Mary-Allison Flagstone
Adam stands like he’s guarding me against the “VIPs” who encircle us. We watch a mass of people below all move as one with emotionless tunes exploding from a DJ on stage. Lights and lasers dance to the music, coating the mass and us. Only in between multi-color streaks and the shadows they create can anyone hide. And I’m sure that’s where the vampires feed. The VIPs don’t seem worried about who sees them while they take blood shots and taste the wasted. ‘Where is Christopher… I hope he’s okay.’
Adam’s eyes stick to me. When I try and catch his stare, he darts his attention. He’s halfway dressed in black armor; armor I believe to have belonged to God’s Shadow. There’s still goodness inside Adam, despite how long he’s been trapped on Belzaar, or whatever atrocities God’s Shadow has forced upon him.
“Not your kind of music?”
Adam’s face lights up when a shade of blue finds him from below.
“Not my kind of scene.”