“Er,” said Christian. “You need water! I know this because humans … need to drink water. For living.”
He stopped himself from adding, “this is just one of the many things that I know” and shaming himself further.
He led her up a steel flight of stairs into the labyrinth of corridors and curtains that counted as backstage, and then they went on a quest for a water cooler. Christian was beginning to get panicky over not finding one, so when Faye appeared and zeroed in on him like a manicured torpedo he actually felt a moment of relief.
But the usual paralyzing terror kicked in when she smiled at him, her white teeth like a row of tombstones. Christian suspected his name was written on every one.
“Chris, you have to go to your dressing room. Bradley and the others are already in makeup!”
“I want to get Laura some water,” Christian said decisively so that Laura would not think Faye bossed him around, and so that she might forget the mention of him putting on makeup.
“And of course Laura should have water, shouldn’t you, sweetheart?”
Laura looked at Faye with fear, which showed she was smart as well as pretty.
Faye clicked her fingers and her evil-twin assistants appeared, possibly out of the walls. Whenever Faye clicked her fingers it was as if she’d rubbed a magic lamp—her wishes were instantly granted. Christian had a theory that reality was scared of her too and so bent to her will.
“Water her,” said Faye. “Give her a place to watch the show. I love her. She’s news.”
Laura was led very firmly away. Christian cleared his throat and said: “I’ll see you after the show!” in a voice that cracked. She just stared at him with beseeching eyes, unable to escape from the custody of the dreaded Marcel and Marcy.
“Thanks very much, Faye.”
“Thank
“Faye, please don’t. I’m scared of you,” Chris pleaded, terror making him blunt.
She stopped at the door of their dressing room, reached up and pinched his cheek between two pointy fingernails.
“I know you are, my little vampire cupcake. Now get in there.”
Christian’s dressing room was alarmingly large and had lights that reminded him of the lights in the TV studio, dazzling and oppressive.
He felt a lot more oppressed when he was tackled into a large leather chair by several women who looked at him with cold, dead eyes and wielded powder puffs with no mercy.
His first concert seemed like it was going to be as much of a nightmare as his first television interview by the time he was released by the powder-puff torturers and staggered with the others out toward the stage. His skin felt caked, and it shimmered under the neon lights.
“Lookin’ good,” Bradley drawled.
“Bite me,” Christian snapped, then shut his eyes and recited from the pamphlet. “
“Okay,” said Bradley. “4 The One, are we ready to
“Er, yeah!” said Josh.
“Sorry, what was that?” asked Pez.
“I cannot believe you just said that,” Christian squinted at Bradley. “I am judging you so hard right now.”
“Okay, never mind,” said Bradley. “Josh, remember to pop your hips, we don’t want a repeat of what happened last week. Let’s go!”
They walked out onto the stage, which was bathed in purple and pink spotlights, the noise of screams rising to greet them from the pit and the sound of a loudspeaker blaring behind them. Christian winced.
“The moment you’ve all been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen. This is … 4 The One!”
Bradley strode over to the microphone as Christian was swinging his guitar strap over his head, settling the instrument against his hip, fingers touching the strings and getting familiar.
“I wrote this song myself,” said Bradley—a barefaced lie. He sounded just like he did when he was waggling his eyebrows. “It’s called ‘Lock Up Your Daughters.’ And to all the mothers out there, I suggest you do!”
There was a scream of approval. “All the mothers out there” seemed to be intending to lock up their daughters, so they could have Bradley for themselves.
Pez started in on the drums, and they swung into the song. It was a good song, catchy. Christian liked these songs best, when everyone was playing instruments and Bradley was actually singing, his voice improbably good for someone with such an annoying laugh. These songs made up for the ones where Bradley, Pez, and Josh did a weird synchronized dance with enough hip-popping to cause injury, or at least induce high blood pressure in the crowd.
Christian was deeply thankful that Faye had told him he didn’t have to dance, though his role of standing in front of the wind machine with his cape blowing and his hair falling into his eyes as he leaned in and murmured into the microphone was not significantly better.
He was even more thankful for an opening song like the one they were playing now, the crowd singing along, Bradley’s voice convincing them that they all knew the words. Christian could be a little quiet at times like these, sink into the background, once again be the shy boy who loved his guitar and dreamed of being a superstar.
He liked it when that boy stirred briefly back to life.
Between the curtains to the left of the stage he saw Laura dragging a box as close to the stage as she could get without being revealed. She dusted off her hands and perched herself on top of it as he watched her. She noticed him watching and shot him a smile, blushing, giving him a sidelong glance as if they had an in-joke.
He looked at the box she was sitting on and realized they did. He smiled back at her and then turned his smile to the audience, loving them all, loving the band, loving the girl watching him from the side of the stage. His heart beat as theirs did for a minute, all of them swept away.
Euphoria carried him through the concert and the dash back onstage to play that first song again as an encore. Safely backstage, the band members were all laughing and breathless, the humans’ skin warm and sweaty. Bradley put his arm around Christian and Christian let him, even leaned against him. Bradley’s other arm was around Pez, and Josh was not keeping his distance from Christian like he usually was. They were a team for an instant, victorious.
Then Pez said: “That was an awesome rehearsal. When are we having the concert?” and Bradley let out a crack of laughter. Christian pulled away and turned to Laura.
She was still sitting on her box, face turned up to him like some pale flower turned up toward the sun.
He reached out a hand to her and she took it.
He said: “Do you want to go for a walk with me?”
“I love walking in the night time,” Laura told him shyly. “Do you?”
“It beats walking in the day time. I barely get any exercise done before I burst into flames.”
Christian regretted that as soon as he’d said it. Here he was with a beautiful girl on a nighttime stroll and he’d said something that roughly translated to, “Yes, the scenery is very nice, which reminds me that I am the blood-drinking undead. Check out the teeth!”
He tried to look at the night as she was seeing it, deliberately crossing his eyes so his vision blurred a little, so that what was clear and rather dull became mysterious shadows. A tree heaped with dead leaves at the end of the road became a towering oak wearing a bright crown. The moonlit road became a silver path of infinite possibilities.
“It’s a beautiful night, though,” he said softly, and almost believed it.
He was rewarded by Laura slipping her hand in his. Her hand was warm, and he curled his fingers around it, hoping at least to shield it from the night air and keep her warm, even if he could not share any real warmth with
