Chapter 4: The World's on Fire

The music blasted through me, charging my internal battery better than any amount of caffeine ever could for a human. Memphis launched himself onto the stage effortlessly.

"No amount of faith can help you no-ow!"

I grabbed the wireless microphone and took the final step onto the stage. I joined him, both in person and in voice.

"This is where the sinners congregate."

We met center stage. I planted my palm on his chest and leaned in close enough, I could’ve kissed him. We played off each other well.

"Let the freak flags fly. Go a little insane."

The sound paused. My eyes immediately directed to the large screen hanging above the side of the stage. My favorite part was coming. Memphis tilted his face downward, looking first at the wood beneath his feet, and then bringing his eyes back up slowly. Menacingly. Mischievously. It was so d*mn sexy. We, along with Bran and Jacoby, launched into the chorus.

"The world’s on fire! And we’re hemorrhaging desire! We just wanna take it higher! Rockin’ like there’s one night left to live!"

Memphis and I separated. He went to the right, and I left. Clasping my knees together for stability, I bent forward and reached out toward the crowd. My fingertips barely grazed those reaching back toward me, but it was a special connection.

"The world’s on fire! Throw your hands up in the air!" With an overwhelming roar, the crowd obeyed. "Stop pretending that you’re too scared! Leave your inhibitions at the door!"

We returned to the center. He lowered his voice and delivered the last line of the chorus alone. "The world’s on fi-re."

He took my hand and brought it to his lips, before stepping back and returning to the right side. It was my turn to take the lead.

"They might call us crazy, but d*mn we’re proud! Freaks are out in force, so baby, let’s get loud!"

I dropped the mic to my side and strutted across the stage. Memphis watched expectantly. When I reached him, I spun and pressed my butt into his crotch. His hand circled my forearm and pulled me tighter against him.

He lowered his mic so we could share it. "The fire’s gettin’ hotter every second we stay. Adrenaline’s pumping. We’re gonna waste the night away!"

As we went into the chorus again, I began to feel lightheaded. Blinking rapidly, I measured my breaths carefully, making sure to inhale a sufficient amount of oxygen during the pauses. I moved closer to the wing, just in case I needed a rescue. Memphis noticed.

He danced over to me, lowered his mic, and leaned in. "Are you okay?"

"I don’t feel right. I swear I’m spelled."

"Do you need to go backstage? It’s okay if you do."

I focused on his irises as they changed from hazel to green. "I’ll be okay. I think."

He nodded. I should’ve known that wasn’t the end of it. Rapidly snapping his fingers, he waved at Ken offstage and motioned to me. For the rest of the show, and possibly long after, Ken’s job was to babysit me.

The beat dropped to a quiet 4/4, and Memphis abruptly turned away from me. He dropped to his knees and crawled to the edge of the stage. His voice turned seductive, teasing the audience deliberately.

"Inside every angel is a demon on the prowl." He spun, kicked his legs over the edge, and dropped into the narrow alley. His free hand clasped the side of his head, fisting his own hair. "Better sell your soul if you wanna back out now."

After the last syllable, he turned his face upward. From a distance, I could see the red streaks left behind by his fingers, as he dragged them down his temple and cheek. His true nature appeared, just for a second. The tips of his fangs protruded from his gum and the shadows around his eyes darkened. The demon was, indeed, on the prowl.

He remained there, standing perfectly still. On stage, the rest of us froze in place, awaiting our cue. All at once, the beat dropped. Fireworks blazed from the front and both sides of the stage. Memphis bent his knees slightly and launched into the air, landing on the stage in a crouch.

The guys went into the chorus again, but I remained frozen. One of the men from the night before was in the front row. He wasn’t watching the show. He was staring coldly at me.

When I finally found my legs, I stumbled backward and reached out a hand for Ken. He swiftly grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him.

"What’s up, Fallon? You okay?"

"No. Get me out of here."

I could barely breathe. Whatever was happening to me, that man in the audience was responsible. I knew it. The more distance between us, the better.

Ken led me down the corridor to the dressing room, one arm wrapped around my lower back and hand firmly clasped to my hip. I grew more and more lightheaded, and my legs grew weaker with each step. My brain pounded against my skull, blurring my vision.

It was impossible, but I felt like I’d been roofied. It was a spell, no doubt. A strong one, too. I’d toyed with my own spells from time to time, but I could never imagine using one to hurt another person–vamp, dhampir, or human. And I barely tolerated humans.

When we finally reached the dressing room, Ken lowered me onto the worn, leather sofa. "What can I do? What do you need?"

"W-w-water." Was that my voice? Did that cracked, stuttering sound come from me?

The next thing I knew, Ken was gone, and a bear of a man towered over me. "You were warned," he growled.

I struggled to get up, but my body refused to cooperate. Panic began to set in. "Who-who-who who are y-you?"

If he answered, I didn’t hear it. His massive hand caught my throat. His thumb crooked around the hinge of my jaw and forced my head to the side. The smell of cigarette smoke and grease filled my nose. His fangs pierced my skin.

The pulls at my throat made my stomach turn. If it had been possible to vomit, I likely would have. My head bobbed against him. He was taking too much. He was going to kill me.