HIDE AND SEEK
KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI
Kemper Arena
The tour had rolled into Kemper Arena on a pickup date, a show that had been cancelled months earlier and rescheduled into the January gap, the kind of booking that felt like a gift once it arrived. Kansas City in January was not warm, but it was indoors, which was the important part, and Kemper was the kind of place that smelled of popcorn, cold concrete, and the electricity of a room that had held a lot of music. Battle Cry was headlining. The show was tomorrow. Tonight, the venue belonged to something else entirely.
REO Speedwagon was in town, playing the same stage the following evening, and they had arrived early. This was not unusual, REO Speedwagon had a history with Battle Cry going back to 1984, and giving Jace or Connor a heads-up a few days beforehand was part of how they operated. There was always a reason to come early, always something to talk about that could not be talked about in normal company, and always the pleasure of two bands who shared a secret that the rest of the world was now finding out about.
The lineup had changed since Alan Gratzer retired to be with his family and Gary Richrath left after creative disagreements and personal battles that had been weighing on him for a while. REO Speedwagon was now Kevin Cronin, Bruce Hall, Neal Doughty, Dave Amato, and Bryan Hitt, and all five of them had taken the Aelinian Oath. All five of them had seen what Battle Cry was truly capable of. It was both amazing and frightening, and it was the kind of knowledge that bonded men in the way of shared impossible things.
Four of the five had been nursing a grievance for five months.
The two bands gathered in the catering tent, the air thick with coffee and the sounds of roadies setting up the stage. The excitement among the Battle Cry Road crew had risen sharply the moment REO arrived. Avery, Ricky's hyper but brilliant guitar tech, was practically levitating at the prospect of talking guitars with Dave Amato, who had an impressive collection at home. Mongo, the tour manager, a frustrated bassist himself, had been looking forward to asking Bruce Hall about some of the newer bass lines ever since he'd been lucky enough to catch an REO show on vacation.
But first, the pleasantries, hugs, and handshakes. Then, business.
Anya Saletsko and several of her friends had traveled with the band for this occasion, carrying an invitation that she had been planning for weeks. She looked at the assembled group, ten men, five from each band, with the expression of a woman who had already decided how this evening was going to go and was simply waiting for everyone else to catch up.
"So," Kevin Cronin said, leaning back in his chair with the grin of a man who had been told there was mischief afoot and had arrived accordingly. "We hear you guys have invented a new sport."
"It's not a sport," Connor said. "It's a tactical exercise."
"Hide and seek," Anya corrected, her eyes dancing. "In the venue. After the crew clears out. Nothing naughty or compromising. Just pure, unadulterated evasion."
"Evasion from what?" Dave Amato asked.
Bryan Hitt grinned at him and then at the ladies. "From them, I think."
Kevin looked at Neal Doughty. "Trout? Your thoughts?"
Neal had been sitting quietly, compact and wiry, the small enigmatic smile in place. His eyes were already moving around the room.
"Just to get this straight," Neal said. "All of us, all ten of us, have to hide all over this building, and the last one found wins?"
"A winner of what?" Bruce Hall asked, with the slightly nervous chuckle of a man who was going to say yes regardless.
"Mostly bragging rights," Connor said.
"And a free dinner," Anya added, which received some approval.
"But if you can evade these ladies," Erik told them, "All of them, you'll be legendary."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Bryan said, the quick timing of the man who had roped a shapeshifted Sentinel and spent five months surviving the dragon interrogation. "If I don't want to be found, I won't be found."
The entire Battle Cry contingent groaned and started laughing simultaneously.
"I said that once," Jace told him, "And then I spent six weeks in the hospital. Died a couple of times, too."
Bryan winced. Connor punched Jace's shoulder.
"Quit freaking out Hittman!"
"I'm not freaked out," Bryan said. "I'm just... yeah, okay. Knowing you can't really die until you pass that rock to the next one is a little freaky."
Jace nodded and clapped a hand on Bryan's shoulder. "Yeah, maybe I shouldn't joke about it. Sorry."
"Just as long as you remember to stay alive," Dave said, matter-of-factly.
Kevin surveyed his bandmates. "What do you guys think? Up for a challenge?"
"I'm in," Bryan said immediately. "I love a good game that might give me regrets. Keeps the reflexes sharp."
Bruce nodded. "I'm game. Beats sitting on the bus."
Dave shifted in his seat. "I don't know," he said. "This place is huge. And dark. And creepy in some areas."
Neal chuckled and shook his head.
"Creepy…says the guy who savagely flattened a bunch of robot spiders with a road case lid."
"Yeah," Dave conceded, "Those were creepier. But this place?"
"Oh, come on, Dave," Kevin said, clapping him on the shoulder. "It'll be fun. Besides, we're all in this together."
"And where have we heard those words before?" Nathan said, and the rest of Battle Cry echoed it, because they had heard those words before, in contexts considerably less comfortable than this one.
"If you say something that mirrors famous last words again," Dave warned.
Neal said nothing. He was scanning the exits.
THE GAME BEGINS
Kemper Arena at night with the house lights down was a cavernous labyrinth of steel, concrete, and shadow. The stage was a fortress of amplifiers and rigging. The seats stretched back into the darkness like a sea of empty ghosts. The backstage area was a maze of corridors, dressing rooms, and road cases stacked to the rafters.
The rules were simple. Last person standing won. The women were the hunters and had the advantage of numbers and the venue's security cameras.
"Go!" Anya yelled.
Ten men scattered into the shadows like smoke.
THE FIRST CAPTURE: BRYAN HITT
Bryan Hitt was a man of action. He didn't overthink. He sprinted toward the load-out bay, figuring he could conceal himself behind or inside the empty speaker cases. There was no real way to be quiet while sprinting down an echoing concrete corridor the size of a football field, and he was halfway down it when he heard them.
