couldn’t help the nervous stirring in her stomach.
“Can you believe it?” Libby screamed, grabbing Eden’s arm. “Are you excited?”
“He’s just a singer,” Eden said, more to herself than Libby. “Don’t go all fangirl over him.” At least there would be less people backstage. Eden checked her phone. Still more than an hour until they were supposed to be on their way home.
The bouncer guarding the door ignored them, watching the stage. The jukebox drivel pumping through the speakers did nothing for her, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to listen to anything else again. The crowd milled listlessly as if counting down the minutes until the band returned.
The bouncer held a finger to his earpiece, and nodded almost imperceptibly to whatever instructions had been given. He stood suddenly, swinging his bulk to the left and pushed the door from its frame, but only an inch. Red light streamed out from behind, sending sharp lines through the last remnants of smoke from the show.
“Hold your hand up,” he said. He studied their marks in the cool light from the recessed blue bulb. Under the blacklight, the stamp glowed, a thick circle with three curves emanating from it. Satisfied, he moved aside to grant them access. Eden looked back once at the empty stage she could see through the speakers and passed over the threshold. The door closed solidly behind her.
Red bulbs flickered, driving them down the narrow hall. Eden tried trailing her fingers on the black-painted plywood as they walked, but splinters scraped into them. Without the distraction, the nervous energy built in her.
“I don’t know about this.” The sudden lack of people was oddly unsettling. Libby’s footsteps echoed through the tight space.
“Do you want to go back?”
“No,” Eden answered as she tried to stay close, somewhere between walking and running. “But could you at least slow down, Libby!”
A trickle of fear puddled in her stomach, but she managed to fight it off until they rounded the corner into a room.
The light from a wide circle of dozens of candles fought to cancel out the purple hazy glow from blacklights. The walls were painted in fading Day-Glo, neon mushrooms and ripped posters advertising shows from months ago. The musicians she’d seen on the stage occupied black beanbag chairs randomly thrown about the room.
One of the backup singers had tilted each of the candles near her, the different colors of wax splattering in front of her like a Jackson Pollock painting. Now she ran her fingers through it, smearing little peaks and valleys into the mess. Definitely in her own little world, Eden thought, wondering what the girl was on. The room looked like some kind of circus on an acid trip.
Eden’s eyes stopped short at the head of the circle. The singer. His head snapped up.
“I wondered if you’d make it back here!” he said, smiling as he rose to his feet. His tone was one part surprise, one part pride, like they’d just conquered some kind of labyrinth instead of a straight hallway. Beside her, she saw Libby shudder. “It’s a pleasure.”
He kept his eyes on Eden. “Now, she’s Libby, but I didn’t catch…”
“How did you know her name?” Eden asked, but he waved off the question with a flurry of his fingers.
“Sound carries in the hall. What’s your name?” he asked again, taking a step closer.
“And who are you?” she asked, denying him. The thought occurred to her too late to make something up.
“Me? I’m just a singer in a rock and roll band.” He laughed then, a sound like static feedback.
Eden couldn’t choke back her own snort at the melodrama. “This is all a bit…ridiculous, no?”
“Eden!” Libby mumbled. “Don’t be a bitch.” The singer gave her a smile, and then turned back to Eden, his face full of apology.
“You’ll just have to forgive me, Eden. If you can find it in your heart.” His voice was different than it had been the night she had first heard him or earlier, when he’d been onstage. The heavy smoothness had gone, leaving it sarcastic and pitchy. Condescending, Eden realized. He’s playing with me.
“Well, honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting, but I’m let down,” she said. “Let’s go.” She reached for Libby’s arm, but the singer slid between them, grabbing Eden’s wrist. She splayed her fingers away from him, yanking back.
“Eden doesn’t like games,” he said loudly.
It was a command; a cease and desist order.
The drummer set down his sticks and picked up a book that had