by Tash, Red
The last thing I saw was The Phalaxis’s guitarist, his fingers dripping blood, swinging a battle-axe in my direction. Had it been an axe all along, only glamoured to look like a real guitar?
The glamours were melting in all directions, and the force of that ugly hatecloud knocked the unicorn out cold. Poor friggin’ beast. I told myself that if I got out of there, Deb and I would rescue that animal and set it free somewhere far away from this hellhole.
But I didn’t have time to concentrate on that. I thought of my favorite singing spot in front of the Bloomington library, remembered the sound of the acoustics, as my voice and the voices of my buddies reverberated, punctuated by the street sounds of so many cars or buses.
I launched into a classic doo-wop tune, “My Girl.” Behind me, I felt the stirring of Max and Harry on their instruments. I let go of Holly. In a moment, the drums kicked in, and I knew Harry and Max were grooving with me. Holly took a few bars to come around, but within moments, we were all the sunshine that cave had ever seen, and the cloud was at bay.
Beyond the stage, though, the crowd was a lot slower to turn. The Phalaxis bandmates were dumbfounded, completely out of their minds on faeth and from the looks on their faces, tripping hard. Although McJagger’s angry mob of concert goers were screaming for blood, the clouds were losing their potency.
We reached the chorus for the second time, and I shut my eyes again to throw my head back and lose myself in a run. For a minute, I thought I’d won over the crowd, at last. I heard their roaring thunder, and delighted sighing, and assumed it was Biggie’s thunderbird magic, turning the cloud of angry mist into happy rain.
I opened my eyes to see lightning flashing in three points of the cave, and as I tried to shake off the retina burn, I squinted into the balcony to check on my girl.
That was when I knew my perception of the crowd was off.
Whatever I thought they were doing, it wasn’t cheering for me and my classic crooning. I may have saved the lives of the band and The Phalaxis momentarily, but they were tearing each other apart beyond the bubble of sunshine I was pumping, just on the other side of the mosh pit. The front rows were exclaiming now as a mix of blood and warm rain crept up to their ankles. In the cheap seats, the crowd were tearing each other apart, and the heads were literally rolling. It was so dark, though, it was partially my memories of shows gone by that informed my perception. I tried not to let my stress creep into the song, as I pushed through the last verse and searched my brain for another song—one that would pack even more calming energy than this one.
Lightning cracked again, and then I saw her—my girl.
She launched herself off the balcony, and dove awkwardly, straight toward the bloodbath below.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Fly Like an Eagle
Deb
Jag poked me in the ribs with his bony elbow, sharp and hurtful despite the thick leather jacket he always wore. “If you think this is madness, you should have seen the night I set Ozzy against KISS.” He laughed at his own memory, another of his stupid guffaws. The laughter degraded into coughing, and he bent at the waist with the force of it. I thought he would choke. I hoped he would.
He straightened, suddenly, eyeing me fiercely, as if he could read my thoughts. Then, he gave a wicked smirk and lit a cigarette. Using it to gesture at the stage, “Just wait,” he said. “Here comes the grand finale.”
The Phalaxis guys were dropping like flies, only the lead singer still on his feet, now grasping the fallen guitarist’s enchanted battle-axe with both hands. Harlow was still radiating his magic in all directions and his bandmates were playing along, but a red cloud of blood and dirty rain was twisting its way through the crowd, taking fae body parts with it as it went. The crowd in The Eerie seemed to have taken on a life of its own, undulating, pulsing, shrieking with a thousand mouths, both crying in horror and welcome as the hatecloud bore down on them.
And then all the lights flickered, and went out. Even Harlow stopped singing, abruptly, and the roar of the crowd intensified like a sonic boom. My eyes adjusted to the pitch black darkness of the cave almost instantly, but around me I could see April and Dave reaching out blindly in the darkness, laughing.
Jag was watching me now, intently.
His voice boomed through the cavern like the MetaTron, himself. (I saw a movie once, where the MetaTron was the voice of God. It’s either that, or a Transformer.)
“Take us out, Harlow!”
As the crowd screamed in terror and rage, I heard Harlow start into another tune, the band behind him building in power and intensity.
