“Yes,” he said unhelpfully. “Pretty much everyone whoisn’t Vexa and her band, if they aren’t in black. Keep your wits about you. I know your tattoo has gotten you into trouble before in seeing things you shouldn’t. The stadium is crawling with beings.”
“Good beings? Bad?”
With a crooked smile, he said, “Isn’t that a little subjective? You’re better off being suspicious of everyone.”
“But why are they here?” I demanded, looking over my shoulder as if expecting a poisonous spider to be dangling just behind my ear.
“Do you really think you get to be one of the richest and most influential humans in the world without external help?”
“Kinda!” I threw my hands out to the side.
“Did you?” he pushed.
My eyes narrowed. “Go do angel things.”
To my surprise, he caught one of my outstretched hands. He gave it a squeeze. I swallowed, heart stuttering as I breathed in a rush of his natural cologne the moment he invaded my space. He swept up my hand, pressing the poppet into my palm. “You almost forgot your most important accessory.”
I scarcely had time to react before he disappeared, leaving me alone amidst the curtains, cords, and bustling stagehands. I slipped the poppet into my pocket and scanned the faces. I didn’t see anyone too beautiful to be real, but I kept my eyes peeled as I navigated away from the alcove.
The time for preparation had come and gone. We’d gone over their lines a million times. We’d practiced as much showmanship as we could while remaining discreet. Then I’d disappeared into the bathroom and reemerged once I was ready to take on the world.
On stage, just beyond my line of vision, Vexa finished a story that was either very sweet or very sad, as tens of thousands of people let out their sympathetic sounds in response. She struck a chord on her electric guitar and began to strum thenext ballad.
I found a stagehand and readied myself for my first line.
“Excuse me,” I said, tone straddling the line between commanding and polite. I kept my chin high and purposeful as I stepped around a stagehand. Bass rumbled through my heels, vibrating my bones with every step.
I forced my shoulders back as I worked my way to the side stage. If our intel on the set list was to be believed, we had one more song before “Satan’s Gospel.” Vexa had spent a few albums playing toward the global good side before spiraling into the world’s iconoclast.
Her shows had gotten bomb threats, death letters, and manifestos posted to 4chan.
One thing they had yet to receive was an attack from Heaven.
I rounded the curtain just as the tempo changed. I recognized the opening chords just as the crowd went wild.
“Ma’am?” came a voice as a broad man grabbed my elbow. “Where’s your pass?”
A second man in blue strode past him. He pressed a microphone into my hand and said, “Tell him you’re a surprise guest,” before walking off. I sucked in a breath, fighting the urge to look over my shoulder at the man. The security guard had paid him no mind, nor had he noticed the sudden appearance of a cordless mic.
Was he…?I’d have to worry about members of the fae later. Right now, I had to lie.
Merit and Maribelle fought to lead as one answered with cool confidence, tipping the mic toward the guard, “I’m guest starring in the second chorus. If you don’t mind?”
He backed off apologetically, allowing me to advance toward the stage. I looked for the man in blue, but he was nowhere to be found. I’d thought Silas had been sending me a warning for enemies lurking about. Then again…
I’d keep my wits about me, but I didn’t have time to hunt down the supernatural.
I rounded the final curtain, and what I saw stole my breath. Tiers upon tiers of attendees sparkled and glowed from the dark sea of audience members. I craned my neck to see how high it went, feeling like I was looking up at a skyscraper. Vexa wasn’t the only one about to perform in front of tens of thousands.
The stage was shaped something like a W, with legs on each side for backup singers, band members, and dancers, and a straight line down the center for the artist to perform uninterrupted.
She hit another note and pulled my attention from the enormity of it all as I soaked her in.
There she was. Our siren leading the masses.
I wondered if my outfit had given credence to my believability as a guest singer, as Vexa was most certainly also in lingerie. She, too, wore a bodysuit, but in lieu of pants, she wore black fishnets and over-the-knee heeled boots. She’d been wrapped in leather and rolled in diamonds. Cameras dangled from wires and buzzing drones around the stadium.
The screen changed to a close-up of her face. She winked, blowing a kiss with painted red lips, and the crowd went wild. Fog filled the air behind her in a transition between songs. Vexa lifted her hands to seventy thousand screaming audience members. It was a sea of faces and camera lights, twinkling like a drunken, crazed galaxy.
