The spotlights roved onto me and Sy as we took our final bows that night to the roar of applause beyond the wall of stage lights. I heard stamping feet and blank, ecstatic screams. The very air burned with magic, hotter than the stage lights, rich in my blood and burning under my skin. And they audience was still giving, giving, giving—dedicating all of themselves, all of their admiration, all of their loose, chaotic love to us, now, here. Some of them balanced on their friends' shoulders so that Sy and I might see them, so that they might have that one moment of connection. The grand scale of this magic was unthinkable. Even as I felt it burning through me, I couldn't sense the end. Sy squeezed my hand encouragingly, and I lifted the mic to my lips one last time. "Thank you, New York!" I cried. "We love you! Thank you!"And suddenly, Sy kissed me, full in the glory of this magic. The sweet depth of the kiss and the sear of the magic sent my brain into blank ecstasy for a long,
True to form, Sy already had an Irish pub in mind, barely a block and a half away. The automatic explosion of noise that greeted us when Sy and I walked through the door gave me a good idea where a lot of the crowd had come from. If that wasn't enough, the sea of dark laurel-branded t-shirts told me the rest. In addition, there was a layer of magical aftermath clinging to almost everyone in the bar like golden dust. Sy and my distinct magic: like nothing else.Sy's bad mood seemed to have evaporated. Dave and his security detail seemed like their blood pressure was rising by the second, as Sy waded cheerfully into the crowd. "Next round's on me!" he bellowed, rising another generous burst of shouting from all around. Phones were out and snapping pictures. The volume on the music was cranked higher, and pockets of enthusiastic patrons started wriggling drunkenly in something approximating a dance. I took the shot Sy handed to me and raised it in a salute opposite him, grinning foolis
The sky was turning gray by the time the police were done talking to me. But for all that time, all I could see, over and over, was the moment when they'd handcuffed Sy and ducked him into a police cruiser. There was an ambulance for the drunk, who had finally registered the pain in his jaw even through the alcohol haze. In their absence, there was a circus: statements taken, more cruisers, sirens and lights…And then the photographers arrived. The cops didn't seem too concerned with letting me shield myself from the paparazzi. I tried not to think too deeply about how they pivoted and positioned themselves, as if trying to get their own faces in the photos too. They were professionally blunt, cold, impersonal, but I couldn't stop shaking. Over and over again, I related the quick sequence of events. There were other bar patrons showing video to the cops too, and I desperately wanted to ask to see the video too—to know if what I saw and remembered lined up with what would be all over t
I froze in the hot water, knowing any movement would slosh the water and give me away. The bathroom door wasn't even closed, never mind locked. Why would I lock it? I was alone. It was probably only room service, I told myself. But I was so on edge. No one had sent me any updates. I felt like a lobster in a slowly boiling pot, waiting for the numb defeat to really set in.Then a shadow blotted the doorway: long and lean and strong, with a coil of dark hair. "Sy!" I half-screamed, joy stealing my breath. I hadn't dared to hope.His face was still stained with bright blood, dry and pale under his nose and darkening his split lip. I stood up in the bath, the cold striking in after the sharp heat of the bathwater. I was frozen, staring at him in joyous disbelief. "They let you go." I felt the grin, big and silly, spread across my face. In a second he'd crossed the space between us."Gods, I need you." His arms sprang around me, gripping my soaking body against his clothed one.
I finally slept—heavy, relieved sleep, dreamless and perfect—and woke with Sy curled against me, his breath rustling my hair. I lay peacefully in the quiet, feeling the heat of the early afternoon sun sliding against my skin. All at once there was a thunderous knocking at the door. My first thought, irrationally, was of my uncle. My mind refused to believe that this silence from him was anything other than menacing, waiting for the first moment for me to screw up and do something—in his mind—truly incriminating. But my uncle would never knock. And never betray so much anger externally. Sy lurched awake beside me, bolting upright. He looked at me questioning. "I don't know," I whispered—then wondered why I'd whispered. Sy didn't say a word, just slid out of bed and pulled on a pair of black jeans and headed to the door. Belatedly, it occurred to me that I should at least reach for a robe, but there was no time, so I pulled the covers up to my chin. Sy opened the door just an i
Only a few hours later, Sy and I were literally still catching our breath as the house lights went down and the stage lights began to burn. On the other side of the lights, was a stadium full of people who, I couldn't help but think, were busy hating me. It was a persistent, ugly feeling, something like anxiety but with the teeth of facts to back it up. I'd seen my socials today: it wasn't good. My Instagram was flooded with Sy's fans telling me what a garbage waste of space and breath I was. Cass had been busily deleting and reporting all day, but the deluge was endless. They called me a thief, a pretender, a phony, and a lot of other less flattering things. And I was helpless. I—or rather Cass—didn't post anything new, not even a story. And yet the comments kept coming. In this moment, right now, I focused on breathing deeply. I wanted to feel the thrill of the show, the gathering energy waiting to boil into powerful magic. But all I felt was dread. As if I were going in front my Qu
"Um, can I just voice my opinion that this is a VERY good idea on your part," I said, for probably the fifth time, as we rolled up to the mountaintop chalet. Sy's idea was full retreat, a plan which neither he nor I liked at all on the face of it. Retreating while the tumult died down meant no performances, no stadiums of energy, no triumphs and afterparties and whirlwind tour life. But Sy had a specific retreat in mind that very much softened the blow: he showed me pictures on his phone as we waited for Cass to retrieve some clothes from the tour bus for me. It was a large, modern timber-and-glass chalet on a private mountainside property in Colorado. It looked like a dream in the pictures, and better than a dream in reality, as I stepped out of the rented SUV and stood before it, staring up at its bright facade in the golden afternoon light. The house was wide and low, shaped to fit against the rugged mountainside among pale, rocky outcrops and a wash of evergreen trees. If ther
We set our guitars carefully on their stands. My mind was racing. The studio was soundproof: no human could have heard us, even if they were prowling around the house. But whatever I'd felt at the edges of our magic had absolutely not felt human. I didn't want to admit it to myself: I recognized that dark, sour rot. It was Unseelie magic.I'd stopped being bothered by Sy's Unseelie magics. I don't know when. His magic, his nature, it couldn't be unpleasant to me because it was Sy. Sy, who was heading for the studio door."What are you doing?" I asked sharply, hearing the fear in my own voice."Going to greet our uninvited guests." Sy's voice sounded grave and cold. "They know we're here. They'd have to be dead not to have noticed all that magic."So, he didn't think they were human either. Did he know…?I stepped out of the studio after him, into the cool of the basement. "And what do you think YOU'RE doing?" Sy twisted around as he heard me shuffling behind him. "Coming wit