by Jen Kirchner
Ryan murmured, “What’s it for?”
Nicolas’s eyes widened and both eyebrows popped high on his forehead. He leaned in close. “To control her massive undead army of zombies from a safe distance!”
Brad laughed, garnering a fair amount of swooning from the crowd.
Ryan looked at me expectantly. “Is that true?”
“No!” I hissed. They wouldn’t be zombies, they’d be animated corpses, and I had no idea how many I could control at once. Immortals were technically dead, and I could control them, but it was frowned upon. “Now shut up and smile!”
We stood there for a few more minutes, posing and making ridiculous hand-gun gestures at people we didn’t know, then worked our way down the red carpet. I was taking a photo with a fan when an overzealous reporter butted in and jammed a microphone in my face. Her voice struggled to be heard above the crowd. “Kari, do you think this will be Vis Viva’s comeback year?”
I smiled graciously and gave the answer that had been prepared by our PR company. “We’re so proud of the new record. We hope you love it as much as we do.”
“Do you think your fans will forgive you for the last album?”
I suppressed the urge to leap into the crowd and strangle the reporter. Our previous album was an experiment in acoustic music and the fans were not impressed. We hoped to win them back with our latest offering: a return to hard rock, this time with a symphonic edge.
“I think they’re going to be blown away.”
The reporter tried to ask me another question, but I turned away and made a beeline for the club. The guys saw me moving in that direction and joined me at the door. Inside, the nightclub was a shadowed, writhing mass. Scents of cheap beer, smoke, and sweat hung in the air. Our new single blared over the speakers. I almost didn’t recognize it; the DJ had turned it into an odd rock-techno hybrid. My voice had been warped through synthesizers and made to sound like a parrot. A spotlight hit us and the crowd erupted in cheers and squeals. A waitress was staring at Brad and ran headfirst into a wall. We waved back for a few seconds until the spotlight went out again, and then we didn’t move until our eyes readjusted to the sudden dark.
We walked to the VIP area in the back where five tables sat on a raised platform. Each table was segregated from the others and had a private dance floor, with the center table being the largest and most prestigious. Despite the event being in honor of our big comeback, the center wasn’t for us. The spot was empty except for a small card on the table that read “Reserved.”
Our table was just on the other side. On the way, we stopped to thank the other VIPs for coming. As I had expected, all of them were Brad’s ex-girlfriends, doing their best to look as if they had moved on.
Nobody was buying it.
We threw our jackets into our booth and moved to the last table, where our road crew and web team had been crammed together. I thought it ironic that they were the only people at the party we knew and liked. That’s showbiz.
A half hour into the event, I was having such a good time that I forgot about any presumed mortal danger from being without my bracelet. What I hadn’t forgotten was that the center VIP table was still empty. Our crew was talking about it and had started a betting pool over who the celebrity was going to be. I doubted anyone was coming, but I put down twenty bucks on a cheesy reality show contestant.
I had low expectations for the caliber of celebrity our band could bring in.
When the pot topped $200, Pasha decided it was up to her to solve the mystery. She grabbed her phone and purse and headed outside.
Ten minutes later she returned, charging up the stairs and looking uncharacteristically flustered. A few minutes passed before she could stop saying, “Oh my God!” and give us the news.
“Can you hear that?” she panted, pointing at the front door.
Of course not. The building was dark, music was blaring, and we were all occupied with trying to look perfect for the cameras. We could have been undergoing the primary stages of Armageddon and never would have noticed.
I slid out of the booth and stood up for a better view. A few people were trickling in from the red carpet, though no one was recognizable. The first four were women, tall and sexy, filled with more plastic than a Lego set. They were closely followed by three enormous men who could have passed as professional wrestlers.
The next guy through the door was someone I definitely recognized, and I wasn’t the only one. Deafening shrieks and screams filled the room, louder than the ones Brad received, which is why he, too, was getting up out of his seat.
I couldn't believe it. How did they manage to get Cody Springer out here? He was the A-list of the A-list.
Before anyone could catch me gaping at him, I ran back to the booth and slid in. Pasha followed right behind, slid in next to me, and stuck her nose high in the air.
“Check me! Do I have any boogers?”
I declared her free and clear and, without even asking, received the same courtesy.
Brad sat back down across from us, looking uninterested. “He was paid to be here. You know what we have to do now.”
Everyone at the table looked at me.
My stomach dropped to my feet. This was why the PR company had kept the guest list a secret: they wanted my surprise captured on film in the hope that the public would believe we had a romantic interest in each other. A fake relationship with Cody Springer could fix all of the band’s troubles.
I couldn’t screw this up. Opportunities like this do not knock twice.
We did a terrible job at acting natural; no one could take their eyes off of the mega-star until he slid into his extra-special VIP booth and disappeared from sight.
Pasha waited an entire two seconds before pulling me out of the seat. Then she jerked my neckline a little lower to show more of my cleavage. “Go get him!”
I pulled my dress back up and turned toward Cody Springer’s table. I walked slowly, almost dreadfully, skirting around the Plexiglas divider that separated our private dance floors, and approached the center VIP table. Eight people were crowded in the booth and Cody was sitting in the middle. The VIP king.
