Blood To Blood (16 page)

“Angel, your guest is here,”
Dad yelled.

By the time I made my way,
mortally, down the stairs to the main level, Dad and Sawyer were sitting in the
family room. Their conversation revolved around the Sox, the Celts, and the
Pats. They both turned to me.

“Hi,” I said while chewing
the inside of my cheek.

Was it my imagination or did
Sawyer’s eyes light up? “Hi.”

Dad tugged at his earlobe and
scowled at us for a second. He then unfolded his long frame and headed back to
his shop.

“You look like you were never
in the hospital.”

“Told you it was nada. Want
something to drink?”

He accepted a bottle of
mineral water before following me down the hall. I was aware of him quietly
walking behind me as I entered the living room, and because I was embarrassed
at what my eyes would give away, avoided his gaze for as long as I could. When
I finally turned to face him, he was sitting at the grand, flipping through the
sheet music on the stand.

“Pucinni. La Bohème,” he read
out loud. It was one of my favorite pieces, and was still unfolded on the stand
as it had been since the last session with Mr. C.

“O Soave Fancìulla,” I
responded. “It's a duet.”

“I know,” he said. “It's my
favorite opera.”

I felt my face frown at his
subtle admonishment, and felt guilty, yet again, for underestimating him. His
fingers tinkled with the piano keys. And then he started to play. And I could
say nothing, do nothing except helplessly listen to him sing in a soft tenor:

“The dream that I see in you/

is the dream I’ll always dream”

His voice was pop, but his
pronunciation of the Italian was perfect. My knees trembled and I leaned
against the piano for support. I joined him in the duet, my heart hammering
against my ribcage like a songbird on fast-forward. My voice tailored itself to
his and complemented his husky delivery.

The guy I'd once dismissed as
a musical fraud was now in my home playing my heartstrings in a way I never
knew could be so beautiful. He held my gaze through the rest of the song. The
room glowed with the gorgeous notes, and there was nothing except music and
him.

We reached the final notes,
where he humbly deferred to me
.

“Amore!”

I sang full out. His lips
stretched into a smile as he pressed the final notes and watched me deliver the
last vocals. The music came to a climatic end as his smile burned a brilliant
pattern into my brain.

My feet were nowhere near the
ground. He gasped, and abruptly stood up. We were almost face-to-face. “Wow,”
he whispered, wide-eyed, as he cupped my face in his hands and leaned his lips
toward mine. As if in a dream, I breathed in his scent.

Angel!

My face fell when Dad
appeared in the doorway behind Sawyer.

He’s seen you levitate. Dad
has to glamour him,
Cici
transmitted as Dad silently approached Sawyer from behind.
I'm so sorry,
Angel.

“No, Daddy!” Unwilling to
watch, I turned away.

There was a brief silence,
then I turned back around. Dad was gone, and Sawyer sat at the grand again,
flipping through the sheet music as he had before.

It was as if the duet never
happened.

“Perhaps we should get
started on the track,” he said, seemingly unaware of the magic that had
happened between us just minutes ago and how it changed my life forever. I
nodded and refused to cry, since surely the sight of my bloody tears would
warrant another glamouring.

We went to work. I sang a few
takes as he played the track. As soon as he recorded what he needed, he rose to
leave. His brow knitted into a frown as he tersely thanked me for my time.

Cici squatted next to where I
had thrown myself on the floor after closing the door behind Sawyer. “Don't
make that mistake again, sis. Forget about him.”

She reached out to comfort me, but I
pushed her hand away and pressed my lips together to swallow the devastating
sound rising up from my shattered heart.

S
ince I was the one “recovering,” the
girls came over to my house a couple times to work on the tracks, teach me
Redd’s choreography, and practice the song we were going to perform at the
Garden gig. Although we had performed “Get Out Of Here” numerous times over the
past year, Julietta had some ideas for adding spice to the existing harmonies.
Thanks to Mr. C.’s “love” technique, the passionate emotions the song always
evoked in me were channeled through my voice, and seemed to affect the girls,
too. As a result, our collective delivery sounded better than ever.

After rehearsing, we were
sprawled about the family room writing lyrics, and drinking tea and hot
chocolate. A fire roared in the fireplace, and outside, the snow was coming
down in a torrent. Mom called from the kitchen. “Would you girls like some
cookies?”

“Yes!” they yelled back
enthusiastically. They always loved Mom’s holiday cookies. I, on the other
hand, would never again enjoy those miniature snowmen, reindeer, and elves.

 “Mmmm…so good,” LaLa
said as she dunked one into the hot chocolate. I watched her, jealously sipping
my “hot chocolate” which really wasn’t hot chocolate at all. Cici had finally
perfected a drink glamour that allowed me to drink blood that looked and
smelled to mortals like anything I announced it to be. Dad deemed it brilliant.

“I’m not going to eat
anything else today,” Julietta said as she stuffed another cookie into her
mouth. She was back on her diet.

“Giiirrrl, you better stop
that crazy bulimia thing or you’ll end up with osteoporosis,” LaLa said with
crumbs flying out of her mouth.

“Whatever. Did he really take
the blame for you getting shot?” Julietta asked me.

They both waited for an
answer.

“He said it was because he’d
asked me to look at houses with him.” Their eyes opened wide before they burst
into giggles.

“Has he kissed you yet?” LaLa
probed.

Weird. That was the sort of
thing Julietta would ask. I felt my face frown. “It’s not like that.”

“Yeah, right,” Julietta said
with an uncharacteristically cynical tone.

The idea of kissing Sawyer
was almost too much to bear. To be so close to him, to actually taste him…the
thought alone was almost enough to send me over the edge. I bit into a cookie.
It tasted like what I imagined kitty litter might, but it distracted me from
fantasizing about tasting Sawyer. Masochistically, I continued to chew.

