worthy opponent.
I throw my sword onto the runway in front of him and he feigns surprise as he watches me run to the side, put my hand on the top and scissor kick onto the runway.
I roll over, retrieving my sword, and jump up in front of him, slowly pulling sword number two from its holder, crossing them over as we circle each other.
Fake McKinley makes the first move, advancing quickly towards me but not so quick I don’t know what he’s about to do.
He calls his moves before he does them, if he’s going left or right, and which side he’s swinging his sword.
I focus on his words, knowing how much it hurts if you get hit, even though they’re not real swords.
He’s graceful and light on his feet, but no match for Eliza the Demon Huntress as I take him out with an unexpected left-hander.
He lays still until the spotlight blinks out then he jumps up and jogs back into the shadows, looking back at me and smiling ear to ear.
The crowd claps along with the song, so even though I can barely hear it, I can still follow the beat.
I turn and give them a bow, then straighten up and head up the runway.
My muscles are on fire, but I keep moving forward, my heart beating along to the song.
The spotlight illuminates the end of the runway and gasps fill Conference Hall A when the audience realises what’s happening next.
Drum solo, courtesy of moi.
Everyone jumps to their feet, screaming and clapping their hands together.
I spin my swords round then throw them down.
I’m drenched with sweat, so I detach my cape and drop it behind me, my hands up in the air, bringing on the screams from the audience.
My thighs might not look like Vivian’s, but can hers do this?
I run towards the drumkit, throwing in a cartwheel, a flip and a roundoff, then I leap through the air, landing on the drum stool with both feet.
I clap my hands over my head, then bend over and pull two drumsticks from the insides of my boots.
I drop down onto the stool, smack the sticks together, then beat them down on the skins – and that’s when I realise why Roxy said I might get wet.
Water splashes up the moment the sticks hit the drums, sending droplets of water high in the air.
They seem to hover longer than scientifically possible, dancing with the flashing lights and the sound from the crowd.
The audience screams along with each splash and each crash.
I spin the sticks in my hands, throwing my head down as I hit the skins, not caring that my hair is falling in my face and my make-up is probably running.
Right now, I feel like I’m possessed by Juliana herself, fresh from the Megna dimension to claim her rightful place as drum goddess and all-round badass.
It’s time to bring it home so I really go for it, hitting those skins like my life depends on it.
I spot someone else clad in black moving slowly from the side, and a couple of Headset People hovering near the tables.
I try to recall Roxy’s clipboard, but I don’t remember anything about a third person.
I keep playing, nearly falling off the stool when a small torch suddenly bursts into flame in their hand as they creep across the end of the runway.
One of the Headset People holds up a fire extinguisher and signals for me to carry on.
I settle back into the drumming, just as the person carrying the flame stops a few feet ahead of me and turns to the runway.
They hold the fire up to their mouth, suddenly expelling a mouthful of liquid through the flame and breathingan enormous cloud of fire across the runway in front of the drums.
The audience gasps. I gasp, and take this moment to look over at the guest judges who are all on their feet (apart from Dax St. James, who’s staring at his phone), smacking their hands together, including Amber Anderson.
We make eye contact, and she holds her hands over her head, clapping just for me, then blows me a kiss.
Finally, amazingly, the song comes to an end.
The spotlight blinks off and I slump against the drum kit, looking off to the side where Roxy and Fake McKinley jump up and down, clapping their hands, screaming, actually screaming with the rest of the audience.
I catch my breath and sit up, wipingthe water and sweat, and maybe even tears, from my face.
I shake my head; the noise is unbelievable.
The fire-breather comes over to me and holds up a bottle of water.
I take the lid off and gulp it down, nearly spurting it right back out when they pull off their balaclava.
“Dorothy?!”
Her hair’s damp with sweat and there’s a black smudge around her mouth, but she smiles at me, the sort of smile that hurts your cheeks but tickles your heart and you can feel it right through to your toes.
I peel myself from the stool and crouch down at the side of the runway, the crowd still cheering us.
“Well done, Curly,” she says. “That was metal as fuck.”