Dangerous Creatures(41)

That’s a first.

As soon as Ridley spotted Ryan in the crowd—jumping up and down in front of the stage, yelling, “Roll me! Bread crumbs!”—Rid made a beeline in her direction.

But when she got there, Ryan was following Link with her eyes as if she’d never seen him before. As if he was someone from the cover of a teen magazine, rather than just another guy who refused to throw out his old car magazines.

Not you, too.

It was almost hard to watch.

Link was center stage, bending over the mic, dipping it backward on the stand as if they were slow dancing. It was his audition. They were letting him do whatever he wanted. That was clear by the way they were all watching him.

Link as lead singer? Were they setting him up to fail?

Either way, it didn’t seem to matter much to Link. He looked like he was having the greatest night of his life.

“You know I love you, Saucy Bossy Girl,” he crooned to his imaginary meatball. The mic crackled enthusiastically—and the crowd screamed.

That mic will probably make a better girlfriend than I ever will, Ridley thought, feeling guilty.

She sighed.

Downstage, Necro’s blue faux-hawk was flying in every direction over the enormous keyboard, like it had a mind of its own. Sampson stood next to Link, singing into a mic—with the tattooed arms and hypnotic presence she remembered from the night she first met him at Suffer. His hands sped across the strings of an über-modern electric guitar. The body curved into a wide U shape, like a harp. Behind Sampson, Floyd jammed on a bass as big as she was. Ridley couldn’t tell if the guitar was part of her body or not.

A red plaid hipster drum kit sat waiting for Link in the center of the stage. As the crowd screamed, Link threw down the mic and picked up the sticks, sliding back behind the drums. The drums had always been the one instrument you could safely hand him. At best, it was a loud banging. At worst, it was also a loud banging. There was something reassuring about that.

The crowd screamed louder. “Roll me! Bread crumbs!”

Sirensong was rocking the house.

She’d had enough.

“Ryan—”

Her little sister’s eyes lit up the moment she saw Ridley back on the floor. “There you are, Saucy Bossy Girl.”

“Don’t ever say that.” No Sirensong. No Meatstik. No more lyrics.

“You missed most of the set. Link has been so—”

“Uh-huh. Say hi to Mamma for me. Love you.” Ridley shoved the envelope into Ryan’s hand and she was gone. You couldn’t even hear the Rip over the music.

Ridley breathed a sigh of relief. Her sister was safe. For the time being.

Your move, Gates.

She closed her eyes and stood there, in the middle of the crowd, listening to the music. Something wasn’t right. She could smell it, almost taste it.

Her skin was crawling with it.

Come out. Show yourself.

I can feel you. I know what you’re doing.

She opened her eyes. She didn’t know what kind of answer she was expecting, but there was nothing.

She couldn’t help but check inside her purse, where her last cherry lollipop remained firmly wrapped.

Yet, somehow, the Power of Persuasion was thick in the air around her. Ridley was sure of it, even if she wasn’t the one responsible for it.

Which only left one question…

Who was?



Backstage, beneath the jungle of scaffolding and light stands and extra amps and extension cords, Sirensong was celebrating. Bottles were popping, and fountains of champagne—no, from the smell of it, make that shaken cans of cheap soda—sprayed in every direction.

Geez. You would have thought Sirensong had never played a hit song to a full house of screaming fans before.

Maybe because they hadn’t.

“Dude. We smoked it.” Floyd fist-bumped Link. “Like Roger Waters.”

“Like bacon.” Link fist-bumped her back.

“Like a cigar,” Necro said. A shadow passed over her face, but Floyd sprayed both of them while Sampson ducked out of the way, and soon Necro was laughing as hard as everyone else. When Floyd’s fist began to actually smoke, Ridley shook her head and pulled Link away.

Illusionists.

Link flung his arm over Rid’s shoulder. “You just got me the greatest gig a my entire life, Babe.” He kissed her, smack on the mouth, without even stopping smiling. “Did you see the crowd losin’ it durin’ our set? They loved us.”

“Yeah. They did. And now we’ve got to get out of here.”

Link pointed at Rid. “Roll me! Bread crumbs!”

“I got that,” Rid said. “The whole recipe. I was there. Let’s go.”

Link took one look at her face and gave up. It was clear there wasn’t going to be all that much celebrating tonight. “Aw, come on. Geez. What now? Why are you givin’ me that stinkeye?”

“Link. Come on.” Now she was frustrated. He just wasn’t getting it. “Did you ever wonder why everyone was chanting that chorus?”

He shrugged. “Because meatballs are awesome. And so is Sirensong. And so am I.” He couldn’t stop smiling.

“Or?” Ridley looked at him. She could feel the anxiety tightening in her chest.

“Or what? What are you gettin’ at? They loved us because we killed it. Because of Floyd bringin’ it and Necro whalin’ on it, and Sammy Boy tearin’ it up out there. We made Meatstik look like beef jerky.” Link was starting to look insulted.