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I’d already thought about it, but I didn’t have the heart to put my foot down. Rhea had done so much for me, and she’d proven a wise mentor and dependable friend. “I will.”
I said my good-byes—promising I’d let her know how my conversation with Maisie the next night went—and then promptly reneged on my promise about considering the Liminal experiments by pushing the entire issue from my mind.
By the time I made it back to the apartment, I’d totally forgotten about the concert. So when I walked in to find everyone waiting for me I paused.
“What’s up?” I asked slowly, tensed for bad news.
Giguhl crossed his arms. “You’re late. Again.”
I closed my eyes and silently cursed to myself. “Right. The concert. Sorry, guys.”
“Don’t let him give you shit.” Adam came forward and gave me a hug. “We’re still waiting for Pussy Willow anyway.”
As if his comment summoned her, the door to the apartment swept open and a vision in a black wig, leather pants, and a purple latex bustier sashayed in. “What’s up, bitches?”
“Wow, PW,” Adam said. “That’s quite an outfit.”
She blew a kiss at the mancy. “Thank you, darling!” She turned in an elaborate circle. “Are my pants too tight? I had to do my industrial strength tuck to fit in these babies.” She patted her boyish hips with pride and shot Adam an expectant look.
Adam shot me a wild-eyed plea for help. “That depends,” I said. “Did you intend for them to be tight enough for everyone to see your pulse?”
“Of course!” She threw back her head and emitted a throaty laugh. When she stopped laughing, she gave me a judgmental once-over. “Sabina, darling, can we talk about your ensemble?”
I frowned and looked down at the jeans and black T-shirt I’d thrown on earlier. “What about it?”
“You’re not seriously wearing that to the concert.”
“Um, yes, I am.” Granted it wasn’t the most glamorous outfit I owned, but who did I need to impress? Besides, I wasn’t about to take fashion advice from a lady-man whose fashion motto was “the more rhinestones the better.”
“Oh, honey. No, no, no.” She looked at me like I was a misguided child. “Don’t you want to look hot for your man?”
“Hey, don’t pull me into this,” Adam said. “She always looks hot to me.”
I patted him on the arm. “Good answer.” I shot PW a superior look, but she executed an exaggerated eye roll. I had to bite my tongue to keep from calling her out for her rudeness. Ever since she’d decided to be a full-time chick, her sense of humor had gone from sassy to bitchy. And not fun bitchy, either. All her jokes were as cutting as barbed wire and her dependence on passive aggression grated on my last nerve. So, yes, I bit my tongue. But the day was coming when Miss Thang was going to go too far.
“Can we go now?” Giguhl said into the tense silence following my exchange with the faery.
“Sure,” I said. “Just as soon as you change into cat form.”
A puff of green smoke erupted where he’d been standing. When it cleared, his little hairless body merged from the puddle of black sweatpants. “Bael’s balls, Red! Give me some warning next time.”
“Quit your bitching.” I rolled my eyes. “You know you can’t show up as a demon. There will be hundreds of mortals at the concert. Now go find your sweater and we’ll head out.”
He hissed in response and went to weave his way through Pussy Willow’s legs. The fae bent down to pick up the bitchy cat. She petted his head with her recently manicured silver-tipped fingers. “Don’t worry, Gigi. I have the perfect outfit for you. Some people might prefer to look frumpy”—she shot me a pointed look—“but you, at least, will show up in style.”
17
The audience clogged the dance floor like arterial plaque. Humans, mostly. Kids dressed in black with multiple piercings and enough angst to power the Eastern Seaboard.
“Um,” Giguhl hissed into my ear. “What the f**k are they doing?”
I turned my head to where he sat on my shoulder and had to squint. The club was dark, but the rhinestone skull on his knit cap reflected the stage’s lights and nearly blinded me. I don’t know where Pussy Willow managed to find Ed Hardy cat clothes, but she’d wasted her money. Instead of looking tough, he looked like a tiny, hairless douche bag.
In response to his question, I shrugged and watched the scene below with a grimace. For some reason, the fans of Necrospank 5000 enjoyed nothing more than taking a saliva shower with five hundred of their closest friends. Not that I was one to judge, given I’d consumed blood from hobos and ra**sts. But seriously, what kind of freak enjoys having strangers spit on them?
Adam stood next to me, his arm casually draped around my waist. “Just be glad Erron sent us balcony tickets.”
“You’ve got to admit, there’s something about that Erron Zorn,” Pussy Willow purred. “I still can’t believe y’all didn’t introduce me to him in New Orleans.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I said. “What with the battle for our lives and all, there just wasn’t time for proper introductions.”
“They’re certainly loud,” Georgia yelled. Her fingers were stuck in her ears and she cringed to buffer herself from the pounding bass line. She’d been quiet on the way over and hadn’t said much since we’d arrived. I wondered if part of her mood had to do with the fact she hadn’t heard from Mac. I hoped that seeing the werewolf the next night at the first Roller Derby practice might improve her mood.
Erron stood onstage with his head thrown back and his arms spread wide to receive the spit shower. He wore tight leather pants and little else, except for a self-inflicted chest wound he’d scored into his skin with a razor. The song he sang was a ballad of sorts, and by that I mean it had a slow tempo. The lyrics weren’t much different from all the others—lots of macabre symbolism accented with creative variations on the word “fuck.”
I turned to Adam. “I think this is the last number. Let’s head down.”
On my shoulder, Giguhl growled. “Dammit! Already? We only got to see three songs!”
By the time we got Giguhl dressed in his outfit and found a cab to the club, we’d ended up arriving halfway through the concert. In my opinion, this was far from a tragedy. But I suspected Giguhl would have plenty to be excited about backstage if the after-party was anything like the other Necrospank shindig we’d witnessed.