A group of women led by Lena were closing in from the stage area. He tried to duck behind a stack of road cases but couldn't get fully behind them and ended up approximately as visible as a man standing in the open.
"Gotcha!" Lena called out.
"Ah, shit," Bryan groaned, shaking his head. He stood up, resigned, giving the ladies his best charming smile. "You're good. I suck at this game. I guess I'm a hostage now."
Lena hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. "The most handsome hostage ever." She chuckled. "And also the first to be caught. Sorry, Bryan."
Bryan sighed. "I'm going to get so much shit for being the first one."
He was escorted to the VIP lounge, where he sat down and waited.
THE SECOND CAPTURE: DAVE AMATO
Dave Amato was nervous. The dark empty venue was doing things to his imagination. Every shadow looked wrong. Every sound made him jump. He decided the lighting truss high above the stage was the safest option, height, concealment, the logic of a man who wanted to be as far from the floor as possible.
He climbed up, breathing fast, found a spot behind a massive spotlight, and crouched. He had this.
His nerves were his undoing.
He heard a creak on the catwalk below and leaned out to check. His hand slipped on the metal bar. A guitar pick fell from his pocket and clattered down to the stage below, the sound echoing through the silent venue like a gunshot.
Dave squeezed his eyes shut.
Amara looked up. Her eyes found his hiding spot with no difficulty whatsoever.
"Dave Amato?" she called out. "Is that you up there, sweetheart?"
Dave froze. Then sighed. "Yeah. How'd ya guess?"
"Maybe because the guitar pick you dropped has your name on it."
Dave climbed down slowly, face red. "I hate heights," he muttered.
Amara gave him a hug at stage level. "So traumatized," she said warmly. "Which also makes you very cute."
"Okay, fine," Dave said. "Take me away and lock me up."
"How about we get you with Bryan and wait for the others?"
"You got Bryan already?" Dave asked. "What did he do, drop a drumstick?"
THE THIRD CAPTURE: KEVIN CRONIN
Kevin Cronin was the frontman. The charmer. He figured he could talk his way out of anything.
He hid in the soundboard booth at the back of the arena, doing his best to be invisible, but he had the feeling he couldn't maintain position for long. He was right. He heard two women enter the main floor, Zara and Isabella, flashlights cutting through the dark, and had an idea that was either brilliant or catastrophic.
He grabbed the headset off the console, flicked the microphone live, and said into it: "Hey ladies. Looking for someone?"
The women stopped. Zara smiled. "This is not the way to win hide and seek, Mr. Cronin."
Isabella whispered something to Zara and pointed toward FOH. They moved in that direction. Kevin set down the headset, slipped out from behind the console as quietly as he could, peeked up, the girls were still walking toward FOH, and made his move.
He wasn't watching his feet well enough. He caught a folding chair at the end of a row, which caught three or four others, which produced a cascading crash that echoed across the entire arena. Kevin settled into the wreckage looking like a broken doll draped across folding chairs.
"Ow," he said quietly.
Zara and Isabella reached him, concerned.
"KC?" Isabella called out. "Are you okay, honey?"
Kevin tried to stand, couldn't find sufficient footing, and had to be untangled from the chair puzzle by both women.
"Yeah, I'm okay," he sighed. "A little bruised. Nothing broken."
"Poor guy," Isabella said, kissing him on the cheek. "Let's go find the other happy captives."
"Who have you gotten so far?"
"Just Bryan and Dave," Zara told him.
Kevin stopped walking and started laughing. "Bryan I'm surprised about. Dave I figured would just surrender because he was weirded out."
He was escorted to the VIP lounge, where he promptly laughed at his drummer and guitarist. They laughed right back.
THE FOURTH CAPTURE: BRUCE HALL
Bruce hadn't seen Kevin's downfall but had definitely heard it. It was all he could do not to laugh out loud from his hiding spot in the upper seating section, where he had wedged himself behind the bolted-in seats with the confidence of a man who had made a sound strategic decision.
He hadn't gone for drama. He'd gone for the guts. He sat in the dark feeling very pleased with himself.
He was just getting comfortable when he heard steps in the section below. He tried to sink lower and compress his 6'1" frame further. This produced a small but extremely audible squeak from the seat he was wedged against.
The squeak echoed across the venue.
Bruce closed his eyes.
His first instinct was to relocate. He could not relocate. He had wedged himself in so thoroughly he couldn't get out.
Minutes passed. Maya and Elara found him with their flashlights and started giggling immediately.
"You look like someone tried to stuff you into a box," Maya said, barely maintaining composure.
Elara took his hand to help him unfold. Once extricated and confirmed intact, Bruce groaned. "So I'm caught. Now what?"
"Now you get to go laugh at your bandmates in the VIP room," Maya told him.
"All of them?" Bruce asked. "My whole band?"
"No, but almost."
"You mean none of the Battle Cry guys have been caught?"
"Not a one," Maya confirmed.
"Damn," Bruce said. "We suck at this game."
"Yes," Elara agreed. "Yes you do."
THE FIFTH CAPTURE: JACE
Jace was the reigning champion. A ghost in the machine. He had navigated the mall with ease and was confident he could do the same here. He moved through the under-stage area, cables, scaffolding, the dark maze of the area below the boards, and found a large empty equipment crate labeled FRAGILE. He squeezed in, pulled the lid mostly shut, and left a crack to see through.
He was invisible. He waited. He listened. He could hear the women searching, their voices distant.
He was winning.
He breathed slowly. Calmed his senses. The way he used to do it as a kid playing with Tobin, who had never once found him when he truly did not want to be found.
Anya was searching the area. She stopped. Walked to the row of crates. Stood listening. Then she kicked the crate next to his.
