[Santa Olivia 02] - Saints Astray

by Jacqueline Carey

  “I hate this,” Donny murmured.

  “I’m sorry,” Loup said, feeling contrite. “Look, do you want to release us from our contract? I’m sure Magnus would negotiate a settlement.”

  “Nah.” He lifted his head. “That’d be a load of bollocks, wouldn’t it? Anyway, Rand would have a fit. Now that you’re here, he’s decided you’re his muses or something. And the fans are excited.” He was quiet a moment. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about the first time I saw you, eh? Walking across the stage with that kid over your shoulder like she didn’t weigh a thing.”

  “She barely did,” Loup said.

  Donny smiled. “Yeah, well… it wasn’t just that. It was the way you moved, the way you stood. Everything.”

  “You do have it bad,” Pilar said with sympathy, closing her magazine.

  “You know what it’s like?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled ruefully at him. “Believe me, I know exactly what it’s like.”

  He eyed her. “Any chance of a three-way?”

  “No!” they said in unison.

  Donny heaved another sigh. “Worth a try.”

  THIRTY

  Their second official gig went better than the first. Afterward, the band autographed photos, T-shirts, and various body parts for a handful of lucky fans with backstage passes.

  “Hey, now.” Loup peeled a determined fan off of Randall, unwinding her clinging arms. “Let the nice singer go.”

  She squealed. “Ooh! Mystery Girl! Can I take a picture with you?”

  “Nope. I’m working.”

  Cameras flashed anyway.

  Randall tossed his bangs. “Welcome to show business.”

  “Yeah, great.”

  There was an after-party at a nearby club. The band demanded döner kebab on the way. Pilar consulted her Dataphone and directed the limo driver to a hole in the wall with the best late-night Middle Eastern takeaway in the city.

  “Fuck me!” Charlie chewed blissfully. “How’d you know about this place?”

  “Research. There was an article in one of my magazines that listed döner kebab as one of your top-ten favorite things. I’d never even heard of it before.”

  “Research, huh? I like it.”

  Pilar smiled. “Guess I kind of like it, too.”

  More cameras flashed at the after-party. The band and their entourage were hustled into a VIP room.

  “Hey!” one of the paparazzi shouted as they passed. “Mystery Girl! Over here!”

  Loup blinked at the flash. “Ow.”

  “Told you,” Pilar murmured in her ear. “One way or another, you’re gonna end up a star, baby.”

  “Yeah, but this is just bizarre.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that the world’s a pretty bizarre place,” Pilar said philosophically. “At least your pants didn’t fall down.”

  “No thanks to you.”

  She hooked one finger inside Loup’s low-slung waistband. “It just looks so fucking tempting.”

  Loup caught her wrist. “Pilar Ecchevarria, I swear to God, if there’s a photo in the tabloids tomorrow of me with your hand in my pants, Sabine’s head will explode and we will so get fired.”

  Pilar laughed.

  “I’m serious!”

  “I know, I know! It’s okay, no one’s watching. And they don’t allow cameras back here.” She sobered. “I like hearing you say my name. I kind of miss it, you know? Every time someone calls me Ms. Mendez, it feels wrong.”

  “Me too.” Loup squeezed her hand, steering it clear of her pants. “But we’ll get them back someday. We’ll help fix things and make it right. Make the world a little less weird. We just have to figure out… Okay, quit looking at me like that.”

  “I can’t help it! When you get all heroic, I just want to grab you and kiss you until you can’t breathe.”

  “Yeah, and I’m two seconds from letting you.” She nudged Pilar’s hip. “Go take your smolder over there and scare away that girl Charlie’s hitting on. She looks awfully young to be in here.”

  “Okay, fine.”

  The night ended with a very crowded limo ride back to the hotel, giggling girls—all at least eighteen years old—sitting on the band members’ laps.

  “So what are you?” one of them asked Loup curiously. “I mean really?”

  Randall nuzzled her neck. “She’s a werewolf.”

  She squealed. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Growl for them, Loup.”

  “I thought I was the future face of humanity,” she reminded him. “Fearless, wild, and free.”