#
# #

Days later not even our
annual family Christmas activities could take my mind off of kissing Sawyer.
While we shopped for and decorated the tree, the idea of what would happen if I
ever got that close to him tormented me. Singing happy carols couldn’t make me
forget that I’d literally eat him alive.

Our first family ski break of
the year, scheduled earlier to accommodate the weekend’s Garden gig, couldn’t
take away the dreadful thoughts. You’d think I’d be enjoying my new immortal
prowess on the slopes, but no. All I could think about was whether Sawyer liked
to ski. I was obsessed. Mom and Dad kept looking at me as if I’d lost my mind.
Cici’s telepathic silence on the topic was louder than an “I told you so.” They
all knew what I knew. That if I’d manage to keep Sawyer alive after the first
taste, there would be no hope of him living much longer.

These thoughts were still in
the back of my mind a couple days later when the stretch Hummer, sent by Quake
Records, showed up at the door.

“Sure beats the Green Line,”
LaLa said, referring to Boston’s mass transit system. She ran her hands over
the leather seats. There was a pop-music mix pumping through the speakers, and
we hummed along to the tunes to warm up our vocal chords. It was more of an
attempt, on my part, to continue to look “normal” since I no longer needed to
warm up. My voice was now capable of going from zero to one-sixty in a matter
of seconds.

Julietta, the first to get
picked up, nursed a cup of hot water and lemon. She pointed to the hot water
dispenser, and I leaned forward to fix myself a cup before locating some honey,
stirring and staring out the window at the city. Outside, a fresh top layer of
snow was being whipped into mini tornadoes by gusts of freezing wind; a quantum
leap from the vehicle’s warm luxury.

I caught the look of
disbelief on LaLa's face. “It's like a too-good-to-be-true dream,” she said,
gesturing to our surroundings. “One part of my mind says something bad’s going
to happen.”

“Yep,” Jules chimed in. “It's
surreal. But we worked for this. It's been four years and a thousand gigs. And
did we rock rehearsal or what?”

Earlier, we had a technical
rehearsal on the Garden stage. And the effect my emotions had on others while
singing, what I had sensed during my rehearsals with the girls, was confirmed.
I’d felt excited. Excited about being in control of my voice, excited to be on
the stage, and excited just to be alive. Through my voice, my excitement was
transferred to everyone around me—stagehands, producers, stage managers,
assistants, the girls; everybody was amped up, too.

This confirmation made me
wonder, though…were Sawyer’s feelings during our duet real…or a result of
transferring my own emotions through my voice?

I still pondered that
question as the Hummer pulled into the backstage entrance to the Garden. Nina,
dressed in a sharp black suit and heels, waited by the entrance. She led us
through a maze of corridors and access-restricted areas until we got to our
dressing room.

It was two hours before we
were due on stage. Nina left us to our own devices, promising she'd see us
backstage after we were done. We hardly noticed she’d left because the sight of
our outfits took all our attention.

They were awesome.

All three were silver, pink
and white, but each one reflected the personality of the wearer. LaLa’s
consisted of skin-tight pants, a tank, and a glistening baseball cap, while
both Jules and I got miniskirts. I got stilettos and angel wings and Jules had
the knee-high platform boots and beaded headgear. I sashayed around with the
wings on. They were surprisingly comfortable. “Good,” stone-faced Risa said,
detaching the wings to allow me to sit for makeup and hair.

“Not so good,” LaLa said as
we all took in the way Jules’ outfit hung on her.

“How much weight did you lose
this time?” I asked. Julietta looked down at her body as if she was seeing it
for the first time.

“About twelve pounds,” she
answered.

As LaLa and I voiced our
disapproval of Jules’ crash-dieting, an emotionless Risa sat down at her
portable sewing machine and started taking in material without a word.
Meanwhile, we practiced our harmonies until the makeup artist kept our lips too
busy. The hairstylist worked until my face, neck, and shoulders were framed by
a mass of silky spirals. Soon, Julietta's costume was ready. I didn't know much
about sewing, but was impressed by Risa’s quickness with the alterations.
Jules’ outfit fit her perfectly.

We oohed and aahed at the
transformation of Kat Trio. We’d dressed up for gigs before but never at this
level. I loved the look of the eyelashes and rhinestones on my eyes.

“So pretty,” Jules gushed.
“We look hot!”

“Yeah, I hope you’re able to
dance in those,” LaLa said pointing to our shoes. Quickly, Julietta and I
reviewed the choreography to get acclimated to the shoes. It was a shaky start,
but soon we were able to dance normally. And then we were ready to go. At least
on the outside. But on the inside I was a ball of nerves.

Relax, Angel. I'm in the
audience. Guess who's with me?
”

I sniffed the air. Mom and
Dad!
That’s supposed to make me feel relaxed?

I remembered not too long ago
wishing Mom and Dad could see me perform again, but the thought of it happening
tonight made me more nervous. After all, my family hadn't seen me perform for
two years. What if they didn't like the way my performance style had evolved?
What if they thought I was wasting my time and should focus more on school?

They're not here to judge
you. They're here to make sure you don't kill anybody.

Even worse. I had images of
Mom or Dad trying to explain to the police how their daughter decimated a crowd
of thousands with her voice. I felt myself lift out of my chair.

Angel Brown, get a hold of
yourself right now before I come back there! You're getting all worked up and
we can't have that tonight.

She was right. I took a deep
breath and felt myself settle firmly back into my chair. There was a knock on
the door. “Who's there?” I called out while taking another quick look in the
mirror. His scent had already answered my question.