Wicked Harmony

Prologue

“ T onight’s a big one, eh?”

It’s the tenth time someone’s said the same thing to me already. As if I didn’t already know that tonight’s important.

Whoever says those five words next will receive a slap or, more likely, an internal scoff and eye roll that could detach my retinas.

“Hey Saint, how are you doing? Big one tonight, isn’t it?”

Instead of slapping them, I paste on a bland smile and nod along. “Sure is.”

There’s a buzz in the air tonight. The atmosphere’s a mixture of excitement and trepidation and everyone’s buzzing around like flies without actually getting anything done.

The sold out signs plastered all over the walls catch my eye once again and I get the familiar swooping sense of nausea in my stomach that happens every time I see them.

Eight thousand seats, with every single one of them sold.

Eight thousand souls gathering together for tonight’s Awakening.

“Gather around everyone. Positivity Circle time,” Gina calls.

The doors open in less than an hour, and there are always a few early arrivals before the Awakening starts. They think that if they come early enough, they might get one-on-one time with the Herald. They think he’ll take them in hand and cure all their ills before everyone else gets here.

Too bad that’s never going to happen .

The Herald—aka our fearless leader, Cedar Orlog—stands up on stage in front of us all, widening his arms in his designer suit. The impossibly large, impossibly white smile is out on display. His dyed mahogany hair is slicked back with enough product that it looks like he’s dumped his head in an entire vat of gel.

“Gather around everyone.” His voice booms out. For some reason, he’s already mic'd up, even though he shouldn’t be yet. He must have fitted it himself even though that’s my job, and I still need to do a couple of last checks on it.

I have to drag myself away from my checklist to join the circle. There are still a half dozen things I need to go through before we can start letting people in. And something tells me tonight’s Positivity Circle is going to be a long one.

“Take the hand of the person on either side of you,” the Herald says, beaming around at the fifty members of his crew.

I remember when there were only three of us. I was fifteen and there was just me, my mother, and Gina—the Herald’s assistant. I remember too, as the team built up to five, then ten.

Back then, the first Awakenings were all held in basements and the shittiest conference rooms in ratty hotels just off the interstate. I was pretty sure one of us would get mugged in the parking lot or would interrupt a drug deal on our way to our cars.

This cavernous hall with its rows upon rows of seats and fancy lighting and sound system is a world apart.

“Now, turn to the person beside you and tell them you appreciate them.”

The person to my left grips my fingers in their clammy grasp and I try not to jerk my hand away.

“I appreciate you.”

It’s Clara, one of the newly Devoted. She was hired to do the Herald’s makeup and hair and her eyes are already shimmering with unshed tears .

She’s a believer all right.

“I appreciate you,” I tell her.

Every week for the past twelve years, I’ve stood in a Positivity Circle and then listened to the same rousing speech, given by the Herald. And it’s only because I’ve done this so many times before, I can keep my voice from wavering.

Now, not all the eight thousand people coming for tonight’s Awakening are what the Herald calls ‘true Devoted’. A lot of them are curious and they want to see what it’s all about.

There are rumors swirling about The Path in the world beyond this auditorium. A lot of rumors about what makes the Herald’s Awakenings so popular. Or about how the attendees would come in as semi-interested gawkers and leave with their heads turned and their brains slightly addled.

People leave his gatherings feeling like they could help the Herald to rule the world, to make change. To really be somebody.

To matter.

Then, as time passes between Awakenings and that feeling fades, life gets in the way and nothing much in their lives changes. In fact, things get harder as they struggle to afford things in everyday life, as well as the fees for remaining Devoted to The Path.

And so, they grow fidgety and need another dose of the Herald’s teachings. They sign up for another Awakening, fork over a load of cash for the privilege and the cycle starts over.

It easily slips into being an addiction. Something people seem to lose all rationality over. They cancel plans, miss out on work and weddings, even funerals, to attend one of the Herald’s Awakenings.

People will come into the room tonight, feeling a little uncertain, maybe skeptical. Others are going to feel nothing but the desperation that’s brought them this far.