  “Fearless, noble, and free,” he corrected her. “But that was before I heard you growl. C’mon, please?”

  “She’s not a trained animal,” Pilar commented.

  Charlie giggled. “Dance, monkey, dance!”

  “Shut up!” Donny punched him in the shoulder. “You’re a bloody asshole when you’re pissed.”

  “Please?” Randall repeated. “I really do want to hear you do it again. Please?”

  Loup rolled her eyes and growled softly. It was a low warning sound without as much menace, but it was still inhuman enough to silence the limo.

  “Ohmigod!” the girl said, wide-eyed. “I can’t wait to post about this tomorrow!”

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Donny said quickly. “Loup’s… um, Lupe’s situation is kinda complicated.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Loup gave him a thoughtful look. “Pilar and I talked about it before we took this job. People should know. I mean, part of the problem is that the U.S. government is denying that people like me even exist. No one else seems to want to tackle it head-on. Sabine says I can’t be… what was the word? Extradited? So why not let Kate’s fans spread the word? They’re already doing it anyway. It’s bound to come out.”

  “So Loup’s going to become the poster child for werewolves,” Pilar added.

  “Pilar!”

  She laughed. “Loup’s not a werewolf,” she assured the apprehensive-looking fans. “That’s just a joke, okay? But she is the product of genetic engineering. Sort of.”

  “She’s a geemo? For real?”

  “For real,” Loup agreed. “Except that I wasn’t made in a lab. My father was. My mother was normal. I’m a genetic mutation.”

  One of the fans shivered. “That’s trippy.”

  “Yeah.” Randall tossed his bangs. “Real trippy. It’s giving me some ideas for the new album. About what it means to be human and all. And the fear thing. You can’t feel fear, right?” he asked Loup.

  “Nope.”

  Randall’s girl wriggled on his lap. “That’s deep!”

  “Yeah.” He slid his hands under her shirt. “Real deep.”

  “It’s not, really,” Loup said pragmatically. “It’s a kind of being stupid. There’s a good reason people feel fear—”

  “Baby.” Pilar nudged her. “I think they quit listening.”

  “Huh.” She watched the band members make out with their fans, kissing and groping. “So much for deep.”

  Pilar smiled. “It is deep, you know. More than you realize.” She trailed her fingertips along Loup’s bare forearm, tracing the subtle curves of muscle that shifted under her smooth skin. “What did Father Ramon say the night before the big fight? About how you weren’t a leader, but you were something more rare?”

  “Yeah, it was some word I didn’t know.”

  “I had to look it up, too.” She stroked Loup’s palm. “Catalyst. Something that causes a change without being changed itself. That’s you, baby. These boys don’t know what they’re in for.”

  “You think?”

  “I know.”

  “Okay, you’re doing it again. The look.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Pilar said. “They’re not going to notice.”

  “Oy!” Donny surfaced for air, his expression wounded. “I am.”

  “Sorry!”

  Back at the hotel, they saw the band and their chosen groupies safely ens
conced in the suite, which was considerably cleaner and tidier than it had been.

  “You can stay, you know.” Randall waved a bottle of whiskey at them. “Stay and party. It’s cool. Mission accomplished. You’re off the clock.”

  Pilar looked sidelong at Loup. “Thanks, but no.”

  “It’s late,” Loup agreed. “I’m tired.”

  “That’s a big fuckin’ lie,” Donny mumbled. “Look at her!” He waved drunkenly in Loup’s direction. “Told you I was right about the togs. Looks hot. You’re gonna go have sex with hot, crazy tongue tricks, aren’t you?”

  Charlie perked up. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Donny, come here.” Pilar kissed him sweetly on the cheek, ignoring his glaring groupie. “Quit thinking about it, okay?”

  “I’ll try,” he mumbled.

  “Try harder.”

  In the hotel room, Loup stripped off her security gear. “I’m gonna shower. It’s really hot under those lights and I feel like I’ve had other people’s hands all over me all night long.”

  “You kind of did, baby.”

