“Why’s that?” Angel frowned.
Michael opened his mouth to speak, but Simon cleared his throat and sent out a silent message. “Let me tell them.” Michael nodded in deference and stayed quiet.
Simon recounted the story Cara had told them the day before about her encounter with Jonas, the words he’d spoken to her, and the implied meaning of her role in the prophecy. When Simon finished, a murmur traveled around the room accompanied with looks of concern.
“I’ve got twenty Guardians on hand this evening to cover the Beacon; half of them are already there to watch over Brett as he preps for tonight’s show,” Isaac said, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “Simon and Cara will be covered. In the meantime, I’ll make some calls and we’ll start monitoring for movement around the city.”
“We’ve got Frank working undercover as King Metaljam’s head of security. He’s ready with his people,” Angel added.
Simon cocked an eyebrow at Angel. “His people are all Guardians?”
“Nope. Some are human. They think Brett’s got a stalker and that an attempt has been made on his life.” Angel slouched back in his chair with a cock-eyed grin. “Brett told Roxy the same. She thinks it’s her job to keep it out of the tabloids.”
“Sounds like we’re covered then,” Simon said, looking satisfied.
A surge of concern hit Michael when he realized Sienna was with Cara. Although Cara might be off limits, danger could still be close while she and her friends pampered themselves uptown. The sudden thought of anything happening to Sienna… He turned to Simon. “Do we need any extra security on Cara and the girls today?”
Simon leaned over and clasped his shoulder, giving him a knowing look. “The daytime team is inside the spa. And after your call, Isaac deployed two more Guardians to monitor them from outside.”
“Good.” Michael let out the breath he’d been holding.
Angel fixed them all with a hard stare. “Don’t be too sure, li’l bro, that Simon and Cara are the only ones we need to worry about just because they’ve been named as part of the Twelve already. I know how this works, and any of you could be part of the nine still hidden inside of the Trinity Stones. Just ’cause we haven’t been told yet doesn’t make it less true. Chances are the Council already knows who’ll be next. They just aren’t sharing. If they know, we have to assume the Dark Ones might know, too.”
Simon nodded. “I’m in agreement. I told Cara the same thing.”
“How would they know?” Michael asked, feeling as if he’d missed something.
Angel sniffed. “As I said the other night, Constantina knows more than she’s telling. She won’t say it out loud, but we both know there could be a traitor on the Council.”
Simon shot him a look and shook his head.
“All right, all right…” he said, scowling. “Discoverability, I get it.” His statement was met with cryptic stares.
Simon’s eyes shifted skyward. “Without a Council member present, anything we share becomes a discoverable moment within the Flow. Constantina spoke to me and Cara about it after dinner the other night,” Simon said.
Two months into his assignment as Cara’s Messenger and Michael still had a lot to learn. He leaned back in his chair and tried to release some of the tension in his shoulders. “Good to know. In the meantime, the reason for the company has to do with a Convocation the Dark Ones plan to have in France. They’re paying us a visit on their way.”
“Maybe that’s why Le Feu resurfaced in Paris,” Isaac said, clasping his chin.
“That’s not all. The Angelorum contacted me right before my visit from the rogue. They both delivered the same message, more or less. Bottom line: the Dark Ones are gathering in preparation for the battle.”
Angel clasped his hands together behind his head and smirked. “A Convocation, huh? It’d be the first time in over four hundred years the bastards showed up in the same place at the same time. They hate each other’s guts. Can barely hold their shit together in the same room.” He let out a low chortle. “Should be fun.”
“Experience speaking?” Michael asked. Angel and Paco, as Four Hundred–Class Guardians, were the oldest Nephilim in their crew.
“You know it. Paco and I were young guns then, thirty years old during their last party. They held it in Rome, close to what’s now Vatican City. The Pope would’ve shit his pants if he’d known.” He chuckled as he reminisced. “Sneaky bastards hid it behind an outbreak of Bubonic Plague to cover the deaths.”
Eyes lit up with interest around the room.
Simon waved his hand at Angel. “Be my guest.”
“A lot was going on in Rome at the time. Made it easy for the Dark Ones to go unnoticed. Happened right before Galileo was imprisoned during the Roman Inquisition for coming out with his theory that the Sun was at the center of the solar system.” Angel added with a mischievous smile. “Nice guy, by the way. Pissed off the Jesuits; that alone made him worthy of my respect.”
Simon cleared his throat and gave him an impatient glare. “Do we know why they held the Convocation?”
“Keep on sus calzones.” Angel said, waving him off. “They met to vote on a replacement for one of the Thirteen who’d come to… an untimely demise.”
Simon’s brows shot up. “What happened to him?”
Angel shook his head, giving him a pained look. “That, my friend, is a question for your Constantina. All I will say is that even the Angelorum is not error-free. And some mistakes are yet to be fully rectified.”
Sobering, Michael thought.
“What does that mean?” Isaac asked gruffly with the full weight of his icy stare.
