Rites & Desires

by Amanda Cherry

  All of the artists had been well received. That was another thing about performing for the underprivileged--they had no real expectations and were usually happy with whatever they were given. Mika Sparkles and the Topiary Twins had been particularly popular. Ruby made sure to email her online sales division to raise the prices of both acts’ available downloads before close of business. There was no reason not to maximize the profit margin. If the accusations of greed started flying too loudly, she’d just turn around and find a way to get everyone who’d been invited to the concert a code to download it for free. Although, with the number of smartphones she was seeing in the audience, she hardly thought it would be an issue. For a group touting itself to be among the underprivileged, there was an awful lot of cutting edge technology in their pockets.

  Not that Ruby gave a damn, not really. Whatever poor people did with their money wasn’t really any of her business. The only reason all of these Starphones were on her radar at all was she was concerned about audience video making it onto social media before the official video debuted and ruining her cross-platform ratings. Just before heading backstage for the finale, she shot off an email to her legal department instructing them to serve firm but polite cease-and-desist orders on any video more than fifteen seconds long that featured the stage or the artists. That might have been holding the reins a little tight, but it was better than allowing some enterprising kid in the audience to live stream her entire show on his advertiser-sponsored WebTube channel and make money on the production before she did.

  It was nice to have a little business to do during the concert. Jaccob was a little enraptured, it seemed. She’d known he’d spent his youth failing to gain entrée into what was generally considered the "cool" crowd. Sitting in the grandstand with rock stars and celebutantes seemed to have put him in some sort of nerd nirvana. It helped his mood, too, that everyone in their box had been at least somewhat critical of Prather since his election. The stage left VIP box was a veritable who’s who of people Prather would rather not have let in. They were all there to support the artists. It had been Ruby’s idea to have some Prather opponents in the audience to reinforce the fact that today’s show wasn’t about political grandstanding, but about coming together for the country.

  Or some such.

  She’d let her PR people handle the exact wording of the anti-political message. What mattered to Ruby was she had a place at this concert where she wouldn’t be surrounded by political sycophants and Presidential yes men. It made for a reasonably pleasant afternoon. The music and the company would have been enough to assure some enjoyment, but watching Prather squirm at the presence of some of his most outspoken opponents made it outright fun.

  She snagged Jaccob by the elbow as the Young Dudes took the stage to uproarious applause. They were the last regular act--the headliners, as it were. They were scheduled to play an abbreviated set of their greatest hits before being joined on stage by the rest of the lineup (and Prather himself, at his own insistence) for the big live-recorded finale.

  And Ruby meant to be aboard a helicopter on her way back to Cobalt City within moments of the final chords. She had no desire to be around for any of the business of breaking down, nor had she any interest in holding the hands of fragile artists wanting reassurance their performance had gone as the boss had wanted it to.

  Plus, she needed to be back in her office to watch the rough cut of the video on a proper-size screen, and she wanted to be there in time to see it as soon as it was ready. Her agenda meant they would be backstage to watch the end of the show. Ruby preferred the sound from the stage deck, anyway--it wasn’t nearly as loud as out in front of the speakers, and there was something about being closer to the unamplified instruments Ruby had always found more satisfying than hearing music through speakers.

  Mike had come to stand beside them to listen to the last of "Girly Girl," a tune he’d confided in Ruby he wasn’t altogether fond of and that he was therefore fascinated by its near unequaled success. Ruby hadn’t wanted to go into the dynamics of teen pop and recording for the lowest common denominator, but she’d been happy to let Mike know he was being managed by the Artist Division and not by the Pop Division and therefore wouldn’t be asked to compromise his musicianship to cater to a wider audience. Today’s concert notwithstanding, that was.

