by Unknown
She held me at arm's length, her voice taking on an unfamiliar oily tone. A lavender gleam simmered in her eyes, a reckless move in this potentially-hostile environment. "I really want to cause an incident, Sophie."
"Relax," I said, alarmed by her intensity. "It was just a weird mistake. I'm okay."
"So we can go. I'm over that drink, anyway. I thought you said it was tomato juice?" She glared up at Toby who just laughed at her.
"Ah," I said. "We can't go. I kind of told Dierk Adeluf we'd go back to meet him."
"Who?" Dahlia rubbed her nose.
"Dierk Adeluf." Toby swallowed, eyes widening. "You have to go."
"We all have to," I amended. I lifted the pass. "He gave me this."
"He gave you a what? Let me see!" Dahlia grasped the pass with two hands and pulled it close to her face to examine it, apparently not realizing that its cord was looped around my neck. "Oh, wow. He's with the band!"
Toby just grinned at her and wiggled his brows behind her back. Dahlia got drunk quickly and it was always a good time.
I freed myself from her enthusiasm before she choked me. "You can come with. I don't want to go alone. Psycho groupies and stuff. I hope it doesn't come to it, but can you still fight?"
"Don't need to," she said. "My compulsions are registered weapons in six states."
"Wow, Toby." I wiggled my eyebrows at him, trying not to laugh. "You, ah, got your hands full tonight."
"You ain't kidding." He gently reined Dahlia back and steered her in the direction of the stage door and I followed behind.
Anticipation began to cancel out the stress of the previous mishaps. Backstage with Turn of the Wheel. This might be totally worth cancelling a few credit cards, after all.
For nearly twenty years, I've known Dierk Adeluf's voice.
I learned it listening to CDs and watching videos. Smooth like a cello, desperate like a warrior's dying cry, ragged like a raging beast. Dierk Adeluf sang with tremendous range and I knew all of his voices.
Sitting an arm's reach from me, speaking casually about the last week, his plans for another music festival, some mix-up at the airport, Dierk used a new voice. No production tricks, no dubbing, no myriad of vocal lines. One voice, one sound. Simply Dierk, speaking.
The sound fascinated me; it needed no musical accompaniment. His laughter was smooth and full-throated, a superior sound that managed to include, rather than exclude, everyone around us. German being his native language, his accent gave odd emphasis to certain words, occasionally leaning heavily on first syllables and cutting off ending r-sounds.
Dierk wasn't a glorious rock star. Even back in the 80s, when wardrobe and hair were every bit important as the music, he tread the non-adorned path, settling for straight hair in a bangless cut, jean jacket and high top sneakers. He looked like a roadie, not a front man.
When he opened his mouth, all doubts disintegrated. His voice was his presence.
I started listening to Turn of the Wheel when I was in high school. They played a lot of thrash and speed metal back then, disdained by my head-banger girlfriends. They were more interested in Joey Tempest's supernaturally-perfect hair and the leather fringe on Don Dokken's jacket. (Have to admit, it was wonderful fringe. I still YouTube those old videos whenever I need cheering up.)
My then-boyfriend was the only one who seemed to understand me. Jared used to tell me I had more than one soul inside me, because no one person could possibly have so much vehement interest in such a vast assortment of styles. Ironic that he was sort of right; unfair that he didn't live long enough to learn the truth.
It was the progressive side of Turn of the Wheel's music that attracted me and over time I was well-rewarded for my loyalty. During the nineties they polished their style. Many of their lyrics retold old legends and great Tolkienesque tales; they sang of battles and tragedy, bards and minstrels, heroes and villains.
If they tossed a bit of thrash in from time to time, I didn't complain. Music was supposed to be fun.
So while my best friends would try to sneak backstage when the big bands came to town, teasing her hair up and snapping on studded bracelets, I settled for jeans and great boots (yes, it had always been about the boots) and my cassettes, because Turn of the Wheel wasn't about raunchy glam rock and tour bus antics.
They were noble.