A single spotlight cracked open the darkness, and there on the stage, at the rear of the melee like some macabre sacrifice, was Gennifer—tied to a stake. At her feet was a collection of incendiary devices, bones, tanks of gasoline, and God only knows what else. I was still too new in the ways of troll magic to begin to guess, but absolutely nothing at the feet of my sleepy-eyed, terrified sister looked like it was going to do her any good.
“Well?” Jag said, elbowing me again in the ribs. “What do you think?”
I wasted no time shooting him nasty looks or giving that twisted old fuck a piece of my mind. Before I could even process a thought, I had one foot on the balcony, and I could feel Dave reaching for me as I launched myself into space.
Wings, don’t fail me now.
But they did. As I fell like a rock toward a sea of bloody fangs and angry trolls, I pressed my eyes shut and thought of the pure sunlight of Harlow’s voice. Fly, fly, FLY, damn it!
Chapter 37.5
Here Comes the Rain Again
Harlow
You ever see someone almost lose his life? I have. Humor me while I go off on a tangent for just a sec.
Once upon a time, I went to a Monster Truck rally. I hadn’t really intended to, but the sounds of the crowd and the drug-addled trolls whooping and hollering from miles away had broken my sleep, to where even the omnipresent white noise of the landfill’s bulldozers couldn’t lull me back.
Just moments after I arrived at the show, a local kid—one of the Yoder boys, I think—attempted to drive a monster truck over a makeshift pyramid of clunkers. Inside the junkyard jewels were guys in white pit suits and racing helmets. They each sat, waving at the crowd from inside their soon-to-be crushed rides, their white-gloved hands a stark contrast to the rusty metal surrounding them, and the dusty dirt of the arena below.
The object of the show was obviously to incite panic and stress in the audience, so that when the “drivers” slid out the windows of each individual car just in time, the crowd would gasp in relief.
Yoder started up that truck. A twangy voice rang out through tinny PS speakers. “Watch, ladies and gents, as the Destructinator takes on a mountain of our own local kids. Those are some brave kids, ladies and gents. Let’s give ‘em a cheer.”
And everyone did cheer, and clap. For a while.
The truck did its thing, and as the cars came under its wheels, the kids all jumped out. All but one of them jumped out right away. The Destructinator rumbled as it climbed the mountain of twisted steel, and for a moment when it veered off balance, the crowd even gasped, for fear of seeing it flip.
But it didn’t flip. It caught traction, and climbed higher on the pyramid, where one last kid in white waited. Could he pitch himself out the window without hurting himself in the fall? Was he caught on something, or paralyzed by fear? Why wasn’t he moving?
The agitation of the crowd grew, and grew, until that kid finally pitched himself out the window, straight upward, catching the ladder attached to the side of the truck, and flipping himself into the truck through the driver’s side window. Of course Norman was fae, but the fairgoers didn’t know that.
The spectators didn’t know what had happened. They were screaming and cheering in relief, their collective adrenaline rush spiking off the charts—and as I looked around, I could see I was not the only troll who’d been drawn in by the fevered pitch of the fa
ir crowd.
“Ladies and gents, let’s give it up for our own Norman Dale Yoder and the Destructinator!”
Anyway, short story long, that’s how it felt watching Deb make her swan dive into the crowd below—only, this time I was the fair crowd. Last time I saw her, she had no idea how to handle her new fairy body. Her wings weren’t even out.
She was about to be torn to shreds by savage beasts, when her wings caught. I took a breath, finally, as her beautiful darkness twisted in midair and she coasted above the crowd, a vision of terror and power, her smiling face dripping blood, her fangs no longer concealed. My, how she had changed in her time with Jag.
But this was her DNA. Everything else had been glamour, mixed with the awkward reality of her own physical beauty, like a gruesome flower waiting to bloom. I knew there was combat to be had and mercurial circumstances erupting all around me, but all I could see for that moment was her loveliness, and it was a sight I will never forget.
The trolldrenaline was still pumping through me hard when Jag’s voice cut through The Eerie again. “Hey, newlyweds. Time for a little ‘Makin’ Whoopee.’ Bob, what do we have for them? Why, it’s a virgin sacrifice, complete with matching unicorn!” he said, answering his own question with unconcealed glee.
