“Mimesis?” I asked, confused.
“It can shift, copy and blend in with the environment; mimic light, colors and textures. It becomes almost invisible to the human eye. You will not be able to see it, no matter how hard you look. Darkness is its best cover, the perfect environment in which to blend in.”
“It’s like Tristan’s fading?” I asked, remembering Tristan’s special ability during his first year as a living boy.
“Not quite. It has the same results but the mechanism is different. Tristan’s trick worked more by the way of stepping partially out of your reality, and this being basically copies patterns, like your chameleon does. I do know it frightens easily with light.” Vigil pondered. “If you need to defend yourself, find something that produces light. It should scare it away from you. If you are positively certain you have found it, use the marking on your wrist and call me. I am the best option to seize this being.”
“Oh. Okay, got it,” I muttered grudgingly, not at all appreciating his patronizing tone.
“I am serious, Joe. I am best equipped for this. Do not try to do it by yourself. Call for me,” he repeated. “It is a dangerous magical being with a lot of tricks up its sleeve. Believe me on this; I have been constantly reminded of that.”
“OKAY, fine. You don’t need to say it again, I’m not stupid.”
“I was not in any way insinuating your absence of intelligence. I merely pointed out the known stubborn streak in your personality.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I waved a hand at him, annoyed. “So, to sum it up, I’ll be here serving as human bait so when this thing comes back, I call you, you zap in and grab the sneaky little bugger and problem solved?”
“Correct.” He straightened his clothes with a satisfied smile. “Well, that was a very productive talk,” he exclaimed, sounding as close as he got to happiness. “We have a plan of action in process, and soon this nuisance will be all over. You always come to the rescue, Joe Gray. I am very grateful for your help, as always.” He bowed lightly.
“No problem, V.”
He stopped mid-bow and raised an eyebrow at me. “You and your habits of nick-naming,” he said, slightly amused.
“You know you love it,” I teased him.
He had a mocking smirk on his lips, but he didn’t contradict me.
“Well, I shall be going now. Take care, Joe. Call me if anything strange happens,” he said, and gave me a curt nod before blinking out of the room.
I went to bed in a much brighter mood. Now I knew what I was dealing with, the true nature of this furtive shadow thing. I had a plan in action and I also knew the sneaky little bugger’s weakness.
But, just to be on the safe side, I grabbed the baseball bat and placed it by the side of my bed, put a flashlight on my nightstand and left the bathroom light on.
I woke up late in the evening as Harry burst into the room.
“No, no, Harry! This is not your room, dude,” Josh said in a hushed voice, pulling him back into the hallway as I sat up in bed, startled.
“Sorry, go back to sleep. Harry ran ahead of us and we couldn’t stop him in time,” Tristan apologized from the doorway.
“He had a little too much to drink tonight,” Sam explained, while trying to hold Harry up with Josh’s help.
“Harry, it’s time to go to your room now, okay?” Tristan ordered, pulling Harry firmly into his own room. Wide awake now, I followed them.
“What? Nooo! I’m not tired! Let’s go out again. I’ll bet we can meet some chicks. I’m single now, it’s time to celebrate!” he said, trying to walk right back out of his room, but Josh pulled him easily towards the bed again.
“No, you’ve had enough for one night. It’s time to get some sleep, buddy,” Tristan said.
Harry slumped onto his bed and scowled at us all.
I sat down on Harry’s bed, smiling at him.
“Joeyyy. You’re here! You’re the best! You know I love you so much, right?” he said in a slurred voice. Excitement masked his grief, but I could see past it. His eyes were shifting and blurry with too much agitation. I hugged him and passed my hand through the locks of his blond hair. I felt him relax instantly under my fingertips.
“Shhhh. I know. I love you too, Harry Bear,” I whispered into his ear.
His agitation washed away with every stroke of my fingers. After a while I let go and laid him back on the bed. His eyes were closing in exhaustion.
