Page 48 of Runes To Rain
The other pulls the rope aside, and I walk into the alcove and deposit myself on one of the tall chairs that look towards the stage. I’m careful not to look toward Dio, but I might as well have not bothered because with his task complete, he turns and heads to the stage without another word.
I’m immediately bored and wish I had brought some books.
With nothing else to do, I watch as fans start to mill into the space, rather quickly filling the massive open room and beginning to overflow into the tunnels at the back. The security guards move around me, watching to make sure no one encroaches on the alcove, and occasionally glancing in my direction.
Then, suddenly, the concert starts. The band runs onto the stage, and they each begin to grab their instruments as they welcome the crowd. I can barely hear what they’re saying with all the screams, shouts, and whistles, but I have to admit I have the best seat in the place. The alcove is raised slightly, so whileI’m a significant distance from the stage, I can clearly see over the crowd.
When The Boys begin to play, I can’t help but get caught up in the performance. The crowd is wild. I have no idea how we can still hear the music. There must be some magic to it because the crowd roars so loudly that it sounds like a massive, angry beast. They’re swirling and moving to the music. I can’t imagine how people aren’t being trampled; maybe they are.
As the set continues, I find myself watching the band. Their focus and joy as they play to the crowd is clear.
Watching Reem play the banjo and occasionally provide vocal accompaniment while blending in with the group is lovely after seeing him assume the role of leader all the time.
Lent’s serious side comes through as he focuses on his guitar and backup vocals. He is clearly a talented musician.
Fem looks more joyful than I’ve ever seen him as he throws himself into playing the fiddle that is tucked under his chin.
Despite my best intentions, though, it’s Dio who most captures my attention.
By the time they’re three songs into the set, his hair is tousled and he’s removed his suit jacket. By the fifth song, he’s rolled up his sleeves slightly and unbuttoned his collar. He’s completely immersed in the music and the crowd, and his passion for the music shows clearly across his face.
I feel disgusted with myself for not being able to look away from someone who’s caused me so much pain.
Then, suddenly, I’m scrubbing at my chest, which I belatedly realize has been aching for a while.
Distracted from the band, I look for my guards and see them resting near the entrance to the alcove, their focus trained on the performance. One guard is mouthing the words to the song the band is playing. As I glance back up, I catch a spot of brightness at the edge of my vision. My fingers tighten into a fist involuntarily as though grasping a sword hilt I don’t have.
The angel stands in the crowd, but instead of facing the stage like everyone else, he’s facing me. He stares directly at me even as I stare back, his gaze predatory. The stillness of him as he stands among the moving crowd is familiar. Like a monster in the water.
As I watch him, my chest continues to ache more strongly, and I scrub at it again, trying to make the pain go away. My gaze moves for a moment, and I catch another spot of brightness. There is a second angel, also standing in the opposite direction of the crowd. This angel is also staring at me.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and the ache in my chest continues to increase despite my efforts. I’m suddenly brought back to a different time, a different crowd, and then a fight in the street.
The cartographer in my head directs me to the guards.
I move closer to one of them and, even leaning toward her, have to shout, “I need a restroom.”
She looks uncertainly at the other guard, who moves closer, and I hear her repeat my request.
The other guard looks at me and shakes her head as she yells back, “The band was very clear, miss, you’re not to leave this space. They must be close to done.”
The ache in my chest increases, and I can see the angels still standing unmoving in the swirling crowd, still staring at me.
I wince at the pain in my chest and shout, “Please, I REALLY need the restroom.”
“Oh!” the guard closer to me says and nods as though she’s just understood some big secret. She leans even closer to me and, directly into my ear, says, “I’m sure those men wouldn’t think to expect a woman’s issues, right?” She nudges me gently with her elbow, a friendly smile on her face.
I have no idea what she means, but since she seems willing to take me, I just grin back at her and nod.
She turns back to the other guard and they confer for amoment before she gestures to me with her head to follow. With that, she leads me along the back of the massive room, through the crowd, and to a small, crowded restroom.
She cuts the line with me and claims one of the small rooms as another woman leaves. The next person in line begins to yell at us, but I leave the guard to deal with that mess and escape into the bathroom.
Still allowing my instincts to direct me, I think of Malam and speak his name clearly and as quietly as I can in the small space. Almost instantly, there is a swirl of black, and then he’s standing in front of me. He smells of earth, and his short-sleeved, black, linen shirt is rumpled. He doesn’t have shoes on.
I grimace, thinking of his bare feet on the dirty bathroom floor.
He stares at me, and we both freeze for a moment. Then his face goes hard as he says, “Are you ok?”
