by Jax Garren
“Names, please?”
“Rawan Farhadi and Giselle Ryder. Those are legit tickets. I bought them resale through Ticket—”
“They’ve been resold—”
Giselle’s stomach folded into a new and unfathomable knot as Rawan yelled, “What?”
“—and replaced with these.” Two envelopes pushed through the little gap in the ticketing window. “Courtesy of Mr. Marquez.”
Brows drawn together, Rawan swiped the first envelope with a subdued, “Oh.” She opened it as Giselle tentatively took hers, hoping for... she wasn’t sure what, but her brain waffled between the envelope containing better seats and a note calling her a stalker and telling her to get lost.
Not that Rafael would do the latter.
“Oh!” Rawan said again, extracting a laminated badge on a lavalier.
The staff member leaned forward and said sweetly, “I can probably arrange for something comparable to your old tickets, though, if you’d prefer.”
Giselle pulled her badge out along with a handwritten note that said, “92 on my first math test. You’re a goddess. – Rafe.” On the back was a hotel name and room number.
“I don’t understand.” The situation seemed like a good thing, but her brain was having a hard time processing it. She pulled the cord over her head. “Is this a ticket?”
Rawan grabbed her shoulder and pulled her out of the way of the growing line as she smiled into the customer service window. “We’re good, thanks.”
As her roommate continued to drag her around the arena toward a different entrance, Giselle stared at the badge with VIP on one side and a stylized hologram of Rafael in a tornado on the other. The tears of disappointment remained, wanting to fall, but now she was just confused, because it really looked like she had a VIP pass to a Rage Riot concert, which was an unattainable dream come true.
“What’s the note say?”
Giselle shoved it into Rawan’s hand and followed her to an entrance without a line, where a bouncer checked their lavaliers and then ushered them in. Vendors hawked merch from bright displays—the same stuff that was sitting in her room, but without Rafael’s autograph. Crowds were growing outside the doors to the seating, which weren’t open yet. A group of teenagers, all wearing T-shirts with Rafael’s dimpled smile, broke out into a song from the GaRage Tapes, and Giselle’s shoulders started to relax as she hummed along. The building had the air of a carnival, but every single person in the giant space shared one thing—a love of Rage Riot. “I’ve found my people!”
Rawan’s eyes were huge as she shook the note. “You think this is the after-party he’s going to? Oh, Allah, I should not go to a rock star’s after-party. There will be...” Rawan sucked in a breath and shot Giselle an inscrutable look. “Are you going? Because I also shouldn’t let my friend go to a dangerous place like that alone. I mean, you could get drugged or something, and then it would be my fault for deserting you.”
Giselle tried not to smile at her. “Are you using me to morally justify partying with famous people?”
Inscrutable changed to uncomfortable. “No! That would be wrong of me. I’m just saying, if you did go... I mean, if you don’t want to go, then we definitely don’t go.”
Giselle shook her head at her roommate like the woman had gone nuts. “Rafael Marquez invited us to a party in a hotel room after his show. You think there’s any way I’m not going? Ereshkigal’s gidim army couldn’t stop me.”
Rawan’s eyes lit up. “Okay, then I’ll go too. We have to watch out for each other.”
Giselle managed to keep her smile tiny as she slid her arm around her roommate for a quick hug. “I appreciate that.”
Unlike the other doors, the one they were directed to was open, and in a few moments they were in the near-empty arena, where the work lights were still on. A few dozen other concert attendees walked around the three available sides of an oval stage with its zigzagging catwalk to a smaller stage with a grand piano. Behind the main stage, a scattered collection of giant screens were dark, and everywhere she looked, lighting hung from every shape and size of metal rigging. Crew members still wandered, like there was still stuff to be done.
How cool was this? It was fascinating to see a little of the work that went into the show, the bones of the creation before the magic of the performance.
On stage, Jada stretched over a drum set while Lyssa and Lance stood to the side, close to Rawan’s and Giselle’s seats, sharing a vape and engaged in what appeared to be casual conversation. All three still wore street clothes, not the colorful, artsy getups they typically sported in the videos she’d seen of their concerts.