They toured once or twice in the States when I was newly graduated from college and work obligations kept me from throwing in for a road trip and a rock show. They kept playing, kept producing, and I faithfully bought their CDs, always impressed with the depth and the effort. Dierk had more youth and vivacity in him now at forty than I did back at twenty-five. Of course, that may be because he wasn't lugging around a dormant oracle somewhere in his brain or being oppressed by a burdensome career.
Considering my admiration for the band, I found it quite surreal to be lounging backstage with them. Could life have thrown me a more exciting slider? Although I was by far the least hip-looking chick in the room, I had to be the happiest.
Dahlia and Toby hovered close by. Judging by the power signatures there was quite a variety of species in attendance. Mostly Were-like voids, almost too many for my comfort; I reminded myself that many DV knew how to completely shield while many humans simply didn't "care" enough to emit a detectable vibe unless I really looked.
Tonight, I wasn't looking.
I was too distracted by Dierk's voice and the comfortable, familiar way he spoke to me. I was too consumed with not acting like a boring nerd. I was also all too mindful of the fact that not everyone loved the Sophia and I didn't want to advertise my presence any more than absolutely necessary.
After being presented with my wallet—found in the trash but completely intact—I'd joined a circle of people who lounged in a grouping of cushioned chairs and old couches. I ended up sitting closest to Dierk, our knees near enough to touch if I scooted a little bit to the left. Some of the band were there, too, as well as a diverse group: Were voids, plain people, me.
Dierk and his lead guitarist, Janssen, took turns describing humorous mishaps from their last tour. Dahlia slid through the crowd, sinking onto the couch next to me. Leaning close, she whispered so as not to interrupt the speakers. "You okay, Sophie?"
"Are you kidding?" I squeezed her leg. "This is amazing. I can't believe we're back here."
"Yeah, how 'bout it?" She grinned, but I knew something was weighing on her mind.
I thinned my barrier and brushed against her power. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I—I was wondering if you were ready to leave, actually."
I couldn't glean anything but didn't want to risk dropping my shielding any further amongst these strangers. Couldn't be sure who would be listening. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just—it feels really crowded. I can't explain it."
"Oh." I didn't want to stay if she wasn't comfortable. She was probably suffering from Were overload. I glanced at Dierk, who caught me looking at him and smiled.
It was a nice smile.
I couldn't keep from mirroring it. Turning back to Dahlia, I wanted to heave a huge disappointed sigh but held it in. Fishing around in my purse, I dug out my keys on their Hello Kitty key ring. Throwback to the Eighties Sophie, that's me. "You know you come first, Dally. Wanna meet me at the car? I need to say goodbye first."
She squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry. I know I'm ruining your time, but…thanks."
She took the keys I held out to her and left.
Dierk marked her departure with a thoughtful glance and leaned close. "Everything all right? Your friend didn't seem to be enjoying herself."
I smiled an apology. "She's ready to leave, so…I should go. I just hate to leave this."
"And I hate for you to leave…but I understand. May I?" He reached behind him to pull out his wallet and slid out a card. "This is where I'm staying. Would you call me tomorrow? I'd like to see you again before we leave."
I tried not to swallow my tongue. "Sure. Who knows?
Things might run a little smoother. That whole thing with the drink and the wallet wasn't my idea of a good time."
"All things happen for a reason. Sometimes the reason is petty. I apologize again for Cacilia."
"Don't mention it. Really. I'd be happy if I never had to see her again."
"You judge her too harshly but, then again, you are somewhat entitled this evening. She didn't flaunt any of her positive qualities. To be safe, I'll walk you out."
Oh, I liked the thought of that. "Deal."
Dierk stood and extended his hand to help me to my feet. Enjoying the courtly gesture and thinking how well it suited him, I slipped my fingers into his.
The moment we touched, a zing of electricity passed between us, a thudding jolt of shock that made me snatch my hand away.
"Yikes!" I shook my hand and rubbed my fingers against my jeans, feeling the tingle ride up my arm to my elbow. "A little static there. Sorry."