Nothing.
She kicked his.
Jace held his breath.
And in the thin thread of light coming through the crack, he saw it. Moving in the corner of the crate. One of Jace's oldest and most dedicated enemies. An enemy that could drain the blood from his face and raise every hair on his body in under a second.
A spider. A large one.
Anya was about to kick the crate again when the lid burst open and a completely unhinged Jason Elias erupted from inside it, making Anya scream, while he swatted at himself and spun in a circle trying to brush invisible spiders off his shoulders and arms.
"Are they gone?" Jace demanded. "Do you see any on me?"
"Any what, Jace? I don't see anything on you!"
"Spiders. There was a spider in there the size of a frisbee."
Anya looked into the crate and found a daddy longlegs desperately trying to escape. She giggled and hugged him, kissing him quickly on the lips.
"It's gone now, baby. I promise. You're safe from the daddy longlegs monster."
Jace sighed. "Taken out by a spider."
"Every man is afraid of something," Anya told him, patting his arm. "You just happen to be terrified of eight-legged invaders."
Jace could hear laughter and Dave Amato's distinctive Boston accent from the VIP lounge before they even reached the door.
"I'm so screwed," he said. "You sure no one else in my band's been caught?"
"Very sure. It's just all of REO, minus Neal."
Jace breathed out. "Yep. I'm screwed."
As expected, since he was the first Battle Cry member captured, and the Guardian of Aelin, the REO contingent was merciless.
THE SIXTH CAPTURE: RICKY
Ricky was in the upper bowl, sprawled across a row of seats, completely still. He was a master of stillness when he chose to exercise it. He watched the women searching the lower levels with the calm confidence of a man who was high up and entirely out of the search pattern.
He was the king of the world.
But he was also Ricky. And Ricky got bored.
A stray beach ball, leftover from some previous show, came rolling down the aisle. Ricky watched it for approximately four seconds before he reached out and gave it a tap, sending it bouncing down the stairs.
The women looked up. They saw the ball. They saw Ricky.
Ricky did not run. He stayed still, raised a hand, and said: "Oops."
"Oops?" Lisa answered. "Are you bored, Strat Cat?"
"I'm always bored when I'm not with beautiful women," Ricky said.
He stood and came down to her with the acrobatic ease of someone who treated height as a minor inconvenience.
"Show off," Lisa smirked.
"Take me, I'm yours," Ricky said.
"Don't tempt me," Lisa replied.
The VIP lounge greeted him with a chorus of laughter from every captured musician.
"He practically surrendered," Anya announced.
"I was bored!" Ricky protested. "Besides, watching the rest of you get taken out was getting old."
Jace shook his head. "Idiot."
"So who's next?" Bryan asked, clearly enthused with the mounting casualties.
"Probably Erik," Ricky said. "A guy that big can't possibly stay unseen forever."
"At least he's smart enough not to get his ass wedged between stadium seats," Dave said, pointing at Bruce.
Bruce laughed, partly because he was genuinely trying to envision Erik getting himself into the same predicament.
"Could be Neal," Jace suggested.
The REO members went instantly quiet. For half a second.
"Oh," Kevin said, the mischievous grin returning. "Clearly you don't really know Neal. He's smart."
"Scary smart," Dave confirmed.
"So's Nathan," Jace said. "He just recently strengthened the Veil around Aelin to include an additional barrier shielding the island's thermal signature and resonance from detection, including from satellite intelligence."
Ricky nodded.
The REO contingent stared at Jace, each of them processing this.
Ricky looked at them. "I can practically hear their modems trying to connect to the AOL servers."
THE SEVENTH CAPTURE: ERIK
Erik was in the orchestra pit, squeezed behind the drummer's riser. His massive frame was folded into a space that was not designed for a 6'6" man but was doing the job. He was uncomfortable. He was not moving. He had seen what happened to Bruce Hall and he wasn't about to get himself permanently installed in a building he had to play tomorrow.
He waited.
Movement from the catwalk above the stage. Then silence. Then deeper silence, the silence of a large space when everyone in it is trying not to make noise.
He was just starting to cramp when he felt something on his neck. He swatted at it. Felt it again. Swatted again, found nothing.
It was a feather.
He looked up to find Miko grinning down at him from the stage edge, feather duster in hand, the expression of a woman who had found what she was looking for.
"Come on out, big guy," she whispered. "You're snoring."
"I was not snoring," Erik said, climbing out with the dignity of a man who had made peace with this outcome. "I was breathing heavily."
"Whatever you say, handsome. You're caught."
The howls of laughter that greeted him when he stepped into the VIP lounge were everything he had expected and several things he had not.
"Who's left after me?" he asked.
"Connor, Nathan, and Neal," Bryan said.
"Think it'll be Nathan?" Dave asked.
"Hell no," Ricky said. "He's too used to the art of evasion with these ladies."
"Just how many times have you guys done this?" Kevin asked.
"Oh, about fifteen," Jace said.
"Wait, fifteen?" Erik said. "I was thinking closer to twenty. Including the naughty ones."
He became aware, somewhat belatedly, of four pairs of REO eyes locking onto him with the intensity of men who had just been handed information they did not know what to do with yet.
"It's not what you think," Jace started.
"But it's probably like it sounds," Bryan said pleasantly.
"Twenty times?" Dave said. "Are you guys on drugs or something?"
"They can't do that," Bruce said. "It makes their powers go away."
"It may have started off naughty," Ricky said, with the matter-of-fact tone of someone narrating the most reasonable sequence of events in the world. "But after they started tying Jace up all the time, we had to declare him off limits. So Anya developed this platonic version. Not as satisfying, but still fun."
REO Speedwagon was silent.
Gobsmacked.
"We could never do that kind of thing," Dave said. "Most of us are married."
