by Arthurs, Nia
Trey lumbers to his friend’s side and ruffles the green hair. “I think it looks great. Izzy will totally dig it.”
“You better hope this thing washes out.” Jace warns again.
“I have a hat you can borrow.” Will offers.
Jace eyes the giant keyboard player wearily. Will is completely serious. I don’t think I’ve heard him crack a joke once since I’ve been here.
“Thanks, Will.”
“No problem.” Will dips his head.
“I think you look great.” Morgan says, though her voice is full of laughter.
“Oh,” Jace lifts a finger in the air, “so you wouldn’t mind washing your hair with dye instead of shampoo…”
“Don’t you dare,” Morgan glares at both Jace and Trey. “I mean it, guys. You’ve been smart so far with leaving me out of these pranks. You don’t want to see the disaster I will rain down on you if you mess with my hair.”
All the boys gulp, even Damien.
“Yes, ma’am.” Trey salutes.
Will snickers.
“And make sure you leave Kendall out of it too.” Morgan tacks on.
I high-five the bass player as the guys shuffle around, properly chastised.
“Thanks for that.” I confess. “I’m not a fan of neon green hair.”
“I feel you, Kenny. And don’t even worry about it. We girls gotta stick together.”
“That we do.”
***
A few hours later, Dust and Ashes prepares for its first sold-out concert in Wales. I peek past the heavy velvet curtains barring the stage and begin to freak out. I’m not a musician. I can’t even sing to save my life.
Even the tambourine is stretching the length of my musical talents by a mile. What if I beat the tambourine out of time? What if it falls out of my hand, rolls down the stage, and Jace trips on it, thus breaking his back and wrecking the entire future of Dust and Ashes?
I step back in fear and bump into a hard chest. Damien extends his hands to catch me. He catches a glimpse of my face and immediately steers me to a quiet corner, away from the frantic backstage activity.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
His voice is full of concern.
“No,” I snap.
I think it’s relatively obvious that I am not okay.
He blinks at my harsh tone, but I don’t feel like apologizing. The future of Dust and Ashes and the health of Jace Kelly rest in my trembling fingers. I don’t think I can do this. I have to find a member of the band and convey my sympathies.
Immediately after, I shall find a porcelain throw and convey the contents of my stomach.
“Kendall,” Damien holds my shoulders firmly and stares into my eyes. “I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?”
I want to snatch my hands away, but breathing sounds like a great idea. I inhale a huge breath and let it out, following Damien’s own example. He helps me to suck in oxygen for a few minutes. When I’m sufficiently calm, the assassin drops his hands.
“Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I don’t want to play tonight.”
He tilts his head. “Why not?”
“Because Jace might die!” I blurt.
Damien seems extra-confused now so I run him through the tambourine rolling out of my hands scenario. A grin plays on his lips by the time I’m done. Why is he so amused? The fate of the band hangs in the balance!
“Kendall, I’m pretty sure the likelihood of that happening is slim to none.”
“What? You’re a psychic now?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “But I’ve seen you practicing. You’re going to be fine. I know it.”
I cut him a disbelieving glance. “Is that your Spidey senses talking?”
He laughs. “Look at it this way. Jace, and the rest of the band, believes that everything happens for a reason right?”
I nod.
“Good. So if your tambourine escapes your hand and he falls down because of it, there’s probably a reason for that. A reason that you won’t understand, but a reason nonetheless. So you can stop putting so much pressure on yourself. Just try your best and leave it at that.”
“Right,” I blink and realize that his words kind of do help. “Thanks, Damien.”
He sends me a charming grin. “Anytime.”
I’m not one hundred percent a fan of Damien Chen, but for the first time since we set out on this trip, I’m glad that he’s here.
Chapter 4
Alistair
I’m inside my childhood home. Memories are licking at my consciousness like the flames that licked the walls of the manor. I was so little when the fire broke out that I really can’t remember many of the details.
For the most part, I’m grateful for that. But sometimes when the nights are quiet, I close my eyes and I can hear my mother’s screams. The fire department reported that she died from smoke inhalation.
Whether the screams are just nightmares spurred from my own imagination or memories that I repressed, I feel the weight of the past barreling into my shoulders as I step into the dim rooms.
Huge holes in the wooden structure let in the faint sunlight streaming past the grey clouds overhead. The floors are dotted with excrement from the insects, lizards and bats that have made their home here.
I see cluttered needles and bottles, indicating that the house is not always empty. It has become a haven for drug addicts. How fitting that a home that fell apart would open its doors to destroying more lives.
My boots thud against the hardwood floors. I trek through the empty space that used to be the living room and slip into the corridor leading to the back of the house. The smallest room on the right used to be mine.
I step inside. My gaze moves over the wide windows and wallpaper, barely discernable. The wind and rain have torn it apart and dust layers the walls. I can still make out a bit of the pattern trailing the corners of the room.
I feel far removed from the little boy that used to sleep in this place. His innocence burned to the ground and his life changed completely. I can’t remain long in this place. I turn my back on this room and on the little boy that used to live here.