  The finale was being billed online as "The Young Dudes and Friends," and so the musical style was straight out of their playbook. Ruby didn’t actually like the song herself, but she understood its mass appeal and marketability. Prather had demanded to hear a preview and he, to absolutely no one’s surprise, had loved it. Ruby had agreed to let him on stage to sing along partly because she enjoyed having the leverage of being able to take that privilege away from him if he got too annoying. But mostly she had agreed to let him on stage for the finale to ensure she wouldn’t be stuck dealing with him when the concert was finished. By the time Prather was off the stage and finished rubbing elbows with all the rock stars, Ruby and Jaccob would be safely ensconced aboard a helicopter far enough off the ground as to not be asked to stand beside the President for a photo op.

  A few charmingly candid pictures of her with Jaccob at the concert was one thing; forcing a smile while being herded into posed group shots for some interminable period wasn’t on her agenda for the afternoon. She and Jaccob stood, hand in hand, in the first wing as the finale music started. Jaccob patted Mike on the shoulder as he went to step onto the stage, stumbling as Lyle Prather pushed past him, bounding onto the stage and waving at the crowd as the opening strains of the song rang out.

  Mike looked back at his dad and Ruby and rolled his eyes at the antics of the buffoon who was supposed to be a statesman. The three had a brief laugh before Mike turned his attention back to the show and continued onto the stage.

  He’d barely taken a step past the curtain when Ruby suddenly felt all the air being sucked out of her lungs. There was a sound--louder maybe than anything she’d ever heard--and yet for a moment she wondered if she was able to hear at all. Somehow she knew there had been an explosion. Her eyes went to the stage. Where Hunter had been standing, shaking hands with the kids in the front row, there was now a crater in the apron of the stage.

  Ruby’s eyes darted back and forth. Were all the boys still on stage? She counted four; shouldn’t there be five? Which one was missing?

  Her hearing was coming back, she knew because there were screams from everywhere.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jaccob grabbed hold of Ruby’s arm as a second explosion sounded.

  He yanked her to stand just in front of him as he pulled Mike backward with his other hand. "Stay close!" Jaccob yelled, loud enough to be sure he was audible over the noises of chaos from the stage and panicked cries from the crowd. He stripped off his jacket in a motion so fluid and practiced that Ruby was surprised she didn’t recognize it, before tapping a switch on each wrist and wrapping his arms around Ruby and Mike.

  "What are those?" she asked.

  "StarBands," he answered curtly. "Short range force field emitters. As long as you’re close we should all be safe."

  She looked down for a moment at the diamond bangle on her wrist, wondering for a moment if her own bracelet had any hidden powers like this. But she didn’t have time to let herself wonder. There were screams from all sides and more sounds of explosives going off in the crowd. Jaccob had her covered, and for now that was enough.

  "We’ve got to get out of here," Ruby insisted as a third, or was it a fourth, explosion sounded. Shrapnel flew in their direction, shards of metal and bits of cable making the StarBands’ field sizzle as they bounced off it and back toward the stage.

  Jaccob nodded. "Any idea of the way?" he asked.

  Ruby shook her head. "No!" She’d been shown the way from the helicopter to the stage. And she’d been fielding questions and answering emails the whole way. Before today, she’d only been here once, and then she hadn’t been paying rapt attention either. She could no mor
e find her way back to the South Lawn than she could fly them home herself.

  "I do," a voice called out from behind them.

  Ruby rolled her eyes as she turned to face the source of the sound.

  It was Prather. He was crouched in a ball on the stage deck behind them, trembling in fear with his hands covering his head. He must have dove between their legs when the first explosion happened. And she’d thought he was pathetic before.

  "I know the way out," he insisted. "And with me along, they’ll let you through--they’ll have to!"

  Ruby clenched her jaw. The obnoxious moron had a point. Security in the White House was intense under any circumstances; she could only imagine how tightly locked down the place would be in the midst of a violent attack.

  "All right," Ruby allowed, stepping closer to Jaccob and gesturing for Prather to stand. She was sure the field from the StarBands had kept that barrage of shrapnel from hitting the President just now. Jaccob’s vigilance and constant state of preparedness had probably just saved the man’s life--at the very least, he owed them an escape. "Get up!" she insisted when she saw he hadn’t. "Go!"