"Shh," Kevin said. "I'm still getting a mental picture."
THE EIGHTH CAPTURE: CONNOR
If anyone had ever told him he would voluntarily hide in a trash can he would have told them they were out of their mind. What made it worse was that he'd removed the bag before getting in and it still smelled like a landfill. He'd heard the noise of each capture filtering through the venue and was determined not to be next.
He did not account for maintenance.
He heard movement outside the can first, then the sound of a man whistling to himself while he worked. There had apparently been some half-empty beverages left nearby, because Connor ended up wearing them as they were tossed in. Then the worker opened the can to retrieve the bag and discovered a sputtering and extremely disgusted rock star.
"What the hell?" the worker said. "What are you doing in there?"
"Something stupid, apparently," Connor said. "Was that cold coffee?"
"Sorry, man. I didn't know anyone was in there. Why were you in there?"
"I was hiding from women," Connor said, picking pieces of garbage out of his hair with an expression of profound regret.
The worker considered this. Before he could pursue the inquiry further, Millie and Sarah arrived.
"Oh, Connor," Sarah said softly. "What have you done to yourself now?"
"He was hiding, ma'am," the worker said. "I ruined his plans. Big time."
"You're forgiven," Connor told the worker, still removing things from his black curls. "It's not your fault. It's mine."
The worker looked at the two women, then back at Connor. "They're fine women," he said. "Why would any man hide from them?"
"It's hard to explain. Let's just say we were playing a harmless game of hide and seek. Well. Almost harmless."
"If you say so," the worker said. "But looking at 'em, I wouldn't hide."
Connor was still picking coffee grounds out of his hair when he was walked into the VIP lounge to a full chorus of taunts and laughter.
"Two left," Anya announced. "Nathan and Neal."
"This is going to be interesting," Dave said. "They're both too damned smart."
"Dallenger and Doughty," Ricky said.
"What a combo," Erik said. "The two geniuses."
"Who loses between them?" Bruce asked.
"We'll see," Anya said.
THE FINAL STAND: NATHAN AND NEAL
The venue was completely silent.
Nathan was in the catwalks above the lighting rig, moving slowly, distributing his weight with the care of a man who had learned from what happened to Erik. He was a shadow. He had been a shadow for twenty minutes. He was scanning the arena for any sign of the other keyboardist and finding nothing, which told him everything.
Neal Doughty had vanished. He had been nowhere since the game started.
Nathan saw the large amp case off to stage left. A great hiding spot. He saw the curtain near it twitch slightly. He smiled. Neal had to be there. He began preparing his move, drop down, cross to the case, flush him out...
He heard a sound behind him. A soft, deliberate cough.
He turned around.
Neal Doughty was standing on the catwalk behind him, hands in his pockets, the smug expression of a man who had been exactly where he needed to be for the entire duration of the game.
"You're loud," Neal said quietly. "And your zipper's jingling."
Nathan looked down. His zipper was indeed slightly undone. It had been jingling every time he moved.
"Damn it," Nathan said.
"Good game," Neal said, extending his hand. "But I've been in that prop amp since the start. Watched you pass by three times, Dallenger."
Nathan shook his hand, laughing despite himself. "You win. You're the master. Now where are the girls?"
"Don't know," Neal said. "But I'm not getting caught."
They climbed down together, moving carefully toward the VIP lounge. As they rounded a corner of the stage, Neal saw two women standing on the stage itself. He dived behind a curtain instantly, without a word, and watched through the gap as Nathan walked directly into them.
"Nathan!" Lena cried. "You decided to come face the music?"
"Neal and I are the last two standing, I guess," Nathan said.
Lena squinted at him. "I don't see Neal anywhere."
Nathan looked behind him. No Neal. He put it together.
"Doughty, you bastard!" he called out, laughing. "You set me up!"
Neal, behind the curtain, said nothing. He listened to the taunting and laughter that erupted as Nathan was walked into the VIP room and the door closed. He heard Nathan loudly declare that he would never trust Neal Doughty in any capacity for the rest of his natural life.
That was enough.
Neal opened the door.
He pointed at Nathan. "It's all in the mind," he said. "Stay logical. Don't let anyone give you a false sense of security."
The women cheered. The band members clapped. The roadies shook their heads.
THE AFTERMATH: NEAL DOUGHTY, CHAMPION
The two bands gathered on the stage, the venue lights dimmed, the atmosphere of people who have just spent an hour and a half doing something completely ridiculous and feel excellent about it.
"Neal Doughty," Anya announced, raising his hand. "Is the champion."
The cheering was genuine. Neal accepted it with the quiet satisfaction of a man whose plan had never been in question.
"This was a blast," Kevin said, his arm around Connor's shoulders. "We need to do this again. This was crazy, but so much fun."
"Oh, it was?" Dave said, the slight grin of a man who was going to admit this was fun but wasn't going to do it without resistance. "Being chased around a venue we have to play tomorrow by a bunch of crazy women?"
Bryan elbowed him. "You know you had fun, Amato."
Dave thought about it. "Well, yeah. But I was a wreck until I got caught."
"You're always a wreck, Dave," Kevin said.
"Absolutely," Connor agreed, still picking something out of his hair.
They stood on the stage, ten musicians, the stage dark around them, the empty seats stretching into the shadows, and let the loose good feeling of the evening settle.
Kevin looked at Bryan.
Bryan had been watching this moment approach for five months with the patience of a man who knew exactly what was coming and had prepared his popcorn accordingly.
"So," Kevin said.
"No," Bryan said.
"I haven't said anything yet," Kevin said.
"You were about to," Bryan said. "I recognize the face."
"Bryan." Kevin put a hand on his chest. "It has been five months."
"I'm aware."