When I approached, their discussion came to an abrupt halt.
“Hi, I’m Kari Hunter. I just wanted to say thank you for coming to the party.”
To my surprise, Cody ordered the left side of the table out. The two blondes on the end immediately obeyed. Cody stood and cameras flashed from every corner of the room.
Cody Springer wasn't particularly tall, but he was dark and handsome and had a boyish smile that I liked. I tried reminding myself that this was a paid gig for both of us and I shouldn't get too attached, but it was hard. I hadn't had a real date in a year.
He leaned forward and I caught the scents of musk and machismo. He kissed my cheek in a polite greeting. I suddenly remembered I wasn’t supposed to engage in physical contact and took a half step back.
The corners of his chocolate-brown eyes wrinkled when he smiled. “You gave me a static shock. I’m not normally shocked by a beautiful woman.”
I giggled like an idiot and said, “Thank you for coming tonight.”
“I apologize for being late, but, you know, it’s fashionable.” He leaned his shoulder against the Plexiglas wall. “How long have you been here?”
While we talked, the cameras never stopped flashing. I was waiting for Cody to end it and dismiss me, but he surprised me with another idea. He leaned forward and put his mouth close to my ear.
“Would you like to go somewhere quiet so we can talk?”
The feeling of his breath on my ear temporarily scrambled my neurons and I blurted, “Yes!”
I didn't make eye contact with my party as we passed the table, but I could feel them staring. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ryan giving me a thumbs up. I made a mental note to kick him later.
Cody took the lead and strutted down the stairs. I followed him past the bar and into a side room used to cater private parties. The room was e
mpty and the only light was coming from the street. I noticed Cody had left the door wide open; we were standing in plain sight for cameras to catch us. This conversation had all the pretense of a friendly, private chat, but it wasn't. This was all part of the game.
He leaned back against the window. “This may surprise you, but I have all your records. A few years ago, I even caught your show in Stockholm.”
I hadn’t expected that at all. Cody was a fan?
“I was filming my first lead role at the time.” He flexed, making sure I could see every defined muscle through his shirt. “Not sure if you’ve heard of it, a little movie called ‘Terminal Domination’.”
Cody wasn’t known for mentally taxing movies. He was known for explosions and action, protecting the democratic way of life, and spouting idiotic one-liners while shirtless and oiled. God bless America.
“I loved that movie!”
He smiled again as if he knew I would say that. My brain turned to mush.
“This is a pretty quiet city,” he said. “How long have you lived here?”
“My entire life. You?”
“Originally from Detroit. I’m based out of L.A. now, but I have a few homes, including a top-floor apartment in Manhattan with a great view. After your party we're just going to take my jet back there.” His eyes drifted over me in a way that made me tingle. “Maybe you could come visit me there sometime.”
I felt my cheeks flush. Before my mouth could act on its own again, a very strong part of my mind throbbed, pulsing so hard it reverberated in my teeth. I knew it instantly as the fourth channel, where the magical consciousness of necromancers resides. When we were close to each other, we could feel it, and we could ping each other in the channel like sonar. I resisted the urge to slap my hands over my ears. My head instinctively snapped toward the window where the source of the disturbance was walking by. Our eyes met and my pulse shot up to a record high.
Mikelis Priedis looked good for the living dead, appearing to be in his late twenties, with short, dark hair and a stocky build, wearing his usual worn jeans and light jacket. He was taking a casual stroll on the sidewalk—an act that warranted every other immortal in the vicinity giving him a wide berth, crossing the street to avoid him entirely, or turning right around and running in the opposite direction. Either Mikelis didn’t notice how everyone was reacting to him or he just didn’t care. I had a feeling it was the latter. He had earned a notable reputation as the only necromancer to escape Ruairí O’Bryne, and spent two hundred years rampaging across Eurasia, using his captured enemies to fuel our bloody magical craft.
The channel pinged again, echoing in my brain. After all the years we had known each other, these pings and some occasional harassment were our only means of communication; our relationship hadn’t gotten off to the best start and repairing the damage was slow.
I returned his channel ping. Compared to his, mine was the pitiful wavering of a necromancer with no accomplishments. His dark, blue eyes flickered over at Cody and… What was that look? A question? Irritation? It was hard to know with Mikelis.
He looked away, and I watched him pass, walk around the corner, and disappear from sight.
I was surprised to see him since he didn’t hunt down here. Had Moons called him? His new haircut looked good. I wondered what he was doing tonight.
“Earth to Kari.”
I looked up, surprised to remember Cody was even in the room. His shoulders were flexed like a peacock ruffling its feathers, and he was pressed against the window, straining to get a better look at whoever had taken away my attention.
“You know that guy?”
I suddenly couldn’t remember why I had been so interested in Cody. Mikelis never looked like that. Mikelis always looked confident or ready to kick ass or irritated with me for toilet-papering his car.
“Never seen him before,” I lied. “Tell me about your latest movie. I'm sure you’re amazing in it.”
He smiled and instantly forgot my transgression.