  Prather nodded. He scrambled to his feet and gestured for Ruby and the others to follow him as he took off away from the stage. He led them down the stairs and onto the lawn, through the security cordon, and into the building.

  There were Secret Service men behind them, chasing after the group as Prather led them through a maze of corridors. Ruby was vaguely aware that a few of them had tried to stop Prather’s progress. They were calling out to him from all sides, but were being largely ignored.

  Jaccob had positioned himself so the StarBands’ force fields had the group of them completely surrounded. The few Secret Service men who tried to get in front of them had been unceremoniously zapped down by the StarBands.

  Ruby wouldn’t have guessed that Prather, as portly and out of shape as he was, would be able to move as fast as he was moving through the halls. He led them past the tangle of cable and grip equipment, around a corner, through a door and into a room Ruby was only vaguely able to process was the Oval Office before they were across it and back out the other side. They dashed out onto a covered walkway, down the sidewalk and onto another lawn.

  It was quieter back here, wide-open and devoid of people. Ruby much preferred this to the cacophony of panic on the North Lawn, and she felt even better when she saw Marine One in the distance. They rushed, although no longer running full-out, across the South Lawn and into the Ellipse. The Marines on guard duty seemed more than a little shocked at the group of them as they dashed across the grass and scrambled up the stairs aboard the helicopter.

  "We’re under attack!" Prather yelled to the group of Marines. "Go! Take off! Now! That’s an order from your Commander in Chief!"

  Two things had Ruby amazed in that moment: the fact that the Marines on duty with the helicopter seemed somehow unaware of the explosions going off just on the other side of the building, and the fact that Prather had suddenly begun to sound presidential. As she buckled herself into one of the chopper’s cushy armchairs, she wondered if maybe the helicopter’s crew had mistaken the sounds of the explosions for part of the show. It was honestly better if they did. If the Marines aboard the chopper knew the White House was under bombardment, they might have some hesitation in letting the President be airborne above it.

  She wasn’t sure how much the helicopter’s crew had believed Prather when he’d told them they were under attack, but Ruby was convinced by the swiftness of their preparations for liftoff they had taken his assertion--that they were getting an order from their Commander in Chief--to heart. Ruby could not have cared an iota less what their motivations were, but when Prather asked her to give the pilot the destination via the intercom, she had no problems directing him to the airport where her Gulfstream was waiting. She pulled out her phone to text her assistant, but saw she already had a message letting her know her pilot had been alerted they were inbound. The jet would be ready for takeoff as soon as possible.

  Sometimes Ruby wondered if she paid her personal staff too much, but times like this were proof positive there was no such thing.

  Mike was sitting across from her and had pulled out his phone. "Was there live coverage of this thing?" he asked as the rotor noise grew greater, and they began to lift off the turf of the White House South Lawn.

  Ruby nodded. "Some," she replied. "All of the regular Press Corps were allowed to roll on whatever they wanted, as long as they agreed to pay licensing for any music that made it into their broadcast. Why?"

  Mike shook his head. Holding out his phone so Ruby could see the screen, he answered. "I have six missed calls from my mom."

  "Send her a text before you lose signal," Ruby told him. She’d known from the trip in that Starphones didn’t always have the best coverage at altitude. She had the right gear aboard her own aircraft to make that inconsequential, but Marine One was either lacking the requisite technology, or they had it turned off. Either way, no one would be making a call until they reached the airport. "Once we’re back on the plane, you can use my office to call her. It’s quiet back there, she’ll be able to hear you. Text your sister, too. Call her after your mom if you think you should--if your mom ever lets you off the phone. Tell them your dad was there. Make sure they know you’re safe and unharmed."

  Mike nodded, turning back to his phone.