Moving down the hall, I peek in on my parents’ bedroom. I feel hollow as I step inside. By some miracle a scrap of the curtain material is still hanging from a ragged post above the windows. The dainty fabric reminds me of my mother.
I don’t recall her face, but I will never forget her scent. She always smelled of lavender. If I close my eyes, I can catch a whiff of the fragrance. It’s almost as if she’s still here. Ghosts don’t scare me. In fact, the thought of seeing her again – in any form – is calming.
It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to think of my origins. I’m oddly at peace with the vulnerability. Peeling back the layers is more rewarding than I had first anticipated.
Shaking myself from my reminiscing, I turn my thoughts to the mission. If there is even a remote possibility that my father is alive, I need to find it. Kendall’s life is at risk and I won’t be able to guarantee her safety until Maveth is dead and his ridiculous claims are put to rest.
I grasp my backpack by the strap and extract a small hammer. I kneel to the floor, inhaling the scent of damp mold, and tap against the floor. I move slowly, listening for sounds that will reveal a hollow compartment or secret space.
The work is slow and grueling. Thankfully, my limbs are warmed by the constant movement. Patience is the first virtue of any good assassin. Ladheug taught me well. Waiting is second nature to me. Being still is as enjoyable as having company.
The floor yields no results. I am not discouraged. I did not expect to find success simply waiting for me in this old house. Rising to my feet, I apply the hammer to the walls, listening for any hollow taps that will reveal a hiding place.
The bedroom, though structurally sound from the fire is completely free of hidden compartments. I refuse to give up. The sun slides low in the sky as I trek from one end of the
house to the other.
I search amid the broken furniture, shattered glass, and weathered tables. Still, I find no clues. There is only one place left to look, but the attic stairs have been destroyed by the fire and further dismantled by the harsh elements of wind and rain.
I gaze about for a sturdy ladder that can connect me to the platform above, but the few furnishings available are more dangerous than any weapon I’ve seen. The minute I put my weight upon them, they crumple to dust.
An idea forms in my head, but I’m reluctant to pursue it. I purchased a grappling hook in London in case I had to invite myself into an establishment. The wooden landing of the attic is exposed in the evening air. I can fling the hook into the space and hope it anchors down.
If my weight is too much for the wood, it will give way. The attic is quite high above the main landing. I run the risk of injuring myself, which would be counter-productive. I’ll be a sitting duck for Maveth to take me out.
I glance about the destroyed manor again. Shadows are about to creep over the hills, bringing darkness and night. What other choice do I have? The sun will set soon and a flashlight will attract curious townsfolk. I must get into the attic to verify that Maveth’s rant about my father was indeed false.
It is decided.
I step back and drop my backpack to the dirty floor. Unzipping the front pouch, I extract a long rope. After unwinding the device, I test the weight of the hook. It has sharp ends that can dig into any surface.
Hopefully, that surface doesn’t come crashing down with me.
I pull on the rope in my hands and then swing it around my head. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but I quickly get the hang of it. When I feel satisfied with the rhythm of the loop, I let it fly.
The hook soars into the air and lands on the attic platform with a loud clank. The sun is about to set by the time my feet land on the solid surface of the attic floor. I miscalculate and raise my head a little too far.
The sharp cut on my head from the rafters will heal, but it’s no less annoying. The room seems much smaller today than it did when I was a child.
I am forced to crouch so that I can fit in the small space. The climb left me winded, so I sit for a minute. Bats screech overhead and flap their wings. Some soar through the hole in the rooftop. I pay them no heed.
I won’t bother them as long as they don’t bother me.
Finally, I catch my breath and set my hammer against the panels of the wall. The search is more arduous in the attic because I test each wooden slab of the attic floor before I set my weight upon it.
Patiently, I tap every panel of the room. I’m about to give up when I hear it.
Tap, tap.
The hammer reveals a hollow space behind the south section of the wall. Night descends suddenly and completely, but my hesitant excitement infuses me with energy. I unclip the flashlight from around my waist and shine the beam at the wood panel.
It looks like all the others. I place the hammer against it again. The hollow thumps cannot be denied. Carefully, I use the curved end of the tool to pry the panel off. I set the wooden slab away and shine my light into the darkness.
The yellow beam glints against something metallic and large. I extract the metal box with trembling fingers. Whatever lies inside this compartment holds the answers. I’m just not sure I’m ready to discover them.
Chapter 5
Kendall
The dark auditorium is filled to the brim with thousands of screaming fans. I’m standing in the wings as Dust and Ashes sings “Won’t Make You Cry”. Their latest hit is the last song before “Laugh, Belize”.
I’m shaking like a cat caught in a thunderstorm. My tambourine is making all kinds of noise, but not in any particular rhythm. I peek at the stage and gauge each band member’s face. They all look like they’re on top of the world.
Jace, green hair and all, is rocking his guitar for all he’s worth. The people are totally vibing with his voice. I see a few faint couples in the front row swaying to the music. Trey is sitting on a raised platform. The buttons on his black leather jacket glitter in the harsh stage lights.
The guy is flinging his hair this way and that. He’s doing major damage to that drum kit. I can tell that he’s enjoying himself. Every so often when the huge crane-cameras move his way, Trey will do a little trick with the sticks before flawlessly returning to the count.
