Van Bender and the Burning Emblems (The Van Bender Archives #1) Read Online Free PDF

against my skin. She tucked it under my t-shirt.
    She smiled. “There. You’re safe. I feel better.”
    “Uh, okay. Safe from what?”
    “As long as you have that, you’ll be protected.” She kissed me on the cheek, stepped aside, and held one arm out toward the stage. “But if anyone throws lip gloss at you, don’t touch it.”
    Mystified, nervous, I stared at her for several seconds before stepping out onto the stage, to enjoy the moment I’d looked forward to for years.

Chapter 7: The power of a crowd
I’ve been to a fair number of concerts in my short life—and not all of them good, believe you me. But Richie’s... Richie should be arrested after his. For attempted involuntary manslaughter. Because it about blew my mind with sheer awesomeness.
-Kurt Strand
    Ninety thousand people are a lot of people. And when the curtain lifts after three years of releasing albums and music videos and not doing a single in-person concert—well, those ninety thousand people cheer so loud it hurts your ears, makes you blush, and causes you to nearly miss the beginning of your first song.
    As we played the first tune, my knees shook. My mouth dried up. My fingers felt like spaghetti. Because, you know, ninety thousand is a lot of people.
    Not that I could actually see most of the crowd jumping up and down and waving arms. Lights shone in my eyes and clouds of flame spit up all over the stage. And I couldn’t hear the crowd particularly well because I had plugs in my ears so I could hear the band and myself, and make adjustments where needed. After all, I still needed to play and sing well.
    But while I couldn’t see or hear most of the crowd, I could feel it. Its excitement rolled onto the stage like waves of the ocean on the shore. It filled my bones with energy—almost like the exact opposite from chemo therapy. How many days had I just laid around, stomach nauseous, entire body just drained of all strength and drive? But being in front of that crowd, feeling all its energy focused on me was like the exact opposite of chemo therapy. It was soul therapy.
    Even better, shading my eyes, I could see the first few rows of the crowd. At the very front, in the center, stood Sandra, Kurt, and Kurt’s dad, mouths gaping as they sang or cheered. Arms waving. Before the start of my second song, I pointed at them, thanked them for supporting me. They beamed back at me, eyes twinkling, mouths wide in grins.
    The crowd cheered them with jealous appreciation, and I jammed on. I sang and I played my favorite guitar, an old Fender from the 90s, a special edition Stratocaster honoring Richie Sambora. The rest of my band stayed generally back, out of the spotlight. I hated that. They deserved more of the cheering, but the show manager had said, “People came to see Richie Van Bender, not some no-name playing drums.” I suppose he was right, but I still thought my band needed more of the glory. I certainly had enough to spare.
    At least, so I thought. Until I remembered the Cask.
    Caught up in the excitement, I’d nearly forgotten about the Cask until I realized what the incredible weight in my pocket was. It had grown heavier and heavier throughout the show, until I thought my pants might fall down. Luckily, I wasn’t F-Nasty, wearing the pants really low, or I’m sure the Cask would have pulled them to my ankles.
    As we finished the second-to-last song before the intermission, the music in my ear buds faded, and for a moment the roar of the crowd filled my senses—my ears and my chest. The stage lights dimmed. The pillars of fire faded. I stood holding my guitar, sweating, looking out over the audience. Thousands of cell phones illuminated the crowd as they filmed the concert for live streaming online. I breathed hard, trying to regain my breath for the next song.
    The Cask felt heavy in my pants. And hot.
    I reached into my pocket and pulled the Cask out. All but one of the LED lights glowed bright green. The wooden cylinder