Saints Astray

“Nope.”



Randall’s girl wriggled on his lap. “That’s deep!”



“Yeah.” He slid his hands under her shirt. “Real deep.”



“It’s not, really,” Loup said pragmatically. “It’s a kind of being stupid. There’s a good reason people feel fear—”



“Baby.” Pilar nudged her. “I think they quit listening.”



“Huh.” She watched the band members make out with their fans, kissing and groping. “So much for deep.”



Pilar smiled. “It is deep, you know. More than you realize.” She trailed her fingertips along Loup’s bare forearm, tracing the subtle curves of muscle that shifted under her smooth skin. “What did Father Ramon say the night before the big fight? About how you weren’t a leader, but you were something more rare?”



“Yeah, it was some word I didn’t know.”



“I had to look it up, too.” She stroked Loup’s palm. “Catalyst. Something that causes a change without being changed itself. That’s you, baby. These boys don’t know what they’re in for.”



“You think?”



“I know.”



“Okay, you’re doing it again. The look.”



“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Pilar said. “They’re not going to notice.”



“Oy!” Donny surfaced for air, his expression wounded. “I am.”



“Sorry!”



Back at the hotel, they saw the band and their chosen groupies safely ensconced in the suite, which was considerably cleaner and tidier than it had been.



“You can stay, you know.” Randall waved a bottle of whiskey at them. “Stay and party. It’s cool. Mission accomplished. You’re off the clock.”



Pilar looked sidelong at Loup. “Thanks, but no.”



“It’s late,” Loup agreed. “I’m tired.”



“That’s a big fuckin’ lie,” Donny mumbled. “Look at her!” He waved drunkenly in Loup’s direction. “Told you I was right about the togs. Looks hot. You’re gonna go have sex with hot, crazy tongue tricks, aren’t you?”



Charlie perked up. “Oh, yeah?”



“Donny, come here.” Pilar kissed him sweetly on the cheek, ignoring his glaring groupie. “Quit thinking about it, okay?”



“I’ll try,” he mumbled.



“Try harder.”



In the hotel room, Loup stripped off her security gear. “I’m gonna shower. It’s really hot under those lights and I feel like I’ve had other people’s hands all over me all night long.”



“You kind of did, baby.”



“Yeah.” She made a face. “Stage rushers. It’s crazy. If this keeps up, I’m gonna be causing more security problems than I’m solving.”



Pilar kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed, folding her arms behind her head. “It’s all about the PR. You’re a novelty act and they’re going to exploit you for all it’s worth. Randall knew exactly what he was doing with that werewolf thing. He might have been drunk and horny, but he’s not dumb.” She paused. “Does it bother you?”



“Being treated like a trained monkey?”



“Well, yeah.”



Loup shrugged. “Yeah, I kinda hate it. But if we can make it work for us, I’ll live with it.”



“Devious.” Pilar smiled. “Hurry up and shower. I’m going to get in bed. It really is late.”



A few minutes later, Loup reemerged, warm and damp and clean. She slid under the sheets to join Pilar, propping herself on one elbow. “So we’re really gonna let this happen, huh? You’re not gonna try and talk me out of it?”



“Nope.”



“You think it’s a good idea?”



Pilar blew out her breath. “I didn’t say that. It’s a pretty fucking ridiculous idea. But in case you hadn’t noticed, ridiculous seems to work for us. And anyway, like you said, it’s already happening.” She touched Loup’s cheek. “I want the same things you do, Santa Olivia. I want my name back. I want to be able to go home. I want the truth to get out. Okay, now you’re doing it.”



“Doing what?”



“That big, shiny-eyed thing.”



Loup smiled. “Can’t help it. You know, we could just go to the press and tell the truth. Tell the whole story.”



Pilar shook her head. “I’m not willing to take that big a risk, baby. I mean, I believe Sabine because she’d rather die than get her facts wrong, but governments do lie about that kind of stuff. We oughta know. Or what if they decide they need to take you into protective custody like Miguel? You’d hate it.”



“True,” she admitted.



“And I’d hate it even more.” Pilar kissed her, then gave her a long, serious look. “I told you, I never, ever want to lose you again, Loup. Ridiculous or not, being the mysterious poster child for geemo werewolves is a lot safer than being you, so let’s just see what happens, okay?”



