Authors: Sydney Bristow
“I don’t know,” I admitted. I expounded upon my visit to Alexis’s home as well as Grams’s visitation and, after answering their questions, I said, “Part of me wants to go to Alexis’s house and attack Zephora, but not only will Alexis try to stop us, Celestina might take her mother’s side. I don’t want to hurt my niece. Besides, we don’t know what abilities Zephora can use or how much power she has, but she’s getting stronger by the hour. If we strike when she doesn’t expect it, we might catch her off balance and—”
“What?” asked Brandon. “We open up that little wooden box and say, ‘Hey, Zephora, jump in!’”
He had a point. “One thing’s for certain. We need Celestina on our side.” The others nodded. “Her mother and Zephora are twisting her reality, and I need to warn her that they don’t have her best interests in mind.”
“Do we?” asked Kendall. “You’ll try to set her against Alexis. No matter what happens, there won’t be a fairy tale ending. Even if she sides with us, she’ll resent you…for taking your side and having turned away from her mother.”
“And the fun never ends,” I said, closing my eyes at the possibility of severing Celestina’s relationship with Alexis. “I’d just be honest with her. She’s old enough to make her own decisions...and that means, she’s old enough to take responsibility for her own actions. What she does with that reveals the type of person she wants to become.”
Grams’s unwillingness to share our ancestry still grated my nerves, so I knew how terrible it was not to hear the truth. Besides, I couldn’t in good conscience allow Alexis and Zephora to warp her mind and turn her into an evil sorceress. Nevertheless, my intuition told me that, after telling Celestina about what I’d learned from the demon today, my niece might not trust me, and if she didn’t, she might hate me for making her choose between her mother and I. It seemed that no matter how I handled the situation, she wouldn’t be happy.
“Okay,” Nolan said with dazed eyes brought on by the subject matter. He swished his hands together as though doing so would reset our reality and priorities. “I mentioned a possible gig tomorrow night. It’s at a place called the Home Bar in Arlington Heights.”
“Been there,” Brandon said. “It’s a pretty cool place. Smaller than our last couple venues, but hey, a gig’s a gig, right? Especially if we can get the word out.”
“Definitely,” Kendall said. “Hopefully, we won’t have any…unexpected visitors.” She no doubt referred to vampires.
Nolan cleared his throat and set his eyes on mine. “I got a call from a promoter about headlining at the Arcada Theatre in St. Charles a few days from now.”
My pulse pounded at another opportunity to spread the word about our music. “What did you say?”
“That you’re our band leader and he should talk with you.”
I couldn’t hide the small grin sweeping across my mouth because it meant Nolan respected me. Otherwise, he would have already set up the gig. “I appreciate it.” However, I sensed he had more to tell me. “Did…you agree to it?”
“Yeah.”
I should have been upset that he’d went behind my back, but at this early point in our career, if we hoped to catch on with fans, we needed to accept every offer, as long as it covered our expenses. Even the slightest delay in responding to an offer could sink our chances at playing, so in this instance, I appreciated that he took the initiative. Nevertheless, most music promoters didn’t set up performances so close to a scheduled date, but with word of mouth swirling around our band at such a fevered pitch, and with the reach of social media nowadays, some entrepreneurs were willing to take a chance. After all, if they sold enough tickets, those in attendance might fork over enough for drinks, which is where the venue earned their greatest profit during any given show.
In response to Nolan signing on for our gig, I said, “Under normal circumstances, I’d be infuriated because I make the decisions as to where we play. You know that, right?”
He nodded, stone-faced, not backing off one iota.
“But these aren’t normal circumstances. So I’m glad you took advantage of the opportunity.”
He broke into the briefest of smiles.
“But the next time you have something big like that come up, call me. My phone is always on me. I want to know what’s going on with my band.” I disliked stating my proprietary over the band, but in the metal community, female singers weren’t regarded as equals to their male counterparts. In order to break that perception, women had to prove their mettle. Without doing so, we’d remain on par with every other woman in American society. We’d work harder, but earn less. I hated the double-standard, and I’d do whatever was necessary to earn the respect all women deserved.