"Five months," Kevin said, turning to address the stage at large, because Kevin Cronin was a frontman and a frontman did not make his case to one person when there was a full house available. "Five months of this man..." he pointed at Bryan, "...giving me nothing. Less than nothing. Crumbs. Artistic crumbs. Light going into water. A sound he couldn't describe. A cliff." He looked at Bryan. "A cliff, Bryan. You gave me a cliff."
"It's a good cliff," Bryan said.
"I don't doubt that it's a good cliff!" Kevin said. "I would like to see the cliff!"
Dave Amato, who had been waiting for his entrance into this performance, stepped forward. Dave when he felt wronged was animated, not loud exactly, but emphatic, the Boston accent sharpening, his hands coming up. "You described light going into the ocean," Dave said. "You said something came out of it. You said there was a sound you'd never heard before that split the air and echoed off cliffs and you felt it in your chest. And then." He stopped. "Nothing. Radio silence. Five months."
"That was an accurate description," Bryan said.
"That was a trailer with no movie," Dave said.
One corner of Bryan's mouth lifted. Just slightly. The timing of a man who had been sitting on this for five months and was finding the return on his investment entirely satisfactory.
Kevin noticed. "Don't you smile," Kevin said.
"I'm not smiling," Bryan said.
"You are absolutely smiling."
"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades," Bryan said.
Bruce Hall, who was not a performer of grievance in the way Kevin and Dave were performers of grievance but who had his own opinions on the matter, said: "What was in the water, Bryan."
"Something came out of it," Bryan said. "I told you that."
"You told us the light went in and something came out and there was a sound," Bruce said. "That describes approximately everything and nothing simultaneously."
Neal Doughty said nothing. Neal had been watching this unfold with the expression he'd had on the catwalk watching Nathan pass his hiding spot, patient, interested, filing everything.
Kevin pivoted. He turned to face Battle Cry with the full theatrical weight of a frontman who had identified a larger target.
"You," Kevin said.
Jace looked at him.
"All of you," Kevin said. "Every single one of you. You were all there. All five of you knew what Bryan saw. Five months. Not one word."
"Correct," Connor said pleasantly.
"Not one word!" Kevin said, to Dave, who shook his head in solidarity. To Bruce, who shrugged in acknowledgment. To Neal, who nodded once. "Five months of these five men knowing something happened on that island in August and giving us exactly the same amount of information Bryan gave us, which is..."
"Crumbs," Dave supplied.
"Crumbs," Kevin confirmed. He spread his hands. "I want you to know that I consider this a betrayal."
"It's not a betrayal," Jace said. "It's a private moment."
"A private moment," Kevin repeated. He looked at Dave.
"A private moment," Dave confirmed, with the energy of a man who could not believe what he was hearing.
"Bryan was there," Jace said. "He came to the island. He rode with us. He was on the cliff at dawn. The moment was his because he was in it."
"We would have come," Kevin said. "If someone had told us there was a cliff involved..."
"Nobody knew about the cliff in advance," Ricky said helpfully.
"Nobody knew," Kevin said. He put both hands on top of his head. "Dave."
"Yeah," Dave said.
"Nobody knew."
"That tracks," Dave said.
"I'm suffering," Kevin said, to the stage, to Kemper Arena, to January in Kansas City.
Bryan, arms crossed, watched his four bandmates perform their collective wronged-ness at full volume and felt the warm satisfaction of a man who had been the sole target of this for five months and was now watching it distribute across ten people. This was much better.
"Bryan," Kevin said, swinging back. "Tell me one thing. One true thing. Something you haven't told me."
Bryan considered this for a long, unhurried moment.
"The sky on the island," Bryan said, "is lavender."
Kevin stared at him.
"Lavender," Dave repeated.
"Not blue," Bryan confirmed. "Lavender."
"The sky," Kevin said. "Is lavender."
"Yes."
Kevin looked at the ceiling of Kemper Arena, which was not lavender, which was the standard industrial grey-black of a large indoor venue. He looked back at Bryan with the expression of a man whose information had raised more questions than it answered, which was exactly what Bryan had intended.
"I hate you," Kevin said, with great warmth.
"I know," Bryan said.
The laughter that followed had been building for five months, Kevin and Dave leading it, Bruce allowing a genuine grin, Neal's mouth curving with the satisfaction of a patient man, Battle Cry adding their own to it in the loose easy way of people who had been watching this drama develop and had enjoyed every moment.
"Okay," Dave said, when it settled. He had the look of a man who had been waiting for his moment and had identified it. "The naughty hide and seek."
The surviving REO members all turned toward Battle Cry simultaneously.
"Yeah," Kevin said. "I think we need to go back to that."
"It started as a game," Connor said, with the composure of a man who had spent an hour in a trash can and had earned the right to explain things at his own pace. "The ladies had been traveling with us on the tour. It got... competitive."
"Competitive," Bruce said.
"The competitive part involved hiding places," Ricky said. "And finding them. And what happened when you got found."
"With those women," Dave said.
"With those women," Ricky confirmed.
Dave looked at the women in question, who were standing in a loose group at the side of the stage, completely aware that they were being discussed, wearing the expressions of people who found this entirely entertaining.
"How," Dave said, "did any of you get any work done."
"It is a genuine question," Bruce agreed.
"We managed," Erik said, with the dignity of the High General of Aelin.
"Twenty times," Kevin said.
"The exact number is disputed," Nathan said.
"Twenty times," Jace confirmed. "Give or take."
"And the tying Jace up thing," Dave said.
"That happened more than once," Connor confirmed.
"We had to put a stop to it," Jace said. "It was becoming a thing."
Kevin stared at him. "It was becoming a thing," he repeated.
"The Guardian of Aelin," Jace said, "cannot be regularly incapacitated by..." he paused, chose the word carefully, "...enthusiastic women with rope. It creates security concerns."