Angel’s stare met his head-on. “Not everything is mine to tell. But I can tell you this. Alone, the thirteen lieutenants wreak their own pockets of havoc; but together, they’re a force to be reckoned with.” He glanced at Michael. “But just like us, they have a code. If they violate it, they forfeit the battle.”
“It seems like they’re calling all the shots,” Michael said.
“That’s the thing. The coin flip has been with them for longer than any of us have been alive. Le Feu threw down the gauntlet when he went after Kai and Cara. Bottom line, they’re confident they can win or they wouldn’t have done it. Now our job is to figure out their plan.”
“And then how to defeat them,” Simon added.
Chapter 29
BRETT
New York City. Beacon Theatre. Saturday, May 25, 8:45 PM ET
BRETT PACED NEXT TO ROXY as they hung out with the rest of the band backstage, preparing to go on. Roxy tapped her foot and her entire body bobbed with energy. Despite her anxious tapping, her short, black hair—jelled into hard spikes—didn’t budge. Between the hair, black leather dress, and heels, she looked her usual rock ’n’ roll badass.
Nervous energy filled the room as Brett and the band mentally prepared. Clamping her hand on his shoulder, Roxy pulled him close enough so her lips almost touched his ear. “How are you holding up?”
He shrugged and gave her a crooked smile. “It’s all good.”
How could it not be? Frank stood looming in the wings. The front row was packed with Cara, her friends, and a full line-up of Guardianship muscle. No chances would be taken with his safety tonight. Angel and Isaac had pulled together enough firepower to stop a herd of demons. And it didn’t end there. Paco, at Angel’s request, would be pasted to his side for the foreseeable future starting with accompanying him to the Sanctuary on Wednesday. Brett was glad for the show of support, but he had trouble getting used to his biker buddies shadowing every piss he took.
Roxy didn’t look convinced, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ll take your word on it… for now.”
“What about your end?” he asked, throwing a glance at his band members who were all in the middle of doing their own prep.
“So far, so good. Not a hint of anything on the wires.” She followed his gaze to the others, and said in a heated whisper, “They don’t know a thin
g. Do the police have any idea who’s after you?”
He hated lying and couldn’t meet her eyes. “Nah, not yet. And I can’t talk about it even if I did. Strict orders from the security team.”
“I get it.” She huffed and turned away. He didn’t have time to worry about what could happen off-stage. Angel and his crew could more than handle anything that came their way. Right now, he needed to focus on controlling what happened on stage and giving a kick-ass performance.
They were scheduled to go on at nine o’clock and finish at eleven. After the show he’d shower then jump into the waiting Escalade that would whisk him downtown to the after-party at Simon’s. He’d be skipping the backstage hangout and fan mayhem this time around. No big loss as far as he was concerned.
Brett paced, limbering up his muscles and thinking through his plan to dedicate one of his new songs to Cara without raising Simon’s wrath. He agonized over which one to pick. Even in the short time he’d known her, she’d been great. Fuck it. More than great… the best. The fact that she was spoken for still stuck in his craw. But better her shutting that irrational shit down before he got himself into serious trouble.
Maybe he’d dedicate the song he played for her on the steps of his aunt’s house. She seemed to like that one, and it didn’t have any overt sexual overtones. Last thing he wanted was to offend Cara or get an ass kicking from his very gracious host.
He moved on to breathing exercises and scales to warm up his voice. His head cleared and vocal chords ready, he headed for the wings with the others and listened to the closing song from their warm-up band, Sonic Thunder.
Brett reviewed the playlist and costume changes in his head. He’d lost his argument with Roxy earlier and had to go commando under the leather pants.
“You don’t want your underwear showing above your waistband, King,” she’d insisted, hands planted on her small hips. He grudgingly agreed. Next time, he wouldn’t be surprised if she asked him to go bare-assed naked.
Sonic Thunder took their final bow and then filed back behind the curtain, giving him and the band high fives as they passed by.
After the roadies set the stage for King Metaljam, Roxy strode out front to do the honors and announce them.
“New York City! How’s everyone doing tonight?” she asked. The crowd responded with a round of wild applause and whistles.
“They were good, weren’t they?” Another round of thunderous applause filtered back in response.
“Without further ado, put your hands together for King Metaljam!”
The crowd went wild.
Brett’s heart raced like it always did when he was about to go on stage. The rest of the band had already filed out under the cover of darkness as Roxy spoke and opened with notes of their first song from their number one hit, “St. Petersburg.” He turned on his combo in-ear monitor and wireless microphone, snapping the battery pack to the back of his leather pants. Then he sauntered onto the stage. The bright lights hit the top of his head and warmed his hair as he started with the first chorus. The audience spotted him. Excitement-filled screams and whistles greeted his arrival, his pulse quickening with the rush. This song only required vocals, making it the perfect choice to start. He eyed his guitars, tuned and lined up just right of center stage.
He belted out the familiar tune, the theater alive with music. The energy of the fans electrified him into action as he moved around the stage. There was no greater high for him than this—being in his element and hosting a party fueled by his music. Bright lights limited his view but not as much as usual. The lighting engineers had cut the lights in half at his request, leaving just enough to see the faces in the first few rows. He liked nothing more than picking out a female fan in the crowd and singing to her.