All of them will have paid a hefty ticket price to be in this room, and just when the Awakening hits its climax, the screen behind the Herald will flick on and he’ll start the tracker for tonight’s donations. Those who donate more will get closer and closer to ascending to a higher power, of reaching absolution. Transcendence.

He’s selling a dream. A fix for all their ills and a fantastic new life.

Except, it’s all bullshit.

Of course, it is.

The Herald talks the talk, walks the walk. He says he helps people. Says he transforms their lives for the better. He’s part life-coach, part cult leader. All smarm and lies.

In reality, there are only two things he lives for. Adulation, and cold, hard cash.

Tonight, he’ll get both in spades.

He literally couldn’t care less if the room dropped dead, beyond the damage it would do to his reputation and his revenue streams.

I was fifteen when he started dating my mother. Back then, I figured things might get better with him around. I figured they couldn’t get much worse, since we lived in a trailer and our power had just been shut off because mom refused to pay the bill.

She also had a terrible reputation around town for stealing from the cleaning jobs she did back then. And when I turned out to be handy with a screwdriver and offered my services fixing stuff so that we could at least afford to eat, she’d steal from my jobs too.

It left both of us unpopular and unemployable, always on the move from town to town.

It never occurred to me at the time that no one good would want to get mixed up with her petty bullshit.

Of course, my mom thought meeting the Herald was a gift from the heavens. He wasn’t ‘the Herald’ back then, though. He was just a guy with big dreams, called Cedar Orlog.

Then, as they spent more time together, he became a bigger part of our lives, and that ‘gift from heaven’ turned into a step on The Path. For my mom, there was no room for faith in anything else when the Herald was in the room.

My mother didn’t just drink the Kool-Aid, she mixed it herself.

For a while, so did I.

And I know, I know I should have left years ago, as soon as I turned eighteen. Should never have gotten as involved as I am. My flimsy fucking excuse is that he’s never paid me, so I can’t even afford a bus ticket. He pays the rent for our shared apartment. Pays the bills and for food, but I’ve never earned any money.

Add to that, I’m not as invisible as I’d like to be. People know about me. To them I’m Saint, his perfect daughter, working alongside her dear ol’ papa.

I’m entrenched in this shit. Complicit up to my eyeballs.

The Herald might be the one with the patter, the guy that sells the dream. But it’s my work that really makes them believe it.

The mic, the device hanging over the door frame as they enter; the projector displaying behind the Herald on the stage. They’re all my work. All dripping with my magic.

But tonight I’m cutting the cord. After tonight, there won’t be any more magic to his Awakenings.

I think I was twenty before I started to question the ethics of what the Herald is doing here. That was right around the time this following started to grow and he upped his prices for membership.

The requests for donations always start out small and subtle, then before his Devoted realizes what’s happening, they’re suddenly re-mortgaging their houses so they can make hefty enough donations to Transcend to the next level of The Path.

It never hit me how fucked up the whole thing was. Maybe I was a young, dumb kid, too blind to see what was happening. Or maybe he really did get more money hungry as his operation grew bigger.

Now though, the fairy dust has been wiped from my eyes.

The Path is a cult .

One that preys on peoples’ fears and makes them feel great about themselves, so long as you donate enough money to the cause.

I’ve spent the past seven years stuck here as a non-believer. Seven long years of feeling the stone in my gut growing larger. Of feeling an increasing sense that I’m tainting myself by sticking around.

“Now, turn to your other side and tell that person how grateful you are to be here with them. Eight thousand souls will be touched tonight, all thanks to you folks.”

I want to stab my own eyes out. Instead, I dutifully turn to Gerry, the guy who sorts tickets and acts as one of the doormen, and I tell him I’m grateful he’s here.

I’ve done this so many times before, I can do it by rote and let my mind run through all the things I need to get done. I paste another bland smile on my face and act like I’m not itching to move, to grab the duffle bag that’s stored in the trunk of my car right now and get the hell away from here.