Dierk didn't reply. He gripped his right wrist, wriggling his fingers, eyes wide with disbelief. The people who'd been sitting with us were on their feet, conversations forgotten. Silence spread out from us like cracks on an ice-covered pond. Everyone stared at us.
"Um, what's wrong?" I thinned my barriers and skimmed, trying to pick up a clue without being too obvious. The few DV signatures were as clueless as I was.
Stohl pushed his way over to us. "Dierk, what was that? My hair stands on end."
"That was her." Dierk looked intently at me, his expression hard to read.
"What?" I backed up a step. "Oh, not this crap again. Dierk, can we just go?"
Stohl paid no attention to me. "Her? You must be mistaken."
"I'm not." Dierk glanced at him briefly before training his eyes on me once more. He looked at me like he had no idea who I was, as if I hadn't spent the last two hours sitting across from him. "You know I'm not."
"I can't believe this. Her?"
"What about her?" Cacilia squeezed between Stohl and the circle which had formed around us. "And what was that lightning I felt?"
"Quiet, Cassy." Stohl growled at her. "Now is not the time."
"Oh, yes, it is." I hiked my purse and stepped around Dierk, searching for the door. "It's time I left."
Stohl rolled his eyes. "Sit down. You are not going anywhere."
"Stohl." Dierk announced his name like a command. He seemed to shake whatever had spooked him and he raised a lone finger toward his friend. "Do not speak to my woman in such a manner."
"She's a groupie, mein König."
Dierk crossed his arms over his chest. "She's my mate."
"Mate?" Oh, hell to the absolutely no, I wasn't. "I don't know what you planned, Dierk, but whatever it is, you planned wrong."
"It is not I who has decided."
Cacilia glowered, rage spilling up in a flush across her pale cheeks. "You can't mean—"
Dierk cut her off by turning his back to her and stood between me and the others. "Sophie, listen to me. Did you feel that shock?"
I looked around warily at the circle that had formed around us. Boots or no boots, I was beginning to hate being noticed. "Static. So what?"
"Not static. No carpet, and you are wearing non-conducting soles besides. Hold out your hand. I need to tap your hand three times. Be not afraid. It will not hurt."
I tuck my hands under my arms. "This is ridiculous."
Stohl appeared over Dierk's shoulder. "You are overreacting, Dierk."
Dierk closed his eyes. "Silence."
His voice carried to the ends of the room. There was silence. Instant, deafening obedience.
"Now." Dierk returned his gaze to me. His voice was gentle when he focused once more upon me but no less commanding. "Hold out your hand."
Trembling, I raised my palm, fingers splayed. As I did so, I pulled up every layer of barrier I could and tried to hold steady.
His expression was serene, the slightest hint of a half-smile on his mouth, as he extended his index finger and pressed it to the center of my hand.
The shock zapped down my arm once more and I jumped. Several of those standing closest flinched. Cacilia turned her face up toward Stohl, outrage in her eyes.
"Dierk." I decided it was okay to be frightened now, considering the circumstances. "What the hell is going on?"
He ignored me. "Stohl. Tap her hand."
I yanked my hand back with alarm. The big bully looked like he'd rather tap me with a sledgehammer.
"Do it." Dierk's voice had fallen to low notes that rumbled over each other.
I summoned my courage and raised my hand again, staring defiantly into Stohl's face. He hesitated a moment before poking me.
Nothing happened. I smirked and crossed my arms, watching him skulk back to Cacilia's side. Dierk moved to stand in front of me again.
"Sophie, your hand. Once more, then this will be over."
More confident that whatever had been happening was just a bunch of nonsense, I lifted my fingers a third time. Dierk's hand descended and I held my breath. The tension in the room was palpable. Dahlia wasn't kidding; it was crowded. The sooner I got out, the better.
When our skin made contact, the shock that snapped between us made me cry out in pain and surprise. Dierk closed his eyes and bowed his head as he raised clasped hands to his mouth in a gesture of prayer. A hum of whispers and muttering moved through the crowd.
"No." Cacilia's brittle voice rose above the others. "Not her. I refuse to abide."