He moved with a practiced ease across the stage, his hands free to do whatever moved him. Starting with a favorite tune always drove up the energy in the room. After the first song ended, he grabbed one of his guitars and pealed into a second favorite. He did his best not to focus on the first row after he caught Cara’s eye and winked.
In no time, he was ready for his first costume change, exiting the stage while the band played an instrumental riff to cover for him. On his return, he dragged the stool to center stage and picked up his acoustic guitar.
Speaking through the wireless mic, he said, “I’d like to dedicate this next song to a good friend of mine. She was so impressed that she suggested I try out for American Idol.”
A roar of laughter came from the audience.
“In all fairness, she didn’t know who I was at the time. This one’s for Cara.” He found Cara glaring up at him from the front row and smiled.
“Please don’t kill me later. This one’s called ‘The Price of Fame,’ ” he said into the mic, and then launched into the song he’d just written. He’d let the crowd be the judge if it was any good or not.
Deafening applause descended after the last note, letting him know he had a potential winner.
Picking away at his guitar as a transition between songs, he said to the crowd, “I just finished a few new tunes that I’d like to try out on you guys. Cool?”
Encouraging shouts, screams, and whistles filled the air.
“But first… I need someone to sing to,” he said, and gave one of his disarming dimpled smiles. The women in the audience went nuts, making his smile even wider.
“Hmm…” he said into the microphone as he scanned the first row, looking for Cara’s wedding party.
Maybe one of those ladies wouldn’t mind a little attention? he thought devilishly, not bothering to look for anyone but Cara up until now. His eyes flitted across the faces and came to rest on a woman he’d never seen before. The sight of her knocked the air from his lungs. Was she even part of Cara’s party? Her hair was long with light-colored curls surrounding the wholesome face of an angel.
Holy shit, who’s that? he wondered, and unconsciously licked his lips.
“I see someone,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at the crowd. He put down his guitar and walked over to the edge of the stage. Bending down in front of her, he held out his hand, beckoning her with a smile and a raised eyebrow.
She looked at him with her lips parted and her eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Slowly, she shook her head no.
No? Really? he thought with disbelief.
Digging deep into his well of charm he put on his best puppy dog eyes and mouthed, “Please?”
Her look of shock gave way to a smirk as she extended her hand to meet his. Paco lifted her over the barrier and onto the stage. A strange excitement gripped Brett as he led her to the stool and sat her down. The women in the crowd went mad, disappointed they hadn’t been picked.
Brett handed the guitar to his bass player and started to sing “Rescue Me.” Picking up her hand, he stared into her eyes when he got to the chorus.
Rescue me,
I need someone to rescue me
Take me home, and rescue me
I need you to rescue me
His heart accelerated, not due to exertion, but to the touch of her skin. Her hand, smooth as silk, fit perfectly inside of his. His fingers, having a mind of their own, laced themselves through hers. Her eyes went big and her lips parted, reflecting mild surprise as he squeezed her hand in silent dialogue.
Mesmerized, he studied her face as he sang to her, just as studiously as she avoided his gaze. Only the barest hint of makeup was visible on her face. Her eyes reflected hazel in the lights, her lips full and tempting in a face so fresh and wholesome he could cry. Tall and willowy, she wore a simple sundress that was less New York and more somewhere else. He said a silent prayer that he’d see her later at the after-party.
When the song finished, he put his arm around her waist and his lips to her ear. “What’s your name?”
“Jessa,” she said into his free ear, her lips brushing his hair. His scalp tingled on contact.
Brett turned to the crowd. “Give it up for Jessa!”
“Thanks,” he said before Paco lifted her back over the barrier. She looked back at him, her fingers still touching her cheek where his lips had been.
Shit. His stomach did a somersault. The second he let go of her, he was lost. If she didn’t show up later, he would personally sponsor a search party to find her. Maybe Cara was right. Maybe there was someone else out there for him.
Chapter 30
CARA
CARA SAT IN THE FRONT row of the Beacon with the rest of their entourage, glad to be securely ensconced in her seat after an estrogen-fueled day and a short stint as social director.
Mission accomplished on selecting one of the three designs for the bridesmaids’ dresses, and Sienna’s getting everyone’s measurements. But it hadn’t been easy. Sienna had done such a good job creating the designs, the girls had trouble choosing which one they liked best. They ended up picking their selection out of a hat. Lunch was fabulous, and they all had a gorgeous pedicure to show off as a result of their spa visit.
When she got back to the penthouse with the girls, she realized that she held all twenty-five concert tickets. Between the wedding party and all of the Guardians Angel had invited, they had a taker for every ticket. Too bad herding cats would’ve been easier than getting everyone organized for this event.
By eight o’clock, Cara had finished playing mother hen and left the remaining tickets at Will Call for anyone who arrived late. One quick text on where they could find them and her job was done. They were all smart, functioning adults, human or Nephilim. They’d figure it out.
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