Will is behind his keyboard, bouncing to the beat. The band has dubbed Will’s little dance move the “Willy Wonk”. It’s so strange to see the giant, taciturn guy bending his knees and bouncing his head to the epic sounds coming from the speakers. The man is at home behind those keys. It’s written all over his face.
Morgan is jumping up and down as if she’s at a rock concert, instead of a reggae show. Her dark hair is bound up in a ponytail. Glitters shade her dark skin like she was assigned to be a primary schooler’s art project. Morgan’s wearing a green and yellow pantsuit. It’s such a strange combination, but somehow the gorgeous bass player makes it work.
Nearly ten years ago, Dust and Ashes was a laughing stock of a band. So, if three white boys with a reggae beat and a dream could make it big, I don’t see why I can’t knock a tambourine without ending anyone’s career.
“You’re up,” Damien gives me a little push.
It’s exactly the nudge that I need. As the bass thumps to the Laugh, Belize rhythm, I hold my head high and walk center stage. No one in the crowd knows who I am, but they scream their heads off anyway.
Jace smiles, his eyes ignited with fire. I am just so privileged to be around this group of people. This is what they were made for. Performing is as much a necessity as air.
The lead singer waits for the crowd to calm down before he grips the mike stand with both hands.
“Alright everyone, this here is our friend, Kendall.”
“Whoo!”
“We love you, Kendall!”
I wave shyly. I guess I have fans now.
Cool.
“She’s gonna be helping us out tonight,” Jace ignores the calls, “while we play a little song called…” Trey does a quick beat on the drums. Jace lowers his voice and smirks at the crowd, “Laugh, Belize!”
The place goes wild. The iron bars at the front of the arena, put in place to keep the crowd back, begin to shake from the frenzy. Laugh, Belize is one of the band’s older songs, but it’s no less amazing.
In fact, I think it’s gotten better with time. You just can’t beat a solid reggae tune.
Trey starts to tap the drums with his sticks. Morgan comes in with the funky bass beat that sets this particular song apart. Immediately, a different kind of energy invades the auditorium. People are really breaking loose, shaking their shoulders and dancing to the beat.
Jace hasn’t even opened his mouth yet, but some of the concert-goers are already mouthing the lyrics. I smile and step back, smashing the tambourine against my side. I focus on keeping the timing.
Shaka-shaka-whap!
The introduction lasts four counts longer than it should because the crowd is enjoying the sound of their own voices. When Jace finally put his mouth to the mike, the frenzy escalates. My heart is pumping so hard and fast, I think I’m going to die.
“Oh, I met a girl this morning.
It was love at first sight.”
The stage lights soften, spotlighting on Jace as he sings the opening lines of the verse. I catch Morgan’s eye. She sends me a nod of approval even as we break into the chorus, the part of the song when the bass goes absolutely crazy.
The girl is so talented. During practice this morning, I couldn’t help but stare at her. She and that guitar seem so misplaced at first. Morgan’s this slim, quiet girl. You’d expect her to play something delicate and refined, like the violin or the piano.
The woman completely sticks it to these expectations. When she puts her hands on a bass guitar, the guttural noises are so powerful, they can shake down walls.
We’re half-way th
rough the song and I’m totally getting into the spirit of things. I’m bouncing along with Will. I’m singing along with Jace. The tambourine is being shaken high in the air and down to the floor.
By the time the song slows down and fades to the voices, I’m high on some type of adrenaline. Whatever these band members are taking, it’s way more powerful than any kind of drug. Seriously, if I could bottle it up and sell it, I’d make millions.
Jace ends the song and then acknowledges me again.
“Thanks to our friend, Kendall!”
He leads me to the front and I bow. The applause is deafening. I can barely see straight by the time the crowd has shouted, screamed, and whistled in my ears. Nodding happily at the band, I withdraw to the wings as Dust and Ashes continues their set.
“That was awesome!” Damien congratulates me as I walk behind the curtains.
I’m surprised when his brawny arms surround my waist. He lifts me off the ground in a hug. I don’t push him away. Maybe it’s the effect of thousands of screaming fans. Maybe the tambourine is just that powerful.
Whatever the case, I don’t think about what Damien does for a living or even why he’s here with me now. I’m just excited to share my experience with someone who understands.
When he finally lets me go, he offers his hand for a high-five. I eagerly slap his palm and grin.
“Can I do that again?”
He laughs and runs a hand through his shiny, black hair.
“You look like you’re going to explode!”
“I am.” I laugh. “That was seriously the best time I’ve ever had.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Damien smiles.
Further conversation is cut off when the band plays a new song that they’ve been working on. I absolutely adored it when I heard it in rehearsals. There’s no time for talking when my energy could be better spent dancing.
I’m shaking my head, clapping my hands and stomping my feet. Damien, on the other hand, has his arms folded close to the dagger I know is in his jacket pocket.
Assassins and their antiquated weapons. Why not just use a gun?
“Hey,” I dance up to him, “this is a no-frown zone, mister. You gotta dance.”