... But then my eyes catch again on the Herald’s mic.

Something feels off about him wearing it already.

I continue to scan the room, taking in the giddy looks on everyone’s faces and the slight glassiness to their eyes.

And it hits me why he’s wearing the mic so early. Every person in this room is getting hit by a steady dose of magic right now. They’re being manipulated without even realizing it.

Except for me. I’m not knee deep in the positivity and gratitude being thrown around the room.

And, sure, part of that’s because I no longer believe any of the shit the Herald is spouting.

But the other, bigger, part is because it’s my magic he’s using to manipulate them.

I’m the one with the power to affect people’s emotions. I can make you feel anything—happy, sad, angry, guilty... whatever I want. But my magic is normally only strong enough to influence one person at a time.

Unless my magic is imbibed into something, like some kind of tool or machine.

That’s the reason he’s wearing the mic right now.

It’s choc full of my power and is set to release a steady ebb of emotion throughout the Awakening.

First is a thick sense of unease as he explains how the world has been overtaken by greedy and power-hungry people who are willing to suck you dry for their own gain.

He’ll demonize the non-human members of our society. Explaining how the shifters, the vampires, the witches and demons, all make the humans more vulnerable.

Then almost immediately, he’ll share comforting words as the audience is hit with a heavy dose of assurance and just a hint of hope. As long as you’re following The Path, you’re heading in the right direction. He’ll explain how The Path is headed away from devastation and toward Transcendence to a higher place where humans have taken back their power. That part comes with a heavy hit of confidence.

And as the audience listens to his words, they’re gonna go through an entire roster of emotions and they’re going to trust him and believe what’s coming out of his mouth.

He’ll then pause. Let everyone take a moment to gather themselves and he’ll open up the donations. And when he does, the audience will be filled with this sick sense of dread that’s hard to wade through.

They’ll just know deep in their gut, something bad will happen if the Awakening doesn’t reach its target.

That section of the evening can drag on for hours with the Herald only flicking the switch to lighten the emotional load once his own mental target has been met .

I catch the Herald’s expression as he scans the room from the other side of the circle. There’s a satisfied smile on his face, one that distracts you from the hard look in his beady eyes.

Swallowing my unease, I try to push down the rising panic swirling in my gut.

Just for the next few hours, I need to go through the motions once more. I need to get this ship sailing and tonight’s Awakening underway.

Because once the eight thousand souls find their seats and the Herald starts his spiel about bringing them to new heights of enlightenment and solving all their problems, I’ll be in the wind.

Tonight’s a big night. The biggest in the Herald’s career.

It also happens to be my last night as one of his Devoted.

Tonight’s the night I’ll make my escape.

AFTER WHAT FEELS LIKE hours, the Herald brings the Positivity Circle to an end and we all clap and beam at each other like we’ve been lobotomized.

“Saint, the Herald wants you to go to his dressing room,” Gerry murmurs in my ear. “And if you see Kimber while you’re backstage, can you tell her the Herald said only skim milk in his coffee?”

I nod and try to stretch my face into another smile, but I’m not sure how well I pull it off. “Sure thing.”

Sure thing, I’ll tell ‘Kimber’ his passive aggressive little message.

Everyone thinks the Herald is my father, since that’s how he’s always presented our relationship. He’ll blab on about Saint and how powerful his darling Saint’s influence is in making people feel special. I don’t know if he does it to make me feel included, or to take me down with him when he inevitably gets done for fraud or for unsanctioned magic use .

But, weirdly enough, no one knows Kimber is my mom. That was something he encouraged about a year after we first moved in with him. He told her she should cut the ties to her old life so that she could then flourish in her new one.

So that’s what she did. Despite her ties being very much still around and despite me being very much still a minor at the time.

Heading backstage, I feel my gut churning. I’ve been too busy and stressed out to eat a lot today and now it’s kicking me in the ass. I don’t know what the Herald wants to see me about. He doesn’t usually like to see anyone before an Awakening like this. He needs time to ‘get into the zone’ and ‘connect with The Path’.