“You go to sleep now, okay, sweetie?” I said, sweeping his bangs gently off his face.
“M’okay,” he mumbled, already half-conscious.
I took his shoes off, pulled up his blanket and covered him, before walking out of the room.
The boys watched the scene in amusement. “Wow, I don’t know how you do it; it’s like you cast a spell on him or something!” Josh exclaimed in a low voice, really impressed.
“It takes hours to make him go to bed when he’s like that,” Seth added “You’re the only one who’s able to calm him down easily, you know.”
I signaled for them to step out of Harry’s room and talk outside. “Yes, Josh. I am quite the ‘witch’, remember? And getting a really drunk boy to sleep is a hard spell to cast,” I mocked him. “Now, you boys better go to sleep right now as well, before I magic some warts on to you, you hear?” I joked.
The look on their faces? Priceless.
Just because I had a history of dealing with the supernatural – bringing Tristan back from the dead, casting spells against Vigil, and also having a close relationship with Death – the boys all freaked out over any little thing I said about magic.
I grabbed Tristan’s hand and pulled him along with me to his room. I needed all the rest I could get tonight, because tomorrow I was going to have a busy day presenting awards, playing live and having to wear blasted heels.
For a moment, I wished I could stay at home to fight magical, dangerous creatures rather than face that stage all by myself in high heels …
Chapter Ten
Beanie Boy
But the high heels did beckon, and I found myself wobbling around in a pair of really high ones somewhere backstage at the National Music Awards.
The black heels and the dress were Tiffany’s treat for the night. She was, after all, an incredible clothes designer as well as my official fashion advisor.
She’d had made for me a classy custom-made gown which resembled the one Grace Kelly wore in Hitchcock’s Rear Window movie. It had a tight black top with a deep V which showed my cleavage and gave me a “Y” silhouette, and an embroidered round white skirt which flowed gracefully as I walked, all cinched together at the waist with a thin black belt.
The black heels were forced upon me. I could not escape that painful doom.
I liked dresses inspired by the Fifties. Firstly because it was the period of time in which Tristan had grown up and it was an era that moved him dearly. Secondly because I genuinely loved the Fifties style; it was elegant, reserved and sophisticated.
The way Tristan looked at me as I walked down the stairs in my dress had rendered me speechless. The expression on his face had been frozen in awe, but from his eyes I could see that inside he flared with a blinding admiration. He didn’t say a word; he just stared in reverent silence.
And now I was roaming the maze of corridors in this iconic building on my own, desperately trying to move without tripping over and twisting my ankle in the process. The award I was presenting was coming up, and I was hopelessly lost in the labyrinth they called backstage of the most prestigious concert hall theater in the country.
My eyes were focused on my feet and the floor when I crashed into someone. I staggered back and looked up, startled to see a guy shooting daggers at me.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going,” the guy barked. “Why is everyone in here running around like headless chickens, for crying out loud?”
I squinted my eyes angrily, profoundly offended by his excessive rudeness.
Even though he kind of had a point
there, since I had actually seen a handful of people running round all flustered and – quite frankly – a bit like headless chickens. But there was no need for him to bite my head off like that.
He looked older than me, maybe in his thirties, and he was wearing a gray beanie which covered most of his dirty-blond hair. I poked him hard in the chest, my nostrils flaring; the force I’d put through my finger made him stagger back.
“Hey, pal. You watch where you’re going,” I barked right back at him.
His light-blue eyes flashed with surprise, but he recovered from the shock fast enough, a conceited smirk already plastered on his face.
“Did you just poke me?” he asked cynically.
“What do you think, Captain Obvious?”
“You shouldn’t poke people twice your size, doll face,” he said in a threatening tone. “I could easily poke you back.” He stepped forward to add weight to his warning.
He didn’t know I wasn’t easily intimidated, and would never back down from a bully. He also didn’t know I had a wealth of martial arts training, and could probably knock him down twice before he could say “doll face” again.