I listened to Cody brag until I couldn’t take any more—which wasn’t long. Before he could start another story, I thanked him for coming to the party and said I needed to return to my guests. He looked slightly baffled but said I was welcome and walked with me back to the VIP area. We returned to our respective tables; I didn’t stop to introduce him as he passed. The gang all crowded around to hear my report.
“People took pictures of us. Mission accomplished.”
Pasha looked disappointed. “How is it you didn’t throw yourself at him?”
“I didn’t want his makeup smeared on my dress.”
Brad laughed and choked on his beer.
“Hopefully,” Pasha said, “by tomorrow the gossip columns will have the pictures up and will circulate rumors of your love child.”
“Is that what we’re going for?” I asked.
“We’re going for anything we can get. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Two diet sodas later, I needed to use the ladies’ room. I left my purse with Pasha and walked around the VIP tables to a short, utilitarian hall with an emergency exit at the end. The bathrooms were on one wall, with pay phones and a fire extinguisher on the other. This hall was part of the VIP area, so there was no line for the toilets, a small favor for which I was grateful.
One of Brad’s ex-girlfriends was primping when I walked in. I remembered her, but only just. She didn’t like me then, and I could tell she still didn’t, so I didn’t bother making small talk. I just went into a stall and didn’t come out until she was gone. After I washed my hands and fixed my hair, I walked out to the hall.
“Psst! Kari!”
It was a hoarse whisper echoing across the cheap tile, straining to be heard above the cacophony of the music. I stopped and looked around. No one was in the immediate area so I continued on my way.
“Kari!”
I turned around. I saw a pair of legs protruding from the phone booth and Cody’s head at the top, sneaking a peek out. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were flushed.
He darted out around the phones and grabbed my wrist. I glanced back at the main room, only to be blinded by excited camera flashes. I felt myself pulled a few steps. When my sight returned, my back was flat against the wall and Cody was standing over me, grinning.
“Hi,” he breathed, blasting me with alcohol fumes.
Cody's eyelids drooped and his gaze dropped. He smiled and asked my chest, “Why don't you come back with me tonight?”
I smiled politely enough to be sincere but not enough to be coy. “That’s very sweet, but I really can’t.”
He blinked at me slowly, trying to process rejection through a haze of alcohol. He pressed one hand against the wall, pinning me in. His other hand went to my waist. I squirmed at the contact, trying to get away.
“I can do great things for your career, Kari.”
My mind raced, searching for a method of escape. I had no necromancer spells of my own so I couldn’t even defend myself. I could knee him in the groin, but was that really necessary? It seemed so violent.
Wow. I really was the worst necromancer ever.
There was only one other thing I could do. It wasn’t a spell; it was another one of my stupid necromancer tricks. I pointed two fingers and my thumb at the floor and drew a large circle.
The supernatural plane wavered into view like a thin film. A small incision in the film started to run in a circle, following my hand movements. I flicked my wrist and gestured upward. The circle I had just cut out popped itself apart from the physical plane and obeyed my command, flipping itself over.
The disorienting thing about rolling the supernatural plane was, though the rolling gave everyone the sensation of falling, the physical plane remained right where it was.
Cody stumbled away from me in the direction that I had rolled the plane. I took my chance and bolted for freedom, but Cody thought I was also falling and grabbed me around my waist.
“I gotcha,” he mumbled.
“You’re gorgeous,” Cody slurred. “Those stocking-things are sexy.”
I put my hands on his chest and pushed, desperate to get away. Unfortunately, the act made him think I was coming on to him. He bent close for a kiss.
I moved my head. “Stop it, Cody!”
“Hard to get,” he mumbled. “Nice.”
A hand appeared on Cody’s shoulder and ripped him backward, freeing me.
It was Brad. His eyes were bright, cheeks flushed with anger, and muscles taut. I ducked behind him like an inept sidekick.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Brad snarled.
Cody wobbled but found his footing. Blood rushed to his cheeks. “None of your business.”
“She’s family so it’s absolutely my business.”
Cody took a step toward us, then to the side, swaying slightly. His hands came up as loosely-balled fists.
“Brad,” I babbled, “I’m okay. Let’s just go.”
He wasn’t listening. He was focused on Cody’s movements and neatly ducked the first sloppy swing that came at him. I screamed and ran out of the way.
Brad gave Cody a hard shove. The hallway lit up in a rapid succession of camera flashes.
Cody stumbled away but needed only a quick second to regain balance. Bent at the waist, he turned and charged.
Brad jumped to the side and used Cody’s forward momentum to push him headlong into the bathroom. The impact of Cody’s head on the door was loud enough to be felt, and his fine posterior disappeared into the ladies’ room. The door closed up behind him. Brad grabbed my hand and pulled me back toward the VIP area.
I looked back just as the bathroom door flew open. Cody emerged with a look of rage and sobriety that scared me.
“Look out!” I screamed.
Brad whirled around, fists up and ready to defend us. I hated violence and I didn’t want anyone getting hurt. I had to do something to stop this fight.
A flash of red caught the corner of my eye. I ripped the apparatus off the wall. The full canister was heavy, but adrenaline overcompensated for lack of strength. I jumped in front of Brad and raised it easily, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