The ten of them stood on the darkened stage with the full weight of that sentence.
"Security concerns," Kevin said.
"Security concerns," Jace confirmed.
"Dave," Kevin said.
"Yeah," Dave said.
"Are you still worried they're on drugs?"
Dave looked at Battle Cry, the half-circlets, the amulets, the five men who ruled a cloaked island and trained for combat and had apparently spent a significant portion of their tour years playing hide and seek with a group of women until it became a security concern, and thought about his answer.
"No," Dave said. "I'm not worried they're on drugs."
"Good," Kevin said.
"I'm worried they're on something much more interesting than drugs," Dave said.
The laughter that came back was full and genuine and echoed up through the empty seats of the arena and off the rigging far above them, the sound of two bands who had found each other and intended to keep finding each other for a long time.
"Next time," Connor said, wiping his eyes, "see if you can bring Styx with you. They're dramatic enough."
"Oh no," Anya said. "I can picture it now. Dennis DeYoung hiding in a giant robot."
The night ended with laughter and the promise of another game, and as the bands said their goodbyes, shows tomorrow on the same stage, from opposite directions, they knew something had settled into place between them that was going to last.
The two keyboard players walked out together, which nobody had arranged and which was inevitable.
"You watched me pass by three times," Nathan said.
"Three times," Neal confirmed.
"And you didn't say anything."
"No," Neal said.
Nathan thought about this. "I would have done the same thing," he said.
"I know," Neal said.
They walked out into the January night, Kemper Arena behind them, and said nothing more about it.
Two months later, in Tallahassee, they did it again.
TALLAHASSEE, FLORIDA
Leon County Civic Center
March 1990
The southeastern leg of the tour had landed in Tallahassee on a Thursday, which was the kind of mid-week date that filled arenas in college towns and gave the road crew just enough time between load-in and show to get into trouble. REO Speedwagon was on the same circuit, playing the Civic Center the following night, and had arrived early with the enthusiasm of men who had been looking forward to this for two months.
The rules had changed.
This had been Kevin's idea, presented at a table of ribs and beer at a local joint that afternoon with the confidence of a frontman who had been thinking about it since January.
"Tag team," Kevin said.
"Tag team," Connor repeated.
"Pairs. Instrument by instrument. Drummer with drummer, guitarist with guitarist, bassist with bassist, keyboard with keyboard, singer with singer." Kevin looked at the assembled group. "Balance the chaos."
"That pairs me with Dave," Ricky said, with the expression of a man who had already identified this as an opportunity.
Dave Amato looked at Ricky. Ricky looked at Dave. Something passed between them, two people who were either going to work very well together or produce a catastrophe.
"I'm afraid," Dave said.
"You should be," Ricky said warmly.
The teams were set. Ricky and Dave, Team Chaos. Kevin and Connor, Team Irish, which Kevin named and Connor accepted on the grounds that his mother was Irish and therefore it was accurate if incomplete. Erik and Bruce, Team Mountain, the two bassists, the pairing of a 6'6" Viking and a 6'1" lean tree, which Ricky described as a forest and which was not incorrect. Jace and Bryan, Team Ghost, which named itself without discussion because two drummers with the skill sets of Jason Elias and Bryan Hitt did not need to announce what they were.
And Nathan and Neal, returning champions, co-conspirators, the keyboardist alliance that had between them won and arranged one first-place finish and one dignified strategic partnership in January. They had spent the car ride from the hotel to the venue debating signal systems. They arrived with a plan that involved hand signals and mirror flashes and which Nathan had documented in a small notebook.
Anya looked at the assembled teams.
"Go," she said.
TEAM CHAOS: RICKY AND DAVE AMATO
Dave Amato vibrated with nervous energy in the darkened corridor of the Civic Center's backstage area. Tallahassee was not improving matters.
Ricky, beside him, was doing a silent jig of excitement.
"Okay," Dave whispered. "Strategy. We need to be quiet. Invisible. Like smoke."
Ricky grinned. "Or," he said, producing a handful of glitter from his pocket, "we could be fabulous."
Dave stared at the glitter. The glitter caught even the minimal light of the corridor and sparkled with the enthusiasm of something that had no business being in a hide and seek game.
"Why," Dave said, "do you have glitter. We're hiding, Rick. We are not headlining a parade."
"It's a distraction," Ricky said. "I throw the glitter, they sneeze, we run."
Dave put his face in his hands. "We are going to be caught in three minutes. I can feel it."
"Live a little, Amato," Ricky whispered, and before Dave could stop him the Sentinel tossed a handful of glitter into the air vent above them. The HVAC system caught it immediately, distributed it thoroughly, and showered both of them in a sparkling cloud that settled into their hair and clothing with the permanent commitment of something that had found its home.
"Now we glow," Dave said. "We are literally glowing in the dark."
"Shh," Ricky said. "I hear them."
It was Lena and Amara. They were not using flashlights. They were following the trail of glitter that Ricky had inadvertently distributed all the way down the corridor with the ease of trackers following a very cooperative trail.
"Look," Amara said, pointing at the sparkling duo. "Disco ball found the disco ball."
Dave raised his hands. "I tried," he said. "God knows I tried."
TEAM IRISH: KEVIN AND CONNOR
The two frontmen were crouched behind a stack of amplifiers in the loading dock, and the chemistry between them was immediate and slightly alarming.
"So," Kevin whispered, with the legendary mischief of a man who had been a frontman since the seventies and had no intention of stopping. "What's the plan, lad?"
Connor, drawing on the quick-witted Irish side that his mother Patricia had passed directly to him, stroked his chin. "We divide and conquer. Create a diversion. Use our charm."
"I like the charm," Kevin said. "I have a lot of charm."