That was when I saw Gennifer. That was why Deb had jumped the balcony. She was Gennifer’s Protector, and there was nothing she could do but fly to her aid.
Gennifer screamed in terror, her eyes wild with confusion. She looked as though she would have cried, but she had obviously woken from a long sleep. I didn’t have time to think about what they’d done to her.
Among the cans of gasoline and ricks of wood, there were assorted iron-trimmed weapons. I counted them: four. A mace, a flail, a sword, a club. I envisioned myself swinging two of them, Deb taking the others. We’d get out of The Eerie, one way or another.
I moved to untie Gennifer, but the Rhinomen blocked me. The band and Othello were too pitifully weak to fight, but I broke a battle-axe over my knee, before Deb landed beside me, and we were too focused on getting her down to even speak.
“Aren’t they sweet, ladies and gentlemen?” Jag’s voice rang out. “My newlywed nephew and his beautiful bride.” The laughter of the crowd was tangible, the nasty mirth of the seedy fairy scum a wave of power all its own. Jag was feeding off this—I knew it. It was the troll way, and always had been. Stir up the crowd, feast on their emotions. The intensity of the stimulated magical folk was taking him to a new high, I was sure.
Deb glared at me, and I tried to tell her that it was okay, that it would be okay, but she held her hands up to the crowd as if to tell them to shut up, and stared up at Jag’s balcony box, ignoring me. You know your marriage is in trouble when your wife would rather listen to a cackling drug lord than accept your apology. She’d enlarged herself with her magic, until she towered over the stage.
“But it gets better, ladies and gents. See, Harlow’s got a job to do. As winner of the Battle of the Bands, he’s won a special honor. He gets to be the one to make the virgin sacrifice! And, oh, goodie, it’s his sister-in-law, Laurents County High School Homecoming Princess, Gennifer Avtalia Breedon!” Gennifer passed out, and for a moment, I saw a flash of baby tusks protruding from her mouth. I would have said sacrificing one of his own kind was a new low for Jag, but honestly? Jag was a bottomless pit of low.
“Queen! She is the Queen!” From somewhere else on the balcony, I could hear a woman’s shrieking voice upbraiding Jag.
Then, in his amplified tones, his laughter echoed through The Eerie again.
“Sorry, ladies and gents. The homecoming queen is our sacrifice—but not to worry, she comes equipped with her own Protector!”
The spotlight shifted slightly downward onto Deb, who now gave both middle fingers to the booing crowd. I couldn’t help but smile. I never loved her more.
“But, it’s okay, folks—because we have the honor of watching the newlyweds tear one another apart.”
Now it was my turn to speak out. He wasn’t the only one who could project his voice above the din of a crowd. “And what if I won’t touch her, Jag? How are you going to make me?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The Rhinomen prodded Othello in his back, toward the front of the stage where the drainage grates were. The crowd went wild again, and someone tossed up a bloody tree stump with more axe marks than I cared to count.
“Easy, son. Your old man may not be a virgin sacrifice, but it’s not every day I get to behead the Crown Prince of the Realm. Still feel like abdication was the way to go, big brother?”
My poor father wasn’t much more than skin and bones, but in that moment, I saw a steely reserve in his eyes, and he turned to face me. “Let him have me, Harlow. Get your girl and get out.”
I turned to Deb to tell her it would all be okay. We would grab Gennifer, the band, and my dad, and we’d get out of there alive. Heck, we’d even save that poor unicorn if we could.
Before I could even focus my eyes on her, I felt the sting of iron in the middle of my forehead.
Damn, Deb was good with a mace.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Love is a Battlefield
Deb
I hadn’t even told myself to grow big this time. I just had. Maybe it was the rage I felt at seeing Gennifer up there tied to a stake, maybe it was having my suspicions about this bizarro marriage confirmed by McJagger—I don’t know. I just know everyone around me got small, I grabbed a weapon, and clubbed Harlow with it.
