Page 59 of Ticket to the Stars: Part One

Priest ran through a few songs. He knew how to get the crowd going, get the blood pumping. The crowd cheered for him, sang along during certain parts of the songs; all in all, it sounded like they were into it, like they were excited about Black Sacrament’s return. Of course, only the hard-core fans bought tickets and came to the show with such short notice, but that was beside the point.

The moment Priest finished singing Black Sacrament’s first-ever single, Raising Hell, the music trailed off, and Priest addressed the crowd: “How are you doing tonight?” He was met with applause, but he kept going, “I know you’re doing great. Wanna know how I know? I can hear you. I feel you. Your energy feeds me, it keeps me going!”

More clapping, hooting and hollering. The crowd wanted more. They’d only done three songs so far.

“Now,” Priest paused, and I imagined him holding onto his guitar lazily as he addressed them, “I bet you think this is it. This is the new Black Sacrament.” A long, long pause, and as the crowd waited for him to continue, I swore you could hear a pin drop.

Priest’s voice came out hypnotically low when he whispered into the mic, “It isn’t. My boys and I have one more surprise for you. Some of you might’ve heard about a competition. We’ve been looking for someone special, someone who’ll complete us, and I think I speak for all of us when I say…” He exhaled loudly, as if shuddering. “We found that person.”

The crowd couldn’t contain their excitement. The volume of the theater turned up, and Priest asked, undoubtedly with a devilish smirk, “Who’s ready to meet them?”

The audience clapped, wanting more, wanting to meet me—and that was when the lights went out, darkening the entire stage. I held my head high and walked out in the darkness, bringing my mic with me. Unlike Priest, who couldn’t move that much due to his electric guitar, I was supposed to roam the stage, connect with the crowd, move to all the guys and sing while making eye contact with them. I was their angel, after all. Had to act flirty.

I only had twenty seconds to get into position, but that was all I needed. I found Priest at the center, and I lightly touched his arm with my free hand, wordlessly telling him I was near.

Priest let out a harsh breath into his mic, and then his deadly, slightly demonic voice whispered, “And then he said,Let there be light.” When he said it, only certain lights flicked on—blacklights.

The guys had done their crosses on their masks and the one on Deacon’s chin in fluorescent paint, and every cross on my mask glowed, too. The ones near my eyes, the one on the mask’s forehead, and the one going down from my lip. Smaller crosses, but I think they worked.

When the crowd realized there were more than three people on the stage, they got excited, and then Bishop started a guitar riff to lead us into our next song—a song I’d be the lead in: Bleed Me Dry. Deacon started the drums, and beside me, Priest picked up the tune. I closed my eyes, brought the microphone to my face, and jumped in.

“Let me tell you a story about a girl named Destiny. She came riding over the hills and said she was looking for me,” I sang the opening verse, finally cluing the crowd in to the fact that I was a girl. “I tried to run, I tried to fight, but she wasn’t bringing me to the light. That girl named Destiny came to put me on my knees.”

Singing in the dark—well, mostly the dark—was an experience, but it helped me find my footing, so when Priest’s voice joined me for the bridge, I was ready. The moment Priest started to sing along, the regular lights flashed on, allowing everyone in the audience to see.

At first they were stunned, but then when the refrain came and the song turned less ballad-y and harder—AKA more akin to Black Sacrament’s sound—they started rocking out.

The guys had tried to tell me what it’d be like, being up on that stage with them, but words couldn’t have described just how electric it was. How the air itself had a jolt to it, how the heat of all the lights on the stage couldn’t bother you when you were riding the high the audience was giving you.

The way they watched you, how they rocked their heads along, how they sang along with the beat; everyone in the theater was having a shared experience, and the people on the stage were at the heart of it.

Us. We were at the heart. Priest, Bishop, and Deacon… and now me. The four of us were one now. It was official. We were Black Sacrament.

I lost count of how many phones I saw in the audience recording and taking pictures. I couldn’t pay too much attention to the sheer number in front of me, lest I stumble on the lyrics of songs I’d only learned a month or so ago.

It was exhilarating. It was addicting. It was so damned easy to lose track of time. We ran through our set list, and then Priest egged the audience on by asking them to be loud—and if they were loud enough, maybe we’d play an encore.

Hint: we’d already planned on the encore, but that was something the audience didn’t need to know.

“Now, before we give you what you want, let me introduce you to Angel,” Priest spoke, gesturing to me. When he wasn’t playing guitar, he could point. His mic was on a stand in front of him, a guitar strap around his shoulder and back to the guitar fixed on him. He pointed at me and bowed. “Isn’t she amazing, sinners? Can’t you just eat her up? I know I could.” He winked at the crowd.

I was riding the high of my first performance, too happy about how good it was going to send a glare Priest’s way.

“She might be our angel right now, but I hope she’ll become your angel, too,” Priest said, setting a hand on the microphone. His other hand held onto his guitar, getting ready to play. “Now, who’s up for a little Revenge?”

Revenge was one of Black Sacrament’s most popular songs—and that was evident by how loud the crowd cheered.

We played four more songs for the encore. Honestly, I didn’t know why I’d been so worried about getting up on this stage and performing. I was having the time of my freaking life. Things were great. I was riding cloud nine.

And what was more, the crowd was eating it up. Here I was freaking out that they wouldn’t accept me as a part of Black Sacrament, but this particular crowd had no objections about me or the new sound I brought to the band.

We finished up the final song, and it was time to tell the audience goodnight, but Priest took to the microphone once again after taking off his guitar and setting it onto the floor of the stage: “Before we go, can I let you in on a little secret? I was worried you wouldn’t like Angel, but I’m glad you do—”

I had no idea why he was saying this now when we should be thanking the audience and getting the hell off the stage. I tossed a glance to Bishop and then at Deacon, and it was clear this part wasn’t rehearsed among any of them. They were just as clueless as I was as to what the hell Priest was talking about or where he was going with this.

“I’m very fucking glad you do,” Priest whispered into the mic, his voice taking on that same gravelly tone he’d used during the show—the one that gave you goosebumps like nobody’s business. “Because I like her a lot, too.”

And then Priest grabbed my hand and pulled me closer to him. My chest slammed into his, and he let go of my hand so he could curl an arm around my back. All of that happened in the span of seconds, because the next thing I knew, his tall frame was bending down and his lips were crashing down upon mine.

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