Chapter Eleven
The tour bus’s brakes hissed as they pulled up behind the concert venue of the fifth stop on Tilted Haze’s Inferno Tour.
Skye watched out the window as the crew rushed to shut the chain-link fence behind them.
Fans and paparazzi alike already huddled near the bus entrance, hoping to get a glimpse of the boys as they walked inside.
All of Tilted Haze’s tour dates were sold out, just as the bargain promised. Unfortunately, while that part of the bargain was holding, Skye could only assume it was by sheer force of will.
As she entered the concert venue, she fiddled with her necklace. She’d taken to studying it closely every morning and evening, looking for just a hint of the ice-blue color that had made up Remi’s soul when she’d first acquired it.
Yet, every time, only a wisp of shadows appeared, and as if excited by her attentions, they’d seep out around her, tickling over her skin like a lover’s caress.
She indulged them, if only because it gave her a little enlivened spark as well, but it wasn’t boding well for anyone that it’d been three weeks since she’d redone the bargain and the magic hadn’t snapped into place. The first time it’d only taken two.
She didn’t know what the problem was. The magic had flowed through her Devil’s mark and into Remi’s soul within her necklace.
Maybe the bargain hasn’t snapped into place because Remi didn’t finger me to orgasm last time, her brain unhelpfully supplied.
She shook her head, pushing away her lustful thoughts. She needed to focus. Until the magic solidified, Skye had to work overtime to keep the bargain from falling apart on a logistical level.
The crew would misplace things. The bus driver would be late. The fans would take too long during the meet-and-greets and bump the shows later, throwing off her entire schedule.
Skye had been on enough tours to know there were always little issues along the way, but the sheer number of problems she’d been fixing was, without a doubt, magically induced.
The bargain was even starting to mess with her.
On the first day of the tour, the heels of her thigh-high boots snapped off.
Within a week, her hair was going brittle and frizzy from the hard water at hotels’ and venues’ showers, and she was somehow losing clothes.
She had to keep sifting back to Hell to get new ones or borrowing something from one of the guys.
And when she could find her outfits, they were all wrinkled or stained or had mysterious holes.
The tour bus was always too cold—not that the guys noticed—no matter how often she adjusted the air conditioning.
She considered sifting to Hell to sleep, but it’d be too complicated to lie about where she was to the band, and she couldn’t use her demon magic to keep her warm because every spare drop was funneled between her and Remi’s shadow soul, her thinking being that maybe it would help solidify the connection.
She woke up shivering on her bunk bed most nights.
Despite the pesky personal issues and the constant vigilance of trying to prevent disaster, she didn’t hate managing Tilted Haze. She didn’t even hate living on a cramped tour bus with four smelly human guys.
In fact, a vitality ran through her each day that was addicting. Every new challenge frustrated and thrilled her in equal measure. She also took immense pleasure in messing with Remi. He just made it so easy.
Like when she complained about her missing clothes or her broken heels, Liam and Ollie consoled her, and West even bought her a new pair of boots.
Oh, that pissed Remi off so much. It was glorious. She delighted in his misery.
Still, messing with him would be more fun if she wasn’t keeping the tour from falling apart by a thread. She had to do something to fix it soon. She just didn’t know what.
“Three sets of stage lights broke in the cargo truck,” a roadie said as they sprinted up to her. Skye turned on her heel, rerouting her destination from the back office.
“Skye, none of the credit card machines are working, but the internet isn’t down or anything. It’s like a software malfunction,” her merch girl Amanda said.
Skye rubbed a hand over her forehead, wondering how many wrinkles she’d get after this tour was over.
If you don’t fix this shit, your lack of wings will be a bigger deal than a few wrinkles.
“Alright.” She pointed to the roadie. “Tell Steve that he needs to use the house lights. It’s not ideal, but doors don’t open for another three hours. He has time to get new transitions set up.”
The roadie nodded and dashed away.
Skye turned and waved a hand so Amanda would follow her to the back office.
“I spoke to the venue manager about the problem,” Amanda said. “He offered to let his people run the table.”
Skye scoffed. “No fucking way.” The venue would take a forty percent cut, and there was no telling if they’d actually be truthful about what they earned that night. The merch table was one of the only opportunities bands had to make a profit without middle managers getting their grubby hands on it.
Skye searched the office area, the cabinets, the drawers, and then finally found a metal box. “We’re going old school. Cash box for the night. Get a sign that says ten percent off if they use cash.”