  “Yeah.” She made a face. “Stage rushers. It’s crazy. If this keeps up, I’m gonna be causing more security problems than I’m solving.”

  Pilar kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed, folding her arms behind her head. “It’s all about the PR. You’re a novelty act and they’re going to exploit you for all it’s worth. Randall knew exactly what he was doing with that werewolf thing. He might have been drunk and horny, but he’s not dumb.” She paused. “Does it bother you?”

  “Being treated like a trained monkey?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  Loup shrugged. “Yeah, I kinda hate it. But if we can make it work for us, I’ll live with it.”

  “Devious.” Pilar smiled. “Hurry up and shower. I’m going to get in bed. It really is late.”

  A few minutes later, Loup reemerged, warm and damp and clean. She slid under the sheets to join Pilar, propping herself on one elbow. “So we’re really gonna let this happen, huh? You’re not gonna try and talk me out of it?”

  “Nope.”

  “You think it’s a good idea?”

  Pilar blew out her breath. “I didn’t say that. It’s a pretty fucking ridiculous idea. But in case you hadn’t noticed, ridiculous seems to work for us. And anyway, like you said, it’s already happening.” She touched Loup’s cheek. “I want the same things you do, Santa Olivia. I want my name back. I want to be able to go home. I want the truth to get out. Okay, now you’re doing it.”

  “Doing what?”

  “That big, shiny-eyed thing.”

  Loup smiled. “Can’t help it. You know, we could just go to the press and tell the truth. Tell the whole story.”

  Pilar shook her head. “I’m not willing to take that big a risk, baby. I mean, I believe Sabine because she’d rather die than get her facts wrong, but governments do lie about that kind of stuff. We oughta know. Or what if they decide they need to take you into protective custody like Miguel? You’d hate it.”

  “True,” she admitted.

  “And I’d hate it even more.” Pilar kissed her, then gave her a long, serious look. “I told you, I never, ever want to lose you again, Loup. Ridiculous or not, being the mysterious poster child for geemo werewolves is a lot safer than being you, so let’s just see what happens, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  A week later they were in Australia.

  The first gig of the tour was at a stadium in Perth. Loup was backstage pounding happily on the portable heavy bag when Bill Jones appeared, a wadded black T-shirt in one hand.

  “C’mere.” He beckoned to her. “You oughta see this.”

  She followed him to the dressing room where the band was prepping under their manager’s supervision. Pilar was in the far corner, talking quietly to someone on the earpiece of her Dataphone.

  Randall lifted his head from his notebook. “What’s up?”

  Jones tossed the wadded T-shirt at him. “Bootleg merchandise. Some punk’s selling these in the parking lot. Very popular item.”

  He shook it out and held it up. KATE was emblazoned across the chest in grainy white letters. Underneath was an equally grainy print of Loup in her security attire, legs braced, head cocked.

  “Whoa,” Loup said, startled. “Where did that come from?”

  “Fuck.” Randall contemplated the shirt. “Geordie? We didn’t license anything like this, did we?”

  The manager winced. “No.”

  “Well, we’d fucking better, don’t you think?”

  He eyed Loup. “Umm…”

  Pilar ended her call. “Not so fast, guys. I don’t remember anything in our contract about using Loup’s image for promotional purposes.”

  Randall gave Loup a yearning look. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  She glanced at Pilar.

  Pilar smiled sweetly at Randall. “Are you offering a percentage or a flat fee?”

  He blinked. “A flat fee?”

  “Five percent,” Geordie said quickly, intervening. “This fad is a flash in the pan. It won’t last.”

  “Gross or net?”

  “Net.”

  She shook her head. “No way.”

  He sighed. “Okay, okay. Five percent gross. We’re not going to be able to get them into production until the end of the tour anyway.”

  Pilar was already dialing. “Oh, yes we are!”

  The crowd in Perth was huge and wildly enthusiastic. It was still predominantly young, predominantly female—but there was a visible contingent of non-teenyboppers. They were a little older, a little edgier. One managed to clamber onstage while Kate played one of their works in progress. He thrust lanky, tattooed arms into the air, hips gyrating to the snaking bass line.

