Page 51 of Cuervo's Carnival
Tap.
Tap.
Then, the lights begin to flash, until they morph into a steady gleam, highlighting the banner on the rich purple curtains center stage.
On the left of the banner is a painted raven surrounded by vibrant yet delicate Penstemon flowers that match the ones on my favorite Docs I am wearing. The raven, eyes onyx as night, has its open bill chomped down on a bloodied Reapers scythe. Next to the poetic justice and painted on the banner in lush, Old-English lettering is the word “Nevermore.”
Once upon a time, they performed as The Midnight Dreary’s, but considering how life has spread its wicked cards our way, Nevermore felt more fitting.
Paxton and Cillian spent so much time customizing the banner for tonight’s show and their rebranding. It’s a special night because they will be performing at Cuervo’s Carnival’s first live show with their own music instead of covers, which brings my heart so much joy.
The crowd roars even louder in anticipation as a gravelly rasp erupts from the speakers. I lift my hand, snapping twice before bringing my fingers to my lips to whistle.
A moment passes by beforePurgatorioperches himself on my shoulder.
“You made it just in time,” I say, petting the rich onyx plume. “Don’t want to miss our boys.”
I look up at the stage as applause rumbles beneath the tent.
There they are,mis alas, taking the stage.
Paxton waves to the crowd, then Cillian follows, before they take their place at their instruments. Their other bandmates settle on the stage, familiar faces who no longer find solace in Reaper territory like us.
I smile, admiring how the diamond-shaped black paint looks on their eyes, paired with their bare chests—free of Reaper leather—highlighting their inked skin.
Cillian begins on the drums just as a shrill cry leaks from the speakers. The guttural, grotesque, agonizing sound of pathetic whimpers and pleas for life brings a smile to my lips just as Paxton grabs the mic to begin singing.
“Swift as a Cuervo, bleak as night, when you least expect it…she will end your life.”
Paxton
Fuck, does it feel good to be on the stage again. The crowd is packed and going wild, but all I see is our wicked one.
OurMorta.
Ourreina.
Seeing her move to the music inspired by her, that only exists because of her, it’s a fucking aphrodisiac. The way she is toying with the bottom of her long, thick braids, even withPurgatoriositting on her shoulder, makes it difficult to concentrate on the music we are playing. Because all I can think about is running off this stage, together with Cillian, chasing her down and fucking her senseless.
And that will happen. But first, after our portion of tonight’s festival, we have work to do.
We have lives to end.
My eyes are glued on her the entire time I am at the mic. Entranced by her allure, with the raven wings painted around her eyes.
I lose track of time as my vision zeroes in on her.
Finally, as we wrap up the last song of our set, which has plenty of the rich sound effects of horror and mayhem we have become accustomed to adding to our songs, the crowd’s applause erupts, demanding an encore.
Ha, if only they knew what those sound effects that accompany our music truly are or where they come from. Would they still cheer, or would they view us as monsters?
Either way, I don’t give a fuck, because it is here, in the semi-refurbished land that once stood as The Night’s Plutonian, that the three of us made our new home at Cuervo’s Carnival.
I turn to Cillian, who addresses the rowdy crowd. I’m still not used to the newfound confidence Cillian has, breaking from his shell and actually speaking. But fuck, is it hot seeing him come into his own.
Cillian strides over to me on the stage, gripping my face before he brings me in for a kiss, making the audience roar even louder.
“Give us more, Nevermore,” they chant, as our tongues swirl in and out of each other’s mouths, before breaking into a grin, leaning our foreheads against one another.