Amanda nodded. “There’s an ATM outside too.”
Skye worried her lip. That was good, but if everyone hustled to the ATM, it would be a clusterfuck. “I’ll set up accounts for every peer-to-peer cash transfer app too.”
Amanda gave her a thumbs-up and sprinted off. Skye was fortunate that the bargain breaking down had really weeded out all the shitty crew members on the first week of the tour.
Skye tapped on her tablet and started checking their email while walking toward the stage to make sure nothing else had broken in the cargo trucks.
A burst of flames sizzled behind her before she left.
“Hi, sweetie,” Zara said, kissing her temple. “How’s working for a living treating you?”
Skye rolled her eyes and marched out of the office. Zara easily kept up with her. “It’s fine.”
“Have you fucked that pretty singer yet?” Zara teased.
“No,” Skye said. “I told you it’s not like that, and I have bigger problems to deal with.”
“Such as?”
“The lights are broken, the credit card machines have a software issue, my hair feels like straw, and the fucking bargain is still deteriorating, so I better figure out how to sew up the wing holes in my clothes since I won’t have any fucking wings to go through them.”
Zara curled her lip. “You could just use magic to sew the—oh. Right. You couldn’t.”
Skye made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. The stage layout was off. Everything was out of place. It was a mess. Like a drunken buffoon did it.
Did she say she liked all the challenges of being a band manager? She shook her head as she set her tablet down and started yanking up the taped-down cords on the stage. She must have been high when she thought that.
“Well, if you lose your wings, I promise I’ll use my magic to fix your clothes,” Zara said.
“Wow,” Skye said, deadpan. “Thanks.”
“I’m a good friend like that.”
“A good friend would help me figure out how to get this damn bargain to work.”
Zara tapped her finger on her lips as Skye started dragging an amp into the correct position. “And you still won’t ask Laurie?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Skye?” Ollie said, his voice strained.
He, Liam, and West trudged up to the stage. She forgot about the misplaced amp as she took in their downtrodden faces.
Liam focused on Zara. “Hi there.” He grabbed at his shirt, smoothing it out. His smile was tight, like he was trying to pull out his usual charm, but the spark was missing.
Zara just smiled and extended the back of her hand for Liam to kiss. “Zara,” she said. “What’s your name, handsome?”
Skye cleared her throat pointedly, but Zara ignored her.
“Liam,” he answered. “And while I’d love to kiss your hand, along with every single inch of your body”—Zara giggled—“I’m sick.”
Skye’s annoyance with Zara was smothered by the new issue. “What?”
West grimaced. His face was pale. “I think we caught the flu or something. Ollie’s been puking his guts out. Liam and I are a little dizzy.”
“Like you’re hungover?” Skye asked, hopeful. Hangovers she could deal with. She’d get them to guzzle water, shove a few burritos down their throats, and get them on one of those IV drips.
“We didn’t party last night,” Liam said. “But don’t worry. The show will go on.” He winced and grabbed his stomach. “Just need a couple of puke buckets on standby.”
“Where’s Remi?” Skye asked.
“I don’t know. He was still sleeping on the bus when I got up,” Ollie said.
“Alright,” Skye said. “Zara, I need you to go to the pharmacy. Get every stomach bug medicine you can find. Anti-nausea, everything. I’m going to find our singer.”
Zara grabbed Skye’s arm. “I could just compel them not to be sick,” she whispered. “It would probably only work for an hour, but that’d get them through the show?”
“Demon magic won’t work on West since he’s—” Skye’s head jutted back. “Wait. You’d do that? Use your magic to help me?” Zara would have to drain herself of demon magic to compel two grown men into not feeling sick.
She shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I want to see my new boyfriends play without hurling.”
Skye gave her wide, stern eyes.
Zara put her palms up in faux-innocence. “Kidding. Kidding. Sorta.” She smiled. “Come on, let me help. You’re having all the fun. I just want to be involved.”
“None of this is fun, but…” Skye sighed and then nodded. “Yes. Okay. They don’t go on until nine.”
Zara nodded. “I’ll get medicine for West. He seems the least sick of them all.”
“You three go wait in the dressing room,” Skye said to the band. “I’ll send someone in there to keep an eye on you.”
They nodded. West curled an arm around Ollie’s torso to help him walk. Liam shuffled behind.
As the band disappeared into the dressing room, a metal door crashed against the wall.
“Skye!” an angry man’s voice bellowed.
Well, at least she knew where Remi was now.