  “Ohh-kay.” Loup scooped him up and slung him crosswise over her shoulders, wearing him like a yoke. “Here we go.” His arms flailed and his feet kicked. Donny faltered on the drums, but Randall kept singing and Charlie’s bass line went lower, growling and feral. She turned a few times, then whipped the stage rusher upright and lowered him back into the throng, where eager arms received him.

  The crowd screamed.

  It was like that all night.

  By the time the tour bus rolled into Melbourne, Pilar had arranged a photo shoot with a local photographer and coordinated with the promotions and merchandising people.

  “C’mon,” she said to Loup as soon as they checked into the hotel. “Put your sexy togs on. We’ve got a nine a.m. appointment.”

  Loup yawned. “Can’t we reschedule for later? I hardly got any sleep on the bus.”

  “Nope. This was his only opening. We’ve got to act fast if we’re gonna get the stuff into production.”

  “Okay, okay!” She splashed cold water on her face and changed her clothes.

  The photographer, Lane Staggerford, was an older man with craggy features and a shock of unruly gray hair. He admitted them to his studio without ceremony and took Pilar’s chin in his hand, tilting her head this way and that, studying her.

  “Very pretty,” he said impersonally. “Good skin, too. You can take strong lighting.”

  “Um… thanks. It’s not me. I’m Pilar… uh, Mendez. We spoke on the phone?”

  “Oh.” Staggerford let her go and glanced at Loup. “You, eh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gave her a longer, hard look, then nodded slowly. “I see it. Cute kid, but that’s all on the surface, innit? There’s a lot of there there.”

  Pilar showed him the bootleg T-shirt. “This is the fake version. We want to produce something like it, only better.”

  “Ah.” Staggerford examined the image. “You want iconic.”

  “Iconic?”

  He smiled a little, furrows deepening around his mouth. “Powerful. Symbolic.”

  “Yeah, exactly!”

  Staggerford nodded. “Take off your jacket and go stand over there,” he said to Loup, nodding at a white
backdrop. She obeyed. His smile deepened. “Oh, yes. I think we can do iconic.”

  For the better part of an hour, he photographed Loup. She struck pose after pose at his direction, patient and uncomplaining.

  “Right,” he said when they finished. “I’ll print twenty of the best shots and a contact sheet and send them over this afternoon. You’re staying at the Crown Towers?”

  “Yeah, we are. Can’t you just email them to me?” Pilar asked.

  Staggerford gave her a look. “You’re going to reproduce a printed image, you need to see a printed image. I’ll send the files after you’ve seen the photos.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  The photos arrived in the early afternoon. Pilar called Geordie. They woke up the band and assembled in their suite to review the photos, spreading the glossy black-and-white prints across the dining table.

  “Nice,” Randall mumbled. “Real nice.”

  Charlie cracked open a beer. “Uh-huh.”

  “Don’t do that.” Pilar took it away from him. “If you start drinking now, you won’t stop and you’ll be trashed by the concert.”

  “Will not!” he protested.

  “Yeah, you will.” Randall tossed his bangs out of his eyes. “Whaddya think?”

  “This one.” Donny pointed unerringly to a shot of Loup standing with her weight on her right hip, thumbs hooked in her low waistband, her gaze direct and challenging. He sighed. “Definitely this one.”

  “Yep,” Pilar agreed.

  “You sure?” Geordie shuffled through the photos. “Lots of good shots here.”

  They exchanged a glance. “We’re sure,” Pilar said.

  “Let ’em pick,” Randall said. “They know what’s gonna appeal to the… whaddya call ’em? One in a hundreds?”

  Donny sighed. “Yeah.”

  “And the others are gonna buy the shit anyway ’cause it’s the trendy thing to do,” he finished. “They don’t care what it looks like.”

  “Okay.” Pilar pulled out her Dataphone. “I’ll get the file from Mr. Staggerford and send it on to promotion. We’re just doing white on black, right? T-shirts and camis?”

  “Hang on a tick.” Geordie caught her arm. “I’ll need to see the final design to approve it.”