"You have too much charm," Connor said. "It's like a beacon. We need to dial it down."
"Never dial down the charm," Kevin said, with genuine offense. "It's a weapon."
They decided to split up and flank the hunters. Kevin went one way, Connor the other. It was a solid plan, executed cleanly, and it lasted approximately ninety seconds before they ran into each other in the dark.
"Oof," Kevin said.
"Shh," Connor hissed. "They'll hear us."
"I thought you were the enemy," Kevin whispered, laughing despite himself.
"I am the enemy," Connor said, then paused. "Wait. No. I'm me. You're you. We're us. Where are we?"
"At this point I have no clue," Kevin sighed. "I guess we make a break for it."
They burst out from behind the amplifiers, not quite running, not quite walking, something in between that could generously be described as a purposeful stroll, and strolled directly into Anya and Zara.
"Going somewhere, boys?" Anya asked.
Kevin deployed the thousand-watt smile. "Just checking the acoustics, darlin'."
"Nice try," Connor agreed, striking a pose beside him. "But you caught us."
"We were caught the moment we decided to be awesome," Kevin admitted, linking arms with Connor. "Take us away."
TEAM MOUNTAIN: ERIK AND BRUCE HALL
The pairing of the two bassists was a study in contrasts that somehow produced a forest. Erik was the Viking mountain. Bruce was the tall lean tree. Together they occupied more vertical space than most of the hiding spots the Civic Center offered.
"This is impossible," Bruce whispered, attempting to compress himself behind a row of folding chairs in the lower bowl. "I'm too tall. I stick out everywhere I go."
Erik, who had folded his 6'6" frame into a shape that suggested he had rearranged some joints to achieve it, shook his head. "You just have to think small. Visualize yourself as a shrub."
"I am visualizing myself as a shrub," Bruce said, "but I keep visualizing a shrub that is six-foot-two and wearing cowboy boots."
They relocated to the under-stage area. Darker, tighter, and blessedly free of glitter. They were making reasonable progress through the cable maze until they reached a low-hanging pipe.
Erik ducked under it without breaking stride.
Bruce misjudged the distance.
CLANG.
The sound of Bruce Hall's forehead connecting with solid steel pipe echoed through the under-stage area with the resonance of a struck bell.
"Son of a..." Bruce started.
"Freeze," Erik hissed.
Too late. Miko materialized from the shadows with a flashlight, its beam finding two large men, one standing at full height, one conducting a silent painful dance while holding his forehead.
"Ouch," Miko said, with genuine sympathy. "That looked like it hurt."
"The pipe betrayed us," Erik said, unfolding to his full height with the dignity of a High General accepting an outcome he could not have prevented.
"The pipe always betrays you," Bruce agreed, still rubbing the lump forming on his forehead. "Take us to jail."
TEAM GHOST: JACE AND BRYAN HITT
The drummers operated as a unit from the moment the game started. No discussion required. Two men who both understood timing, space, and the art of being exactly where nothing was happening, they moved through the Civic Center's backstage with the ease of people who had done this before, which Jace had and Bryan had not but was learning rapidly.
"Stay low," Jace said. "Use the shadows. Don't make a sound."
Bryan nodded. He was following Jace like a shadow himself, which was exactly the right instinct. They evaded the first sweep of hunters without difficulty, disappeared into the rigging above the stage, and settled onto a narrow maintenance platform suspended directly above the center stage speaker stack. Cramped, dusty, hidden behind black scrim. Below them the women's voices moved through the arena finding everyone else.
"They're like ghosts," Anya's voice floated up from below. "I can't find them anywhere."
Jace smirked.
Bryan shifted his weight slightly. The maintenance platform, older than it perhaps should have been, with the opinion of aging infrastructure about being stood on by two adult men, gave a soft metallic groan.
Jace looked at Bryan. Bryan looked at Jace.
"Don't move," Jace whispered.
The groan had dislodged a small bolt from the railing. It fell, struck the speaker stack below with a sharp clean ping, and the silence that followed had the quality of a room in which everyone had just heard the same thing.
"Jace?" Anya's voice drifted up, warm and amused. "Bryan? Are you two playing angel up there?"
Jace closed his eyes briefly. "She has bat ears," he whispered.
Bryan leaned back against the railing with the composure of a man who had survived five months of Kevin Cronin and was not going to be undone by a bolt. "Well," he said. "It was nice while it lasted."
"We lasted longer than everyone else," Jace said.
"That's something," Bryan agreed.
They climbed down. Two drummers, dignified, accepting their capture with the bearing of men who had fought well and were not embarrassed by how it ended.
THE FINAL STAND: NATHAN AND NEAL DOUGHTY
The venue went quiet, everyone else already caught, two men still somewhere in the building.
Nathan was in the lighting booth above the floor, view of the entire arena, scanning. Neal had been nowhere since the game started, which was, as Nathan had learned, exactly where Neal wanted to be.
Flash. A tiny glint from stage right. Neal in the orchestra pit. Nathan nodded. Plan B. The women were in the upper bowl, convinced the keyboardists would go high. Nathan descended the service stairs, silent. Neal climbed out of the pit, moving toward backstage. They would meet center, claim the victory, laugh in the faces of the process.
Nathan reached floor level. Behind the soundboard. Clear.
Neal was halfway across the stage. Clear.
They were going to make it.
The arena's PA system crackled to life.
Not the women. The venue's automated announcement system, triggered by a cleaning crew timer set hours earlier, coming online at full venue volume with the cheerful indifference of technology that had no idea what it was interrupting.
"Attention patrons," a recorded voice boomed through every speaker in the Leon County Civic Center. "The venue will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the nearest exit."
Nathan flinched, hands going to his ears.
Neal, standing directly in front of a speaker stack, came approximately six inches off the stage floor.