  The rest of the trip to the airport was spent in silence. The lot of them were likely shell shocked. But Ruby had bigger things to worry about than her feelings on the matter of having almost been blown to pieces. She had no idea whether or not all five Young Dudes were even alive at the moment. Hunter had been right in the path of that first blast, and there was every chance he’d been killed by it. And what the hell was she going to do about that?

  There would have to be public vigils, probably a tribute album, some kind of memorial scholarship or charity fund of some such, and she’d have to be oh-ever-so sensitive about finding his replacement. Or maybe there wouldn’t be a replacement; she could probably make do with only four Young Dudes. Some of the most famous bands in history had only four members. She couldn’t decide whether a nationwide casting and talent search or a solemn declaration that Hunter’s place would always be his own would test better with audiences. She’d have to get her social media team on that presently.

  Of course, there was still a chance he’d survived the bombing. That option was clearly the better one. No matter how much insurance the label had on the kid, no single payout would ever match the Young Dudes’ chief heartthrob’s future earnings. That held especially true now that he had been injured while performing a free concert for inner-city kids. There’d be photo ops and interviews, some kind of touching tribute for the families who had lost loved ones in today’s bombings--and Ruby was sure there had been fatalities, even if Hunter wasn’t one of them. And then there’d be the inspirational follow-up album and the epic, world-wide comeback tour. She’d have to get her writing team on a stirring solo for Hunter to lead off the live show.

  She’d have them write a version for the others to sing if Hunter wouldn’t be there to do it himself.

  It was all very troubling, as was the stinging sensation she was experiencing from what must have been a million tiny cuts on her face from whatever microscopic shrapnel had managed to make contact before Jaccob had activated his StarBands. Even the magic in her felt off-kilter. She was still feeling it; she hadn’t lost her connection to the power of the Eye of Africa, but there was something Not Right about the magic in her orbit at the moment.

  As she sat still, watching out the window as the familiar sights of the D.C. Mall grew tinier and tinier in the distance, she tried to center herself. She had hoped to be able to shake the icky feeling that had come over her right before the explosions had started and had stuck with her ever since. But nothing she tried seemed to be doing any good.

  As the helicopter was still ascending, she had thought to ascribe the unpl
easant feeling to an adrenaline spike. But she knew that experience well, and this was not that. This was something else altogether. This was a magical bad feeling.

  Those had been magical explosions.

  She realized she’d known it all along. Her reaction in the moment, before Jaccob had activated his StarBands, hadn’t been to flee. Her instinct had been to fight. And in the entire history of her life, she had only had that response when the threat was a magical one. And she hadn’t had that reaction at all in the months since she’d lost her powers. When a threat had come at them the night they’d stolen the Eye, she’d been keen to get the hell out of there and let the Blights handle it on their own; that hadn’t been even close to her MO before her powers had been stymied.

  But now that she had some subset of borrowed power and a full-on connection to magical energy, she was bristling to fight back at whatever had been behind the attack. Better that she hadn’t had the chance, she knew. Jaccob still didn’t know she’d ever had magic, much less that she had some use of it now. And he had no inkling she was spending nearly every moment they weren’t together working with a stolen magical artifact to get her full powers back. Jaccob hated magic, she knew that. And she also knew, from the times he’d come to her needing to unload the woes of being Stardust, that the authorities still didn’t have any leads on the Eye nor any idea as to who might have stolen it. There was no way she was about to spill those particular beans.

  She wasn’t sure whether or not Stardust would be involved in the investigation of the White House bombing. Prather’s cabinet had brought Archon in to be in charge of Superhero Affairs, but there hadn’t seemed to be much movement in the direction of including the super-powered in the doings of the administration. If they meant to make a policy move in that direction, Stardust would be a good hero to start with. A man whose powers stemmed from technology and not anything inherently superhuman could be just the right person to grease the proverbial wheels. Jaccob hated this administration, and he hated Prather personally. But he’d rescued the man, and he’d been present for an attack that had done real harm to some of the nation’s most vulnerable. He could very well be talked into aiding in the investigation down the road.