“I can watch you try, mister. And then you can watch me kick your ass.”
He looked down at me incredulously, taking in my outfit. His eyes lingering way too long over my cleavage.
“Are you serious?” he said, his eyes glinting in amusement. I’m sure he couldn’t believe a petite, delicate girl had just threatened to kick his ass.
“Are you serious?” I replied, irritated. What I really meant though was, are you seriously this much of an ass?
He quickly caught on to the subtext beneath my tone.
We both stood there, locked in our staring contest, until I decided I’d had enough of this chauvinistic caveman. I didn’t have time for this nonsense right now. I was late and lost and had a freaking award to present.
“You know what, I don’t have time for this. I have better things to do than teach you good manners.” I waved a hand over his face and walked away, leaving him with yet another shocked expression.
Unfortunately, my storming off was less than impressive due to my slow, staggering step. I cursed the gods of high heels under my breath but persevered with my dramatic exit.
“Why don’t you have time to teach me now? Do you have somewhere to go?” Beanie dude had caught up with me with his long strides. I frowned, but continued walking all the same.
“Yes, I do have somewhere to go, if you must know,” I stated plainly. I could rub it in his face that I was a special guest hostess for the evening, but that would mean acting like a conceited snob, and that was beneath me.
“Where?” he asked.
“It’s none of your business,”
“Ooh, spunky. I like it!” he teased. “Do you even know where you’re going?”
“I know exactly where I’m going,” I lied.
“Are you sure? You look kinda lost.”
“I’m not lost!”
“You don’t even know where you are right now, do you?”
“Yes, I do! I’m backstage. Happy?”
“Well, that was kind of vague …” he mused, that irritating side-smirk back on his face.
“Listen, I know where I am, and where I’m going. The question is, why are you following me?” I was getting more irritated by the second.
“Oh, I’m not lost. You amuse me. It’s fun following you around,” he said, beaming radiantly. “And you’re the prettiest girl I have ever seen. And I’ve seen quite a lot in my life. So that’s a plus.”
“Don’t you have other people to annoy and be rude to? I don’t want to keep you from shouting at someone else.”
He laughed loudly. “You’re funny with all your snapping.”
A small usher girl turned a sharp corner in front of us and almost crashed into us both. She stumbled back, looking baffled, and then blushed, apologized and scurried off in a hurry.
“Headless chickens everywhere,” he pointed out.
“Seriously, can’t you go somewhere else and leave me alone?” I half asked, half whined.
“I could …” he began. “But I won’t! You’re too much fun, doll face.”
“Stop calling me that,” I snapped.
If he called me doll face one more time I was going to blow a gasket here.
“What should I call you then? What’s your name?”
Like hell was I going to tell him my name. He’d tease me mercilessly with the “you have a boy’s name” response I always got.
“I could tell you … but I won’t,” I said, echoing his taunt to me.
That only made him laugh at me again. “Would you like to know my name?” he asked teasingly.
“You know what? I really wouldn’t,” I said in a bored voice, turning the corner.
He turned right alongside me.
He chuckled. “I’m starting to grow fond of you and your snapping ways.”
“Funny, cos I’m starting to seriously dislike you and your annoying ways.”
“Aw, come on, Snappy! You don’t like me even a little bit?” he said, nudging me in the side. “I’m calling you Snappy from now on, since you’re not telling me your name. I enjoy giving people nicknames; it’s my ‘thing’.”
I was about to say “No way? Me too!” but then I remembered I couldn’t stand him and just glared instead.
“Okay, Snappy, I apologize for biting your head off. I only want us to be friends,” he said with a sincere, honest smile.
