What a night. Time to ring the bus driver and get to the hotel, Skype Tilly, and relax with a movie and a bottle of wine before calling upon sleep to blot out the last few hours.
A clanking, metal-on-metal noise sabotaged Brian’s effort to calm down. He whipped his head in the direction of the offending sound. In the kitchenette sink, a black handle jutted from the working garbage disposal.
He shut off the switch and pulled out the object, coming face to face with a ten-inch chef’s blade with something stuck to it. Brian plucked the errant bit magnetized to the metal, blinking as his rational mind struggled to categorize the finding. A bottle cap? An earring? No. He stroked the smooth contours of a familiar charm between his thumb and forefinger.
He held the crystal Helen gave him moments ago. No mistaking the thing, glimmering like a diamond even in minimal light. What in bollocks? No way this trinket could have travelled to the kitchen from the dashboard. He set down the knife and plopped the rock in his palm, leaning down for a closer look. A hot poke of pain impaled the middle of his hand in the exact spot that bothered him on stage. The stone fell from his grasp when he jerked, clattering against the ground.
Brian glanced askance at the crystal on the floor. Wasn’t time to head back to the hotel yet. Not before he confronted Helen and figured out the real story with her.
Four
As crew tore down the stage with the choreographed precision of NASCAR pit mechanics, Helen blazed a path through the dispersing crowd. Skies darkened to a denim jacket shade of indigo, draping packs of jean-clad teens goofily flirting over funnel cake and popcorn.
A musical chair ride whizzed through the air, its tilted ellipses casting off cones of hot pink light. Riders swung dangling legs as screeches rocketed toward webs of stars, but the exciting atmosphere slid right over Helen.
With any luck, the new crystal would keep Brian safe. She turned beleaguered thoughts to the Lisa problem.
Though a rainbow of megawatt colors brought the after-dark fair alive, Helen’s spirit dragged through littered dirt. She didn’t blame her best friend for passing on the backstage visit.
Lisa had lacked the patience to tolerate Helen’s hemming and hawing about the nature of the good news, but how was she supposed to deliver it?
Guess what. Today I found out I’m a witch, and I’m going to use my powers to save us. Except I hexed someone by mistake, so that’s an issue. But still, yay me. Right? No? Oh, okay. Bye.
Would she ever stop making catastrophic mistakes? A red plastic cup crunched underfoot. While Helen stooped and collected the litter, a familiar voice nabbed her attention.
“Hear me out. I know it sounds nuts. But I think I can get Shepherd on board. It’s all in the pitch.” Mr. Sideburns spoke in a hushed, secretive tone, a mouthful of food gumming up his words.
Helen rose to stand and crept in the direction of the Fyre staffer’s voice. The sound of his speech drifted from behind a pea-green food trailer.
“I hear you, I hear you, and I don’t blame you for not wanting to mess with those forces. Try not to freak out. I’ll have more details after the summoning ritual in Wyoming. Come on, man. Led Zeppelin did it. I want Fyre to become the biggest rock band in history, don’t you? We all win in that scenario.” He belched.
Mess with what forces? Advancing, she settled at the rounded end of the vehicle on wheels. Puffs of smoke billowed from the service window, dragon’s breath carrying the aroma of grilled meat.
The employee singing along to a crackling radio didn’t seem to notice her presence. Good, he was occupied with cooking and music. Routing her attention back to the task at hand, Helen crept closer.
“Look, I can’t say for sure it’s a demon. The book describes it as an energy, a force, desire distilled. But if I can get Shepherd to join with it? Jackpot. I found a vessel that looks like it will work for the sympathetic magic.”
Her insides flipped. A sinking sensation pulled her center of gravity to her knees, and the edges of her vision blurred. Mr. Sideburns’s menacing comment about a vessel might tie in with the hex, the thing in the picture. But there was a distinct positive. Sideburns talked with arrogant bluster, but fear trembled below the surface of a tinny voice pitched low for maximum manly impact.
Helen could pinpoint insecurity quivering under cockiness, having lived behind a similar shield for most of her teenage and adult life. Couldn’t let those foster homes pick up on her weaknesses, though no matter how hard she tried to project confidence and assurance that the current home would be The One, she got sent packing.
She corralled meandering thoughts. No time to mope over the lost years. She dove deep into her brain. Joe mentioned a book. He might know Nerissa or practice witchcraft. And this vessel for sympathetic magic? She had a good idea.
Sucking in one of the centering, full-belly inhales she’d learned in yoga teacher training, Helen found strength in the tattoo on her foot. Frida Kahlo’s quote, “I paint my own reality,” decorated her arch in looping, whimsical font. No better way to create one’s own reality than by taking control of a situation.
Helen might have enough flaws to fill a clown car, but she was nothing if not assertive. Brian noticed one of her positive traits, too, picked up on it with incisiveness. His acknowledgment of one of her good qualities became fuel.
She walked around the back of the vehicular food stand. Sure enough, there stood Mr. Sideburns, stuffing a soft taco in his face and hunched over his phone like a shifty ghoul.
Though nervous energy sprinted through her body