I felt bad about it right away—not as bad as he felt, getting brained, I’m sure, but still. I don’t know why I did it. What was even weirder was the second I did it, my mouth started streaming blood, from where my wisdom teeth had once been. It was as if I couldn’t harm Harlow without harming myself.
He shook his head, as the crowd celebrated my strike. His dad—my father-in-law?—caught him as he swooned.
“Oh, God, Harlow. I’m sorry,” I said. I dropped the mace, and it stuck in the floor of the stage.
“Pick it up, girl! Don’t be a fool,” his father commanded me. He may have been old and mistreated, clad in rags, but there was something in his voice that gave me pause, even in the midst of the chaos. I trusted him.
“You’ve got to at least put on a show,” he said. “Sell it to the crowd, sell it to Jag—pretend you’re taking McJagger’s rules to heart!”
I didn’t know what to do, so I leaned down and picked Harlow up, baring my fangs. The crowd swelled with glee, and I could hear my mom and April above it all, screaming, “Bite him! Bite his head off!” I bet I was quite the sight, center stage, black as nightmare, my mouth pouring blood like Ozzy Osbourne only ever dreamed.
It was so off-putting, I couldn’t help but jerk my head back and try to spot them in the balcony. I squinted my eyes against the limelight, and it must have been a great effect, because the din rose.
“Deb,” Harlow mouthed, but I almost couldn’t hear him. I bared my fangs and made as if to bite him, my mouth on his neck, his lips near my ears. “We’re getting out of here,” he said. “I’m your Protector, I can’t hurt you—but I’ll give you back your teeth, you don’t have to be my wife, anymore.”
I threw him across the stage. I tried not to do it hard, but my rejection of the marriage covenant in any mention seemed to be overriding my good judgment.
Are fairies even capable of good judgment? I was starting to wonder. Being out of control wasn’t a pleasant feeling. I might be powerful and frightening, but I wasn’t enjoying it. Surely no one would ask for this state of being.
Or was it that he was rejecting me? Damn. I was too young for this.
Gennifer moaned on the stake and I knew I had to get over myself and get her out of there. The eyes of the band and Harlow’s dad were filled with hope and fear, as well. Harlow struggled to right himself, on the floor, and they helped him up, all eyes on me, the powerful Protector, the Wheeler, the wild card.
“Looks like a li
ttle marital discord, Bob,” Jag’s voice announced. “I wonder if our lovebirds are going to patch this one up!”
The crowd roared in laughter, as I held out my hand to Harlow. “Give me the teeth,” I shouted.
He put his hand on that pouch he wore around his neck, and hesitated. I wasn’t sure he could hear me, so I thought boom, and wouldn’t you know it? I was as loud as Jag. “Give me the teeth, Harlow.”
It was going down fast, and I could sense movement on the edge of the crowd.
“My baby! My baby!” It was Mom, shrieking down the center aisle. The crowd parted for her like she was royalty. Later I would learn that in a way, she was. Troll royalty. Explained a lot about my upbringing, really. “Debra, save my baby!” she commanded.
Harlow slung the whole mojo sack my way. I picked it up, and put it in my pocket. Even then, I knew I’d give it back to him. He must have known that, too, because even though Mom was leaping the stage to join the fray, he smiled.
He smiled, and he nodded his head, ever so slightly, toward the grates at the front of the stage.
The blood gushed down my face, but I didn’t care. I followed his smile, not for the first time, and what I saw through the grates told me it was the right thing to do.
Somebody saddle up the black unicorn. We were getting out of there.
Chapter 38.5
Happy Shiny People
Harlow
“It’s like a regular Price is Right down there,” Jag’s voice boomed. “I might as well come on down, myself.” The crowd surged with approval. “Should I? Shouldn’t I?” he asked, one foot perched on the top rail of his balcony perch. They jumped in response, jumping and flying, wings lifting them to hover at his feet.
Trolls climbed atop other trolls, like a moving mountain, and then, though I’m sure he’d have withstood the fall just fine, Jag fell backward over the balcony, arms extended, crowd-surfing the shoulders of fairies mid-air, as they passed him reverently to the trolls, then with the kind of stupidity only trolls can muster, they tossed him into the mosh pit.