After a moment somebody screamed in excitement, and then the small crowd surged forward. Rafael, in deep conversation with somebody dressed like staff, had appeared.
He glanced at the people almost like he was surprised to see them, then smiled and stuck his finger in the air, indicating to give him a moment. Immediately he was back with the crew member, pointing around the arena like they were going over final details.
Lyssa smirked at the crowd, then made eye contact with Giselle, and her expression turned bemused. She took the few steps to the edge of the stage and nodded. “I thought the tickets were too pricey. Well-played last week.”
Giselle frowned as she tried to figure out what the woman meant by that. That she had lied to Rafael to get him to play at the party? She blushed at the implication. “No! I didn’t pay for this. It was a present.”
Rafael passed by on his way to the biggest mass of fans and flicked Lyssa on the shoulder as he passed. “Don’t be a bitch. Rawan told me she’d gotten them tickets, and I upgraded them.” He winked at Giselle and Rawan. “Glad you got the passes.” Walking backward so he could look at them and keep going, he fired a finger gun at his sister. “Ninety-two on my math test courtesy of my new tutor. As the one who dragged me through Algebra II in high school, you should appreciate that.”
Lyssa rolled her eyes. Then she looked back at Giselle, her face scrunched in confusion or wonder, Giselle wasn’t sure which. “He got an A on a math test? You are a miracle worker.” She hopped down to sit on the edge of the stage, offering a rueful smile. “Sorry. That was tacky. Rafe’s in pre-opening-night, drive-everyone-crazy mode—we’re not even supposed to be out here right now—and I’m about ready to throttle whoever I can get my hands on and pretend it’s him.” She gazed at her brother—stepbrother—with a look of frustrated affection bordering on longing.
“Is everything okay?” Giselle asked.
She snapped her attention back to Giselle. “Oh, just some weird shit happened—opening night gremlins, I guess—and he’s being very Rafe about it.” She shook her head. “He just needs to chill. Everyone’s worked their asses off. Everything’s going to be fine.”
As if that reassurance conjured misfortune from the deep, a cracking noise preceded motion from the rigging above, and a giant stage light hurtled toward Rafael.
Chapter 38
THE TEAR OF METAL GRABBED Rafael’s attention in time to see a Leko plummeting directly above him. Somebody grabbed his shirt, and he was yanked into and caught by the crowd as the light crashed right where he’d been, scattering plastic across the stage like shrapnel.
Strangers’ hands patted and plundered him, as he looked up to see what the hell had gone wrong, heart banging in his chest. A wisp of inky smoke and the flash of red eyes made him set his jaw in frustrated anger. Now? Ereshkigal was attacking him now?
He had a fucking song for her. Everyone was pissed at him for it, but he’d played the diva card and gotten it into the set last minute.
How was he going to fight a galla at the opening night of his fucking tour? There was no time for this. Although it explained how all the sound settings got jacked and why a costume rack had been trampled, and a few other annoyances.
“Are you okay?”
He snapped his attention back to the crowd, where Giselle was bulldozing her way through to get to him. It was
the same question everyone was asking.
And somebody had their hands on his ass. He shifted his hips, removing himself from the opportunistic grasp. Seriously, what was wrong with people? Managing a shaky smile, he patted the nearest human on the back, hoping it wasn’t the groper. “I’m fine, really. Thanks to you guys.”
Again, he looked to the lighting but didn’t see another sign of the galla.
Then the stage manager was hoisting him back up out of the crowd, cooing apologies and promises that they’d have it fixed and someone would be fired and and and and...
Giselle watched him, her lip between her teeth, and for some reason he told her, “That thing from my condo...” before his band and more crew members surrounded him, everyone with a hand on him and a concern or an apology on their tongue.
He needed to get away from everyone long enough to transform and take care of that thing before someone got hurt. How long before the main doors opened?
Giselle frowned, then looked up, and her eyes went wide. She got it.