I eyed him cautiously, agreeing to a truce. I took a good look at him. He was kind of cute, in an annoying sort of way. He was wearing a rock band T-shirt, dark jeans and black boots, and he reminded me somewhat of Tristan: tall, broad-shouldered. Even his eyes were like Tristan’s, a blue hue so soft and faded, it nearly looked like gray. But instead of Tristan’s sweet charm, Beanie Boy oozed cynicism with an irritating bad boy aura.
The important thing, though, was what I saw when I looked into Beanie Boy’s eyes. He was playing me. I could see how much he was enjoying this, and thinking he was winning me over. I was no more than an entertaining and amusing target to chase.
That was quite enough of a read for me. Only wants to be friends, my ass!
“You know this nicknaming quirk you say you have?” I asked, taking a step back and away from him. “I have a quirk too, you know. It’s my ‘thing’. I always know when people are lying to me.”
Before he could reply, another guy popped his head round the end of the corridor and shouted, “Hey, man! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you. What the hell do you think you’re doing? We gotta go.”
I took the opportunity to quietly slip away round a corner, disappearing out of sight.
I walked as fast I could, until I finally bumped into the event coordinator. He was freaking out at me, grabbing my hand and pulling me through the hallways like they were on fire. One minute we were walking through corridors, the next I was being pushed into an antechamber at the side of the stage, a trophy being shoved in my hands, and all the while he was shouting instructions at me at the rate of machine-gun fire. He stopped and looked at me expectantly, as if waiting for a reply to a question I hadn’t even heard him ask.
“So, did you get everything I just said?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure,” I lied. I hadn’t got anything. At all.
“Fabulous! So, go present the award now and call for Cale, okay?” he instructed me one last time.
“Okay. Wait. So, this is the award fooor …” I rambled, trying to fish for the name of the damned title I was suppose to introduce.
He stared at me, looking baffled, and then rolled his eyes. “Here,” he said, pointing to the engraved inscription on the trophy and reading it aloud, very slowly. “Outstanding. Artist. Award. Hand it over to Caleb Jones, will ya?” he said, clearly exasperated.
“Caleb Jones?” I gasped. I didn’t know this award was for Caleb frigging Jones! He was the lead singer of The Accidental
s. That band was incredible! And he was the most outstanding musician ever – oh, I got the award title now – but, but, seriously, he was amazing. A genuine prodigy; a genius musician. He’d probably played instruments since he was, what? One year old? He was probably composing songs in the womb, that was how outstanding he was. And his music? Just incredible.
And I was going to meet him. And give him an award! But I didn’t have time to freak out or even have my fan-girl moment because my name was called on the speakers and then I was being shooed on to the stage. I hadn’t had the chance to process what was happening.
I clutched the trophy and stumbled forward, while the show host finished up introducing me: “… and please welcome to the stage, my favorite, and – let’s be honest, folks – the prettiest of The Lost Boys. Joe Gray!”
I was greeted with a wave of applause as I walked slowly to the center of the stage. Inside, I was repeating to myself, “Please, God, don’t let me trip over.” The spotlights were blinding and stung my eyes. I stopped in front of the microphone and smiled back at the host, who had stepped a few feet behind me.
I took a deep breath and leaned close to the mic.
“So, it is time for me to present the next award.” I cleared my suddenly incredibly dry throat. “It is a great honor for me to be here, delivering this special award for the Outstanding Artist of the Year. And the winner is … Mr. Caleb Jones! So, Mr. Jones, this is for you. Come and get your award.”
I held out the trophy towards the audience and then turned to look at my side, where Caleb Jones was already walking across the stage. Everybody in the whole auditorium was clapping and cheering hard for him. My eyes widened as I watched him approach where I standing – stock still.
Caleb Jones, leader of The Accidentals rock band. Caleb, award winner, Grammy collector, living legend and, in my opinion, the most talented and ingenious musician of his time. Always number one on the radio; endlessly on the “hot list”. Woman seducer extraordinaire and internationally renowned rock star.
Caleb Jones, also known – to me – as Beanie Boy.
Chapter Eleven
Afterparty