Carter, a Born vampire who we went to college with, nods to me and Jordan as we sit down. “A couple times, actually. They’re pretty good.”
“They’re average,” Jordan responds. “Amelia keeps insisting we go to their shows because she’s fucking their guitarist. I’m not sure what she sees in him.” He nudges me as he laughs and I can see him stiffen when I don’t laugh too.
“It’s the blonde hair,” I quickly joke, trying to keep things light. I add on a little laugh. He puts his arm around me and I lean into him, running my hand up over his other arm and smiling. I move in for a quick kiss.
He grins back at me and squeezes my shoulder. I wince a bit, but then his grip relaxes so I do as well. “Good thing you’ve got much better taste, huh, Bliss?” he teases, nipping at the spot on my neck that he bit into earlier. I had to use cover up to hide the bruises he left, since my power well isn’t full enough to heal them on my own.
“Anyways, Twisted Limbs is a bit too old school for me. They’re boring,” Jinx says, glaring, though not at anyone in particular, I try to remind myself as his gaze meets mine. He breaks eye contact quickly, though, looking at Jordan, who’s smirking in agreement.
“I dunno, I like that about them,” Carter responds. “I’m excited to see them live.”
I smile at Carter, who smiles back. “Me too. It’s gonna be a good show.”
I can feel Jordan’s eyes on me, his grip tightening. But before our conversation can continue, Amelia’s tall form appears to my left and I glance up at my sister. “We’re gonna go backstage now and hang out a bit with the guys before the show starts. You coming?” She levels the question at me, completely ignoring Jordan, though I know she wants the whole band there to mingle and rub elbows with the other musicians. Her version of networking.
“Fine,” Jordan mutters with a heavy sigh.
“We can hang out more with your friends if you want, babe,” I say, throwing a pleading look at Amelia. She crosses her arms and waits expectantly with an eyebrow raised.
“It’s fine.” Jordan gets up out of the booth, pulling me along with him.
Amelia leads us backstage to a little area where Twisted Limbs and their crew are waiting before the opening band goes on in about thirty minutes.
Jordan takes my hand in his, but his eyes aren’t on me. They’re scoping out all the musicians around us.
Amelia spots Blake and flings herself around him, peppering him with kisses on his face. “Hey!” she says. “We wanted to wish you good luck. You better play my favorite song, or I’ll never sleep with you ever again.” She winks at him and Blake laughs.
“You heard her, boys. We better alter that set list or I’ll be missing out for the rest of my life.”
Amelia grins at him and he gives her a quick kiss on the cheek. They’ve never dated, but he’s probably the closest thing Amelia’s ever had to a relationship.
He smiles over at me. “Hey, Bliss, loving the pastels.”
“Thanks,” I say, looking down at my outfit, then smiling back at him. “Good luck up there. Not that you need it,” I add. Jordan grips my hand hard. I wince and look up at him. “You’re hurting me,” I whisper to him. I wave apologetically to Blake and Amelia as I tug Jordan off to the side.
“Why does he always flirt with you?” Jordan mutters under his breath.
“What?” I look up at him in surprise. “He’s not. He’s just being nice.”
“He wants to get in your tight slutty succubus pants.” Jordan rolls his eyes and lets go of my hand. “I’m gonna go find Jinx.”
He heads off in search of his friends, leaving me to stare after him, going over my interaction with Blake. He just complimented my outfit and I wished him good luck. Did I use a flirty tone? I don’t think I did. I sigh and make a mental note to make sure next time I don’t accidentally flirt with anyone.
I shoot one last lingering look at Jordan’s back as he opens the door leading out of the backstage area. It slams shut and myshoulders droop, but I don’t follow him. Best to let him cool off. I’ll make sure to show him how much I care about him later. Turning back around, I spot Taser and I head towards him, standing awkwardly next to him as he exchanges banter with Blake.
I half listen in on the conversation, my mind wandering, bouncing between how to make things right with Jordan and how I don’t really know what I’m doing back here. I’m not a musician, not really. I can play a few things on the piano but not super well. As Taser and Blake are discussing what guitar to upgrade to next, I’m reminded of how much I don’t really fit in anywhere, despite being Goddess’ Trance’s manager. I rock a bit back and forth on my heels, my eyes roaming around the backstage area. Blake’s band is scattered, some just talking, some checking over their equipment. Amelia is chatting with their drummer, Reese, and Tubbs.
I look over to the corner closer to stage left and see four guys standing a bit further away from everyone else. They’re all masked and I wonder how I’m just now noticing them. Three of them wear black, structured masks, made out of dense embroidered fabric. There are no eye holes, giving the impression that the men can’t see through them. A pair of golden, skeletal fingers wrap around the masks, like someone long dead is covering their eyes. Those same three wear all black, except for the tallest one. A rainbow scrunchie decorates his left wrist.
The fourth guy is wearing a lacy, black, hooded robe that’s open to reveal his torso, which is painted in a blueish black grease paint. Something iridescent smatters his skin in patches. They shimmer in the light, like black scales. His face is covered by an intricate black metal mask. Skeletal fingers also cover his eyes, but instead of gold they look to be made out of mother-of-pearl. His hood casts the top of his mask in shadow. As I lookcloser, I see all the members have that same black grease paint on all exposed skin.
I try not to stare at them too much, but I can’t really help it. They’re whispering to each other, though the one with the more elaborate costume seems just to be standing there, only looking at the others every once in a while. He’s angled slightly towards them, but he keeps his head down. I wonder if his mask is heavy.
I tug on Taser’s sleeve, interrupting his conversation with Blake. Nodding towards them, I ask, “Who are they?”
Taser follows my gaze and leans in to be heard over the rest of the conversations around us. “That’s Voracious Maw. Kind of up and coming. I think they’re from the UK. Blake met them last year after some festival and asked them to open for a few shows here. They only use stage names. The one with the unique mask is Wrath. The taller guy is Eerie, their bassist. The shortest of them—that’s Mist, the drummer. And the guitarist is Poison.”
“What’s with the costumes?” It wasn’t unheard of in this genre, but something about theirs intrigues me.