There’s no way he knows what I’m planning. I’ve been careful. It’s taken me three insanely long years to gather enough cash to buy a bus ticket out of here and to afford a couple months’ rent in a shithole that doesn’t require references or guarantors.

I’ve been doing odd jobs on the side for years now. Fixing phones and other busted devices for the Devoted whenever they need it. All on the down-low. That cash is burning a hole in my pocket right now, and I have to fight the urge to check it’s still there.

I stride through the warren of corridors backstage and try to stay calm. When I reach his dressing room, I tap the door, only to hear a guttural groan from the other side. I’m about to shove the door open when I hear an answering very loud, very female moan.

Oh fuck. No wonder he needs to ‘get in the zone’ in private.

Thankfully, I spot Kimber tottering down the corridor toward me in too high heels, so at least I didn’t just accidentally eavesdrop on my mother fucking the Herald.

A small part of me pities her, but the rest of me is made up of bile and spite. This is the life she chose for us. Hawking out her daughter’s powers for a comfortable lifestyle that involves turning a blind eye to what a sleazy prick the Herald is .

I head toward her and relay the message about the milk with zero emotion. She freezes in place, glancing at the mug in her hand and then spins on her heel without a word and heads off in the direction she came from.

Nice to see you too, mother.

Taking a deep, bracing breath, I wait another minute or two and knock on the door to the Herald’s dressing room, hoping like hell they’re done.

“Come,” he calls, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

Thankfully, both he and Clara are dressed, although her cheeks are slightly flushed, and she has one of her buttons done up wrong. The Herald is sitting in a chair while she powders his face.

“Ah, Saint, there you are,” he says. His tone has my skin crawling and I know it’ll be a challenge to muster even a bland smile, so I keep my face as blank as possible.

“Come here, darling.” He watches me in the mirror until I step closer and his smile widens. “It’s a big night for us all, my darling Saint. This is where it all begins.”

I nod jerkily. “I, er, need to do a last check of your mic,” I tell him.

His eyes dart momentarily to Clara—no doubt checking that she isn’t questioning why I might need to inspect his microphone right before the Awakening. She’s busy humming under her breath as she tucks some tissue into his collar.

“Of course. We don’t want to deafen everyone, do we?” His smile is wide and fake as anything, but I just nod again.

I grab the mic and take a few steps back. What I’d really like is to do this somewhere out of sight, but I have a feeling that’s not going to fly. He’s in a mood tonight and he clearly wants to engage with me.

I fiddle with the mic, acting like I’m testing out the sound levels when actually I’m imbibing a bit of extra magic. Enough so that it should send everyone into a slightly dazed, catatonic state about twenty minutes into the Awakening. They should be so high and happy, they won’t notice when I slip out the door.

My fingers are shaking slightly as I hand it back to him and he seems to take that as nerves for how tonight’s going to go. He clasps my fingers in his hand and squeezes tightly, his eyes meeting mine in silent warning.

“This is what we’ve been working for, Saint. Let’s enjoy it, eh, darling?”

“Let’s,” I reply, swallowing hard. “I better get into position.” He squeezes my fingers again as I give another tight nod and spin on my heel, only taking a proper breath once I’m at the other end of the corridor.

Forty minutes later, and I’m sweating like a pig. The room is packed, with all eight thousand seats filled. There’s the faintest soundtrack backing the Herald’s voice as he talks them into a stupor.

I’ve been rushing around the building, setting my creations in motion. Each of them is a little drone-like device, set to release a steady stream of emotion at different cue words the Herald should hit at specific times.

“Shadows of ignorance.”

That comes with a burst of unease.

“Embrace the transcendent Path.”

That one’s paired with a sense of hope.

“Open your hearts, free your minds, and let the Awakening transform you.”

That’s when they’re hit with a heady dose of relaxation, so strong, it should send them into a dazed state.

That one’s my cue to get the fuck out of here, so I turn on my heel and I flee.

Out of the door and into my new life.