Vespers Rising
Page 19
The teenage rapper was spectacular. From the upper decks of the enormous stadium he must have appeared insect-size on the stage far below. And yet every move, every beat, every “wassup, yo” sent ripples through the audience. Jonah was a hip-hop hypnotist, and all sixty-five thousand people in the arena were obeying his commands — to get wild, get loud, get down.
Except one.
Phoenix worshipped his A-list cousin. What twelve-year-old boy wouldn’t idolize a celebrity? And Jonah wasn’t just famous in the music world. He had starred in several movies, including Gangsta Kronikles, his first blockbuster; he had his own reality TV show. His face was immortalized on PEZ dispensers and motorized lollipop holders. Paparazzi followed him everywhere.
Yet the music — that was the part that left Phoenix flat. He would have cut his tongue out before saying it aloud, but he thought it was truly awful. Just talking, really. Bragging in time to a simple repeating beat.
Why can’t I see what all these people see?
Jonah began to whip up the crowd to even greater heights. “I love Tokyo — it’s the only place where ‘yo’ is part of the name of the town! Get up and show me some moves!”
The response was seismic. Those fans who weren’t already standing rose to their feet in a wave of tens of thousands of bodies. Phoenix was up with them, hoping that their enthusiasm was contagious.
He felt nothing. What could be more pathetic than a Wizard with no rhythm? All around him, people were gyrating as if their very lives depended on it. He watched, amazed, as bodies were lifted up and rolled across the top of the crowd, passing from hand to hand.
A teen girl floated over him, her expression sheer bliss. She had found the hip-hop vibe.
Determined to share the experience, he climbed onto the armrest of his seat, literally hoisting himself onto the “roof” of the audience. He felt a thrill when he started to move, twirling as he skimmed above the concertgoers’ heads. For some reason, there was no fear. The thousands of hands created a seamless surface. It was almost like swimming — riding ocean currents around the stadium. This was awesome! He couldn’t wait to tell Jonah about it after the concert.
And the ride was getting better! He seemed to be picking up speed. But why was he heading away from the stage toward one of the exit tunnels? That wasn’t where the action was!
Then he was down out of the throng, in the darkness of the concrete passage, flanked by two men in mirrored sunglasses.
“What —?”
A foul-smelling wet cloth covered his face. He attempted to struggle, but one whiff of the chloroform brought oblivion.
Although they took place in different time zones throughout the world, the kidnappings were executed at exactly the same moment. The victims had only one thing in common: All seven were members of the Cahill clan, the most powerful family in human history.
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First edition, April 2011
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