“Give me five minutes—” he tried to say as people rushed to clean up the mess. Clambering footsteps said somebody was already heading up the rigging—dammit.
“The opener needs their time. You need to finish the new sound check you insisted on doing yourself,” his manager—apparently everyone was onstage patting him—said in his cajoling tone. “They’re fixing it, alright? I need you to trust your people.” A subtle reminder to quit micromanaging.
He was micromanaging again. The stress headache that had threatened all day started to pound. This had been easier last time, when he’d been stoned enough on opening night to not give a damn, but he didn’t want to be that guy anymore... and now he was driving everyone crazy. But the album was a critical disappointment, even if it was a financial success. He needed this tour to not just make money, but kick ass.
Trevor threw an arm around him and led him back to the microphone. “I know it’s hard to trust people when a light comes crashing at you, but they are good people. And whoever did that will get fired.”
“No,” he said, shaking his hand. “Don’t fire anyone.”
“Rafe—”
“Just don’t.”
Across the stage, Lyssa shot him a sympathetic smile and waved her vape at him. Maybe, for everyone’s sake, he should take a drag or five and calm down.
But the demon... He glanced at Giselle, who had backed away from the stage and was staring into the rigging with her roommate.
He shook his head at Lyss and turned back to Trevor. “Could you get me some Advil?”
“Of course!” After another hearty pat on the back, people started yelling for everyone to fix life around him.
Rafael looked up into the rigging, but he couldn’t see anything else. Had he imagined it? But he did trust his lighting crew—even if someone hadn’t tightened the clamp down enough, the safety cable would’ve held it. No, someone or something had intentionally dropped that light, and he was pretty damn sure it was a goddess who wanted him dead before he could play a song for her, hopefully sealing their deal.
The next ten minutes seemed an eternity as they fine-tuned settings. When they finally headed backstage to get ready, he bolted for his dressing room, trying to figure out how long he had to find and defeat the galla without anyone noticing his absence. And he still had so much shit to do.
Just after his door closed, it opened again, and he turned to request privacy.
But Lyssa slammed the door behind her and demanded, “Alright. Spill.”
He took a quick look around the room for signs of the demon before focusing on her. “What?”
“What are you looking for? What are you freaked about? The falling light? I know you. That’s not enough.”
He rubbed his forehead—the Advil still hadn’t kicked in. It was risky telling his sister what was going on, but he couldn’t leave her blind to the danger. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the loveseat, hoping he could convince her without an explanation he didn’t have time for.
“Whoa, okay. This is serious.” She leaned in, her hand on his knee. “Are you, like, sick or something? I know I sound like a broken record, Rafe, but I’m so worried—”
“About me. I know. This isn’t...” He wetted his lips, trying to figure out the least crazy-sounding way to say this. Finally he gave up. “There’s a galla demon in the arena.”
Her face pinched in surprise as her hand quit moving on his leg. “A... a demon? Like, your grandma believes in angels and demons, demon?”
He bowed his head. “Sorta? I...” What to say that didn’t reveal what he was doing? “I got in the middle of a conduit fight and attracted the attention of a goddess. She said she would collect me if I didn’t write a song for her—which is the new song I put on the set list last minute, hoping that’ll appease her. But she keeps sending these demons.”
Lyssa’s face blanched, and she popped up in alarm. “Which conduit?”
“You believe me?”
She looked at him like his head was purple. “Of course I believe you! You should’ve told me this. Why are you hiding shit like this from me?” She looked at the ground for a moment, her back tense like she was thinking. Then she relaxed and shook her head. “Fuck it. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but...” From her pocket, she pulled a godstone.
His jaw dropped. “You have one—” too, he almost said. Did everyone have a godstone now? Were they passing them out at the dentist?
“It’s legal,” she reassured. “I have it legally.”
He pulled her back down into the seat. “Godstones are illegal. You can’t have a legal one. Can I...” He held open his hand to see if he could figure out which one she had. Had Freyja given her one from Bryn’s collection?