Nolan turned to Kendall and Brandon. “What do you think about setting up a YouTube page for the band?”
“Already on it,” Brandon said with a grin. “We hit 46,000 views on one clip of our first show, and another 28,000 from the gig last night. Kendall thought we might want to create a page to prepare for…” Catching a stern expression from Kendall that made it clear he’d said too much, Brandon didn’t finish his line of thought.
Unlike Nolan, my best friends had been planning band activities behind my back...without intending to inform me until they found the right time. Although irritated, I wasn’t angry. We’d all been through a lot lately. Besides, they meant well and probably put things in place to present their idea and follow it up by showing me evidence to support it. That didn’t bother me, but they knew why I might resist them on creating a YouTube page. They were aware of my reluctance to embrace the paranormal that had nearly upended our only two shows as a band.
We hadn’t constructed elaborate stage shows for concertgoers, and I didn’t want potential fans to expect huge productions because we couldn’t predict when paranormal creatures would attack us on stage. Those recorded gigs might get us press and online attention, but we would need to present concertgoers with a similar show every single night, and since we couldn’t promise that, we would ultimately let some people down.
Kendall and Brandon knew that, but focusing on gaining a following for reasons other than our music and chemistry, and instead publicizing our stage show on effects (the supernatural) we couldn’t duplicate, they could irreparably damage our reputations. They weren’t thinking long term. In the end, failing to plan the trajectory of our career, while leaving room for some flexibility, might kill our career.
On the other hand, if things went as they had during our first two shows, we could become international superstars. Regardless, I preferred a slow, steady climb, rather than a rabid response we couldn’t follow up on each time we played. In short, I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.
After expounding on these thoughts, Brandon didn’t say a word. Instead, he showed me the YouTube page he’d set up and hit play on one of the videos. On screen, I shot a steady stream of fire at Darius while keeping him in place in the air. I watched in awe as Darius struggled – kicking, twisting, punching, and utterly helpless to do anything but suffer.
With all of Darius’s knowledge and abilities, he should have killed me with ease. Yet I’d defeated a master vampire, not because he’d given up, but because I’d outsmarted him. That’s why he pretended that he’d surrendered. His ego wouldn’t allow him to admit that he’d lost.
The pressure weighing on my shoulders lifted. I breathed easier. My self-doubt eased up, and I actually smiled, for the first time feeling proud of my accomplishment. It meant I might have a chance, however slight, of protecting myself when facing Zephora and Alexis.
Nolan examined my expression. “I think we should record the show at the Arcada for every format: MP3, DVD, Blu-ray, CD, and vinyl.”
“But if we’re attacked—”
“It’s always a possibility,” Kendall said, “but we can’t keep sneaking around the truth. These monsters think it’s the easiest place to kill us. Other than keeping your sword in that cane of yours at our last gig, we can’t actually bring weapons on stage. But vamps? They can compel security and whomever else to bring in whatever weapons they can hide. Werewolves? Even though we haven’t encountered any yet, they can wolf-out and attack. And we’ll be pretty much stuck in place because we can’t leave. We’re putting our lives on the line every time we perform. We should be able to profit from it, especially since we’re on edge and put on amazing shows because each time might be the last time we ever play again.”
“I agree,” said Brandon.
“Me too,” Nolan agreed. “Those monsters might attack, but…” He met Kendall’s eyes, and then moved on to Brandon’s before returning to mine. “We trust you.”
I analyzed each of them, astonished by the looks of certainty on their faces. Despite my reservations, they had unshakable faith that, no matter the circumstances, I would defeat whoever attempted to attack us. Their resolute expressions humbled me while instilling me with strength. I knew they believed in how I could guide our career as artists, and in this moment, right or wrong, I needed to trust them.
“Okay,” I said with a firm nod as a smile registered on my face. I knew that, while under attack, an unparalleled amount of adrenaline would impel us to fight. Only one question lingered. How could anything we’d perform under normal conditions…match our stage presence and chemistry when prepared for anything at any moment? So what better way to introduce our music to the world than by presenting an official recording, one that had better production values than a cell phone?