“Okay.”



THIRTY-ONE



A week later they were in Australia.



The first gig of the tour was at a stadium in Perth. Loup was backstage pounding happily on the portable heavy bag when Bill Jones appeared, a wadded black T-shirt in one hand.



“C’mere.” He beckoned to her. “You oughta see this.”



She followed him to the dressing room where the band was prepping under their manager’s supervision. Pilar was in the far corner, talking quietly to someone on the earpiece of her Dataphone.



Randall lifted his head from his notebook. “What’s up?”



Jones tossed the wadded T-shirt at him. “Bootleg merchandise. Some punk’s selling these in the parking lot. Very popular item.”



He shook it out and held it up. KATE was emblazoned across the chest in grainy white letters. Underneath was an equally grainy print of Loup in her security attire, legs braced, head cocked.



“Whoa,” Loup said, startled. “Where did that come from?”



“Fuck.” Randall contemplated the shirt. “Geordie? We didn’t license anything like this, did we?”



The manager winced. “No.”



“Well, we’d fucking better, don’t you think?”



He eyed Loup. “Umm…”



Pilar ended her call. “Not so fast, guys. I don’t remember anything in our contract about using Loup’s image for promotional purposes.”



Randall gave Loup a yearning look. “You don’t mind, do you?”



She glanced at Pilar.



Pilar smiled sweetly at Randall. “Are you offering a percentage or a flat fee?”



He blinked. “A flat fee?”



“Five percent,” Geordie said quickly, intervening. “This fad is a flash in the pan. It won’t last.”



“Gross or net?”



“Net.”



She shook her head. “No way.”



He sighed. “Okay, okay. Five percent gross. We’re not going to be able to get them into production until the end of the tour anyway.”



Pilar was already dialing. “Oh, yes we are!”



The crowd in Perth was huge and wildly enthusiastic. It was still predominantly young, predominantly female—but there was a visible contingent of non-teenyboppers. They were a little older, a little edgier. One managed to clamber onstage while Kate played one of their works in progress. He thrust lanky, tattooed arms into the air, hips gyrating to the snaking bass line.



“Ohh-kay.” Loup scooped him up and slung him crosswise over her shoulders, wearing him like a yoke. “Here we go.” His arms flailed and his feet kicked. Donny faltered on the drums, but Randall kept singing and Charlie’s bass line went lower, growling and feral. She turned a few times, then whipped the stage rusher upright and lowered him back into the throng, where eager arms received him.



The crowd screamed.



It was like that all night.



By the time the tour bus rolled into Melbourne, Pilar had arranged a photo shoot with a local photographer and coordinated with the promotions and merchandising people.



“C’mon,” she said to Loup as soon as they checked into the hotel. “Put your sexy togs on. We’ve got a nine a.m. appointment.”



Loup yawned. “Can’t we reschedule for later? I hardly got any sleep on the bus.”



“Nope. This was his only opening. We’ve got to act fast if we’re gonna get the stuff into production.”



“Okay, okay!” She splashed cold water on her face and changed her clothes.



The photographer, Lane Staggerford, was an older man with craggy features and a shock of unruly gray hair. He admitted them to his studio without ceremony and took Pilar’s chin in his hand, tilting her head this way and that, studying her.



“Very pretty,” he said impersonally. “Good skin, too. You can take strong lighting.”



“Um… thanks. It’s not me. I’m Pilar… uh, Mendez. We spoke on the phone?”



“Oh.” Staggerford let her go and glanced at Loup. “You, eh?”



“Yes, sir.”



He gave her a longer, hard look, then nodded slowly. “I see it. Cute kid, but that’s all on the surface, innit? There’s a lot of there there.”



Pilar showed him the bootleg T-shirt. “This is the fake version. We want to produce something like it, only better.”



“Ah.” Staggerford examined the image. “You want iconic.”



“Iconic?”



He smiled a little, furrows deepening around his mouth. “Powerful. Symbolic.”



“Yeah, exactly!”



Staggerford nodded. “Take off your jacket and go stand over there,” he said to Loup, nodding at a white backdrop. She obeyed. His smile deepened. “Oh, yes. I think we can do iconic.”



For the better part of an hour, he photographed Loup. She struck pose after pose at his direction, patient and uncomplaining.