My nerves screeched as I passed my breaking point. "What is this, Dierk? What are you doing?"
"Not I. It is the moon."
"The moon? What does that have to do with anything?" Crowded turned to oppressive and the air became too thick to breathe.
"Everything. We are hers." Dierk lifted his head to reveal eyes the color of golden October glory. "We are Were."
Out. Out. Get out now.
All I could think about was getting out of there. Away from him, away from them, away from the horror of his words still hanging in the air between us.
I backed away, first one step, then another, before turning and fleeing. I had to get out. Now. The crowd parted, their heavy gazes pressing in on me.
The stage door banged open against the wall, echoing through the now-silent auditorium. The stage was black and empty, the concert hall devoid of life. My heels clacked, sharp desperate sounds that bounced up into the darkened heights.
Worry made me feel ill. It crept in, settling over my chest and my stomach. The urge to sit and wait for it to pass was almost as strong as the need to get away. By the time I got to the foyer doors, I struggled to keep my momentum.
Fear pushed me toward the bright lights of the street entrance, a promise of safety. Yet every step I took was accompanied by an increasingly leaden feeling. My insides were twisting. Stretching.
By the time I reached the street doors, my feet dragged. The sick feeling had spread like fog. I felt disoriented, lost. What could I do? I had to get out but how can I get home like this? Where was the car? I couldn't remember.
I pushed myself to the curb, praying for a taxi. I didn't think I'd make it to the bus stop on the next block. I couldn't even stand up straight.
I paced backwards to the theater windows and sank back against the glass, eyes closed, feeling the cool bite of wind on my cheek as a tear slid down. Never before in my life had I felt as I did now.
Cars streamed by in spurts as the traffic lights changed. The sound was rhythmic, as was the rush of blood in my ears. I measured time with the thunderous noise of my heart.
Gradually, slowly, the fog thinned, the wrenching inside lessened. I inhaled with relief, finding my feet, opening my eyes. I guessed I just needed to collect myself after the spook and the rush. Now, time to get lost.
I stretched out an inquiry, hoping against hope that Dahlia was close by. Not only was there no Dahlia, there was no DV, period. Long shadows on the corners surrounding this end of the block revealed individuals, and I reached for each one.
Were. They were all Were. They'd set up a perimeter—a Demivamp-free one.
I couldn't even bum a ride. Public transportation it was, then.
Raking a hand through my hair, I turned to check my reflection in the glass to make sure I didn't look too disheveled before setting off for the bus stop.
Dierk stood behind me, the window between us, one hand pressed flat against the pane. There was a long space between breaths as we gazed across the glass at each other. He looked apologetic, his chin wavering with a slight shake of his head.
He pulled his hand away and his mouth moved. Although I couldn't hear his voice, I knew his lips formed my name. Stepping over to the door, he pushed it open with his left hand, silently entreating me to come back inside.
Somehow, I knew I hadn't a choice. With a heavy sense of resignation, I did as he commanded.
Not knowing what awaited, not knowing what mess I'd gotten myself into, I went back into the theater, to the Weres who waited for me.
"Are you all right?" Dierk's voice was quiet, almost tender in his concern.
"Now. For a moment there I thought—wait." I looked at him closely. "How did you know?"
"I don't like seeing you suffer. I knew it would be difficult for you but I had to be sure."
"Sure? Of what?"
"Of who you are."
Oh crap, I thought with a sinking feeling. Dahlia was right. I'm screwed. The jig is up, Sophia.
He still wore his usual look of gentle amusement. By now, I'd realized it was unintentional. Dierk wore that pleasant expression when he wore no other.
"Come back inside," he said. "We need to decide what to do next. This is a most unexpected turn of events."
"I really don't think it's a good idea," I said, my voice shaky. "I should go. My friends are—"
"Gone." He waved out toward the street, a dismissive gesture. "They know you will have a ride home."
"Yeah. A cab. Now."
"The door is there." His voice was mild. "I would never make you do anything you don't want to do."
I watched him for a moment, unsure what to do. When I saw he would make no move to stop me, I backed up to the door and went out.
