Page 39 of Of Flame and Fate
“What do I tell them?” Shayna asks me.
“I don’t know,” I say, muttering a curse. “That something’s not right. We have to get Destiny out of here.”
“Taran,” Emme begins, her face paling. “Destiny’s gone.”
Chapter Nine
I jerk right and then left.
“Where is she?” I ask, yelling to be heard when another chord from a guitar rings out and the crowd bellows with excitement.
“She was just here,” Shayna says, her tone reflecting my shock.
The throng of people in line for food and booze push toward us, hungry for Johnny to take the stage. “Don’t fight them,” I say, when Shayna tries to move against the group rather than with it. “Get to the front of the stage. She’s probably there.”
“And if she’s not?” Shayna asks, holding tight to her phone when someone bumps into her. “Everyone is moving forward, we won’t be able to make our way back up.”
“Then we’ll have to cut through the backstage,” I reason. “Whatever it takes, either way we have to find her.”
I keep Emme close when what feels like an avalanche of bodies shove us in the direction of the sunken arena.
“What’s wrong with them?” Emme asks, her attention bouncing along the rough and tumble crowd.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
The best way I can describe Johnny’s fans are zombie-like, blindly following their hero, with no regard for anything else. They’re in a daze, like they need their next fix, and only this rock god can provide them the drug they seek.
“Johnny.” The woman to my left cries, falling into her partner who cuddles her close. “I get to see him. I get to see, Johnny.”
“I know, baby,” her partner tells her, her cheeks damp with tears.
I curl my right arm into me, not only to keep her in line, but also to bring me comfort.
During the British invasion, millions of young women became obsessed with the Beatles. I never understood it, finding all those images of women screaming at the sight of John, Paul, Ringo, and George, disturbing.
Johnny’s followers remind me of those women, except it doesn’t make sense. They aren’t young teen women swooning, dreaming and desperate for love. They’re grown men and women better suited for biker bars and brawls.
“Koda, Gemini, and Bren are on their way,” Shayna says. “Tye is bringing them in with his helicopter.”
Emme stiffens at the mention of Bren’s name. I thought they’d made up, but it’s like every time they’re together, there’s this overwhelming tension, and it’s been going on for a long time. I think I know what’s happening, in fact, I’m sure of it. But Emme and Bren aren’t who keep my interest then.
“I thought Tye was under lock and key,” I say. The North American Were Council is the governing body for allweresin the U.S. and throughout Canada. “As the son to the president, the Alliance demanded his protection.”
“Come on, T,” Shayna yells. “Tye likes to be coddled just as much as Celia.”
“Good point,” I say, wondering who Tye had to maul to get free.
“Besides, you know him and Destiny are buds,” Shayna reminds me, slapping her hands over her ears when another strum of the guitar follows another, and another, the succession of musical notes growing more frantic.
“Who else is coming?” I yell, my voice competing and failing miserably over the cacophony of sound.
“No one. Everyone else is too far out.” Shayna scrunches her face, her small pixie features pained. “Something’s way wrong in Rockville, dudes. Let’s find Des and get out.”
Shayna drops her hands away from her ears. I’m not sure how she’s not losing her mind. The noise is killing my hearing, and mine isn’t as keen as hers. She removes the long silver chain around her neck and clutches it against her side. Very carefully and covertly, she manipulates the metal and changes it into a sword.
“The magic is getting stronger,” Emme says, her attention darting around. Like me, she’s expecting whatever this thing is to suddenly appear.
“It’s not getting stronger,” I say. I keep my gaze away from the mesmerized crowd and in the direction of the stage. “We’re just getting closer to it.”