A proud smile played at her lips as she handed it over. “No, I was chosen for one.”
Ogham, Celtic writing, decorated one face and a—fuck—crow decorated the other. He exhaled as awful feelings collected in his gut. Somehow, his sister was the new Nemain... which would explain why she hadn’t gone back to New York with Jada and Lance two weeks ago. “Why did they choose you?”
She smacked him on the chest, and he realized he might’ve sounded a bit too incredulous there. “Two black belts and a 143 IQ, why wouldn’t they pick me?”
“That’s not what I... I mean, how did they even know about you?”
She scooted forward on the cushion, eyes glittering with excitement again. “Remember this summer when you came to check out the campus and I followed you to try to convince you not to do this—”
“Uh, yeah.” She’d been annoying as hell.
“Shut up. And we stopped at that Mexican food place your... I dunno, third cousin twice removed’s aunt or whatever runs?”
“My second cousin’s wife, Mercedes?”
“Yeah. And while you chatted with the extended fam, I went outside for a smoke, then told you I’d taken a rideshare home? I was totally lying about the rideshare.”
“What happened?”
“There was this conduit—Freyja.”
Rafael couldn’t help a breath at her name. “You met her?”
“No. But she was about to get busted by the cops. And I know some conduits do bad shit, but she seemed like she was helping people out, so I managed to distract the police long enough for her to escape. She never saw me, has no idea that I saved her ass, but there was someone else there, this woman Andromeda, who did see me. She’s like this government contractor who decides who gets godstones, and she’d been surreptitiously watching Freyja too.”
Rafael rubbed his face, unable to completely stem his reaction to that woman.
“We got to talking, I took a ride back to her place, we smoked some quality herb—woman’s got great taste; she rec’d that stuff I brought to the party two weeks ago—and turns out we have a lot in common. But I didn’t think anything of it until the day after the party when she gave me a call and asked if I wanted to work for her. I wasn’t going to
take, like, a job job, right? But she’s pretty cool, and I figured I’d get some good weed out of meeting up with her.” Lyssa’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “But then when I got to her place, she presented it to me: the godstone of Nemain, one of the three goddesses of the Morrigan.” She took the stone back and repocketed it. “Who’d have ever thought I’d get hired to carry a legal godstone, right?”
The feeling of unreality settled over him heavily. This was... fucked up. “What do you do for her?”
“Well, turns out that conduit I’d helped, Freyja, went rogue, stole a godstone— Huehuecoyotl—and gave it to her boyfriend. You may have heard of him because he’s been seen a few times in town; he’s that Aztec god with the drum.”
Of all the fucking twisted versions of their story... “I’ve heard of him.”
“And they defeated Nemain—froze her solid, even though she was working for the government—so Ande was looking for a new person to make the triumvirate whole again.”
“But the band... you’re going to be traveling.”
She grinned and shifted eagerly in her seat. “That’s the best part! She wanted someone who would be traveling. I’ll be meeting up with other conduits around the country—around the world next year—at each of our stops. It’s the perfect cover.”
Rafael rubbed his face, his stress level rocketing to new heights. “What are you meeting other conduits for?”
Her face turned serious, and she put a hand on his cheek, cupping it intimately. He didn’t pull away, needing to hear what she was about to say. “Don’t freak out, okay? At first it was just, like, to make face-to-face contact and PR shit, right? But something really bad has happened. We’re going to fix this, but Ishtar’s back. It’s Freyja’s fault; I’m almost sorry I helped her, except then I wouldn’t have a godstone.”
Bite your tongue... bite your tongue...
“Last time Ishtar rose, and I was so young I barely remember it—I dunno if you remember it at all, you were, like, two—but there was so much chaos. According to Ande, back then Ishtar started a group of conduits who thought they should be in charge of, like, everything. They don’t see themselves as conduits—they see themselves as actual gods whom the rest of us should worship. So, Voldemort, right?” She shivered. “And since she’s back, we’re fortifying ourselves against that, trying to figure out who’s going to join Ishtar’s holy war this time.”