Every woman in the building turned toward the sound. Toward the stage. Toward the two men who were now completely visible in the center of it.
"There!" Zara called.
Neal looked at the approaching hunters. Looked toward the soundboard where Nathan was already shaking his head. Looked back at the hunters. Raised his hands.
"I blame the automation," he said.
Nathan walked out from behind the soundboard and joined him center stage. They shook hands with the gravity of men who had been undefeated until forces outside their control intervened.
"We were undefeated," Nathan said.
"Until technology failed us," Neal agreed.
"It wasn't us."
"It was never us."
"Next time," Nathan said, "we check the cleaning crew schedule in advance."
"Next time," Neal confirmed.
THE AFTERMATH: PA SYSTEM, CHAMPION
The full complement of both bands gathered on the stage of the Leon County Civic Center, sweating, laughing, and in the case of Ricky and Dave, still sparkling.
"The winners," Anya announced, "are the PA system."
"Hey," Kevin said, arm around Connor's shoulders. "At least we went down fighting."
"We went down awesome," Connor corrected.
Dave was working at the glitter on his face with the focused determination of a man who understood it was not coming off tonight and was doing it anyway. "I'm never listening to Ricky again."
"You loved it," Ricky said, hugging him from the side. "Admit it. You felt alive."
"I felt like a disco ball," Dave said. He was smiling.
Jace and Bryan stood together comparing notes on the maintenance platform. Erik and Bruce were comparing forehead situations, Bruce with the growing lump from the pipe, Erik with the sympathy of a man who had watched it happen and could not have prevented it.
Dave looked around at all of it, the glitter, the lump, the two keyboard players who had been defeated by a cleaning crew timer, the women looking pleased with themselves, Battle Cry in their half-circlets and Aelinian clothes in a Tallahassee arena in March, and said:
"Are we on drugs?"
The laughter came from everywhere simultaneously.
"I mean it," Dave said, but he was laughing too. "We keep letting these magical bastards talk us into this stuff. And we keep saying yes. Every time. What is wrong with us."
"Nothing's wrong with you," Ricky said. "You're just fun."
"We're absolutely on something," Dave said. "I don't know what it is but it's not normal."
"It's a tradition now," Neal said, looking around the stage with the satisfaction of a man who had won one and lost one and considered this an acceptable record. "We have to keep doing this."
"Absolutely," Nathan said. "Next time, somewhere without automated announcements."
"Deal," Anya said. "Now who's hungry? I heard there's a place in Tallahassee that does late-night ribs."
The bands began moving toward the exits in the loose good-natured way of people who had just done something completely ridiculous and felt excellent about it. Road cases being loaded, the noise of post-show venue breakdown beginning in the background, the March warmth of Florida in spring outside the doors.
Jace was walking with Kevin and Bryan and Neal when Kevin said:
"So. The island."
Jace looked at him.
"We've been patient," Kevin said. The performance of grievance was gone now, this was the real question, the one underneath all the theatrical outrage, asked simply. "We've done two of these games. We gave you Neal winning in January which was very impressive. We gave you glitter in March which was Ricky's fault. We've been good about it." He paused. "When can we come see the island?"
Jace was quiet. The kind of quiet that had something in it.
"How about for the wedding?" he said.
Kevin stopped walking.
Bryan said nothing and looked at the middle distance.
"The wedding," Kevin said.
"May twelfth," Jace said. "Aelin. The full ceremony. Seven hundred guests. You'd be five of them."
Kevin looked at Neal. Neal looked at Kevin. The expression on both their faces had the quality of two men who had been negotiating for a visit and had just been offered considerably more than a visit.
"All five of us," Kevin said.
"All five of you," Jace said. "You're oath holders. You're Brotherhood-adjacent. You should be there."
"We're going to the royal wedding," Kevin said. Not a question. Processing.
"Yes," Jace said.
Kevin turned to find Dave, who was still at the other end of the stage discussing the glitter situation with Ricky. "Dave," Kevin called.
Dave looked over.
"We're going to a royal wedding in May."
Dave stared at him. "What."
"Aelin," Kevin said. "May twelfth. Jace just invited us."
Dave looked at Jace. Jace looked back.
Dave opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"I asked for a visit to the island," Dave said.
"I know," Jace said.
"I was going for, like, a tour. Maybe see some things."
"I know," Jace said.
"A royal wedding is considerably more than a tour."
"Yes," Jace said.
Dave stood there.
"Bryan," Dave said.
"Yeah," Bryan said.
"Did you know about this."
One corner of Bryan's mouth lifted. The timing. "I knew about the wedding," he said. "I didn't know about the invitation."
"But you knew," Dave said.
"I knew about the wedding," Bryan said again, with perfect composure.
Dave looked at him. Then at Jace. Then at Kevin.
"We're going to a royal wedding on a magic island," Dave said.
"Yes," Jace said.
"In May."
"May twelfth."
"With a lavender sky."
"With a lavender sky," Jace confirmed.
Dave Amato stood in the Leon County Civic Center in Tallahassee, Florida, in March 1990, still covered in Ricky's glitter, and looked at the ceiling with the expression of a man making peace with the fact that his life had become something he could not have predicted and would not trade.
"Okay," Dave said.
Bryan's mouth curved. Full this time. The smile he had been holding back since January, the one Kevin had been trying to extract for five months, arriving now without any strategy behind it at all, just the simple satisfaction of a man who was going to a royal wedding in May and thought that was exactly right.
Kevin saw it. "There it is," Kevin said.
"There it is," Bryan agreed.
The bands walked out into the Tallahassee night together, and the conversation that followed, about the island, the wedding, what to wear to a royal ceremony when you are a rock band and the groom is also a Guardian and a High King, lasted all the way to the ribs place and considerably beyond it.