We spent the next few hours planning how to capture our show for posterity. Nolan and I would handle the financial matters. I’d meet with the owner of the Arcada to work out various details, Nolan and Brandon would procure a team of professionals to record the show in various formats, and Kendall would contact local media outlets about the gig as well as drum up interest via social media.
“This just in,” said a female voice from the flat screen, “earlier today, a woman the American Red Cross, Lifesource, and Heartland Blood Centers are calling the ‘Blood Bank Burglar’ has robbed approximately five local blood banks of exactly 38 pints of blood.”
My attention swung toward the TV, shocked to have heard words that seemed more appropriate for a movie or television show. I focused on the bobbed, blond-haired anchor in her early 30s. “Tyrone Hicks, manager of the Lifesource unit on Fullerton Avenue, stated that he’d never seen anything like it.” The camera focused on a pot-bellied man approximately fifty-two years old with a patch of hair under his lower lip as he stared at an unseen reporter outside his workplace. “Of course I saw her. She was…how would you call it…petite?” His chubby face took on a pained expression until he pulled an answer out of thin air. “That’s it.” He nodded, satisfied with his answer. “A real nice body on her, but still had some curves.”
“How sweet!” Kendall said in a lofty voice.
I grabbed the remote and paused the DVR. “What?” I turned to Kendall, shocked by her nonchalance. “Are you kidding? You don’t think this is a big deal?”
“Well,” she said, taking things in stride, “I have to feed, so—”
“So,” I finished for her, “grab the kids,” I said facetiously. “Let’s go rob a blood bank!” I turned to Brandon, ready for some backup, but I accidentally, hit the play button, which caught our attention, making it difficult to turn away.
“Was she armed?” asked the reporter, still off screen.
“No, no, no. Not armed. But she was fast. I mean,
real
fast. Like the Road-Runner, that type of fast. Ran past me, got into storage and was gone with five pints quicker than we’ve been talking.”
“Did she harm you or anyone in the vicinity?” asked the reporter.
“She just asked where to find the blood. And that’s how she said it too: ‘where’s the blood?’ I was like, ‘Huh?’ And she goes, ‘Please tell me where to find the blood.’ Lady had some manners. Educated, you could tell. So anyway, she looks in my eyes and man, it was like bam! Those magnetic eyes, you know, almost overpowering, hypnotizing even.” A slow grin came over his face as a dreamy, faraway look grabbed hold of him for a moment. Upon hearing the reporter clear his throat, Hicks said, “But yeah, the woman didn’t carry anything but a bag to put the pints into. It’s strange, right? People give blood here, not steal it.”
“Unbelievable!” I said, hitting pause again. “Did you get a concussion? Is that why you went out trying to steal blood?”
“I can’t exactly go to the grocery store and crack open a can of blood, now can I?” Kendall asked.
“No,” I admitted, “but you could—”
“What?” She turned to Brandon. “What could I have done?”
I didn’t know how to respond, since we hadn’t encountered an issue like this before. With Kendall’s glare burrowing an imaginary hole in my cheek, I hit play to see how the rest of this played out.
Grainy black and white footage appeared on the screen, showing Hicks behind a counter opposite a woman wearing a ski mask with a blond ponytail stretching down to her shoulders. She wore a solid black sweatshirt and sweatpants with white tennis shoes. A second later, there was a blur onscreen, as the woman swung around and behind Hicks. The manager looked on either side of him and spun around, as though prepared to confront an adversary, only to have a gust of wind blow across his frame, spinning him around.
Now the camera focused on an attractive reporter in his late twenties wearing a navy blue suit with an expensive haircut holding a microphone. “A similar recording was obtained from an American Red Cross center displaying an identical attack. The Chicago Police Department is looking into these thefts, but as of now, they have no suspects. This doesn’t seem to be a coordinated attack, although this individual seemed intent on visiting as many blood centers as possible in the least amount of time…Mark?”