Neon Grave

Chapter 7 Androgynous Vision 2/2

The drum tick went until the crowd was silent, and then the gap in the noise felt hammer-on cascades; an electric guitar triggered new tidal waves of excitement. Then a beam shot down from the ceiling and illuminated the guitarist. Her sleek and studded leather jacket flared under the white glow, her jagged hair draped out of her leather cap like a yellow flame. She was master of the crowd, playing them like the instrument.

Another beam shot down and illuminated the keyboardist in his top hat, possibly more face powder than Jess had ever worn in her life, and a black Cheshire smile. His keys droned on, as fiery and macabre as the guitar.

Then a third beam ignited the drummer, a nymph wrapped head to toe in bandages, even around the eyes. As those drums beat the air into submission, a purple stream fluttered at her back.

Cheers came to a head when the fourth beam landed on a wily woman. V, the vocalist, hit the high notes and just kept going. Her style was flashy, physical, staunch before the crowd. In neon-laced leather and knee-high boots, her aura had a gravitational pull. Point of focus in a 37,000-seat arena, her face: bright green eyes, glowing pink hair curved over her temple. Her voice had that critical allure, tempting listeners closer; it was operatic and dramatic. Until it wasn't.

One second, she was immersed in 17th century Baroque music, the next in 20th punk rock. The band was an instant, harmonious quartet of talent. Everyone deified their favorite artists in the world; but at that moment, seeing them up close, Jessica thought she saw gods.

When the spotlights vanished, each of the stadium's four platforms spawned a giant hologram. One, two, three, then four band members towered over the audience. They were so lifelike, like giants in a crowd that only got wilder.

Time fluxed with every strum, every beat, every ding, and every scream. A new song meant new instruments carried onstage. Between the four artists of Androgynous Vision, anything was possible. In the transitions, Jessica checked on her friends. Valerie looked like she'd come out of the shower, and seemed ready to faint at any second. Homegirl had to be held, lest her legs buckle. Meanwhile, Shannon's smile was like validation, a seal of approval from a musical expert. She might have crafted a few dances in the process.

In truth, Jessica couldn't believe how much fun she was having. Enthralled by syncopation success, she didn't notice the roadie walk up to her. Feeling a tap on her shoulder, she turned to a blonde woman in starlight and official band tags. Of course, it was hard to hear anything, but she received a set of VIP passes. It all made sense. As appreciation slipped off her sweaty hands, she remembered her reason for being there. She whirled around, half-expecting some sort of sign. Who or what was she supposed to find in this massive place? Then, she looked at the passes.

The concert ended the way it started, dramatically. And with a thank you, too; V made sure everyone could see her before shouting "Androgynous Vision!" four times. Then they played her offstage, and the lights went dark. There was hardly a gasp left in the crowd. Jessica expected the ringing in her ears to last for weeks, but she powered past it to help Valerie walk. Unfortunately, her legs had turned into spaghetti as well. So, they relied on Shannon to keep them afloat. On the precipice of the lane, Jessica remembered something.

"Wait," she drawled. "Do you guys wanna meet the band?"

"What?" Valerie's strength returned. "Don't play with me, Jess!" she rasped.