Back From The Dead
She should have been used to the sounds of fighting by now. Glass shattered against walls, the blasts of flesh on flesh, snarls of two demons trying to rip each other’s throats out. Well, a demon and a half, Alva thought as she ran towards the dressing room. She threw the door open and was greeted by a familiar, exasperating, and terrifying sight. The three members of Resurrection were in a free for all brawl. Two of them were trying to annihilate each other, and one trying to prevent murder.
Alva threw her head back and groaned with frustration. Her hands found their way to her head and grabbed fistfuls of thick, long, frizzy light green hair.
“You have got to be kidding me!” she yelled. The fighting stopped, and the irritated pixie marched right up to the demons. Though they towered over her, they shuffled back as she closed in. “Again? Really?”
She glared at them, her bright yellow eyes burning with rage. Her gaze landed on Callan.
“It’s not my fault!” Callan huffed. He crossed his thin but muscular arms across his chest. His shirt was torn to near shreds, and blood trickled down the corner of his mouth. His long dark hair was disheveled from the fight, and his small devil horns were scratched up. His long, fluffy tail was curled between his legs, which is what it always did when Alva scolded him.
“Oh, it’s never your fault. You never cause problems that we have to fix later,” Alaric snapped. His long claws were a suspicious match to the marks across Callan’s arms and chest. He had the same long dark hair and small horns as Callan. He was the tallest of the three.
“No one asked you!” Callan retorted. “You just hate me because I’m a half-demon, and somehow, I’m still more popular and talented than you!”
Alaric punched Callan square in the face. “You wish you were more popular than me, you filthy half-breed!” Callan punched him back, and their fight resumed again. Gage, the drummer, fighting them both. Alva stared at the chaos in disbelief. The dressing room was destroyed. Resurrection posters were torn and hung from the walls in tattered ribbons. Blood was splattered on once pristine white walls. Shattered glass, broken chairs, and battered band members. When did this become my life?
Gage grabbed the last intact breakable object, a pitcher, and threw it against a wall. Alva screamed in surprise; Alaric and Callan stopped fighting.
“Enough!” Gage yelled. His large black eyes were alight with irritation and fury. He snarled at his bandmates, baring his pointed teeth. “I have had it with you two! I quit!”
Alva gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Her eyes prickled with tears. No. This isn’t happening.
“You can’t mean that!” Alaric said, his voice filled with alarm.
“Oh, I do. You two disaster brothers made this decision too easy.”
“Gage, please. We go on in just a few hours!” Alva pleaded. Gage looked at her, and his anger subsided for a bit.
“I’m sorry. But I can’t do this anymore! Every night I’m stuck between them and their dumb feud. It’s exhausting, and I won’t do it.”
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded again. She reached for him, but he pushed her away. Alva felt as though he’d slapped her in the face.
“I’m sorry.” Gage turned and stomped out of the dressing room. Alva was devastated. She felt all her work crumbling at her feet. Her parents’ voices swirled around in her mind. This is a waste of time. Pixies should not associate themselves with demons. You don’t have the aptitude for management. You’ll disgrace the family name, young lady!
“Look at what you’ve done!” Alaric turned on his brother.
“What I did? You started it!”
“You’re nothing but an immature, self-absorbed, insensitive—”
“My gods!” Alva screamed when she couldn’t take their bickering anymore. “Stop it! It’s ruined. Your drummer just quit. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? You two don’t care about this group at all. I’m going to have to cancel the concert. Gage quit. I don’t think I can get him to come back,” Alva answered. With a lump in her throat and a pain in her chest, she continued, “This is it. Resurrection is over.”
Alva ran out of the dressing room, ignoring Alaric and Callan’s pleas for her to return. She ran to her office and shut herself in. She leaned her forehead against the closed door and got herself under control. What have I done?
“Working with demons, not what you expected?”
Alva froze. Those were the last voices she wanted to hear. She wiped her face up and took a couple of bracing breaths and turned to face them.
“Vaanya. Vaarida. What are you doing here?” She asked, wishing they would disappear.
“Aren’t you happy to see your little sisters?” they asked in unison. Gods, she hated when they did that. They were draped across the small couch at the far end of the office. They had green hair like she did, but it was a deeper emerald and fell in smoothed curls and waves. Their eyes weren’t as yellow as hers, but more golden and sparkled like hers used to. And their skin had their signature pink glow, like hers. Their wings fluttered, emitting iridescent dust that made them look even more amazing than they already did.
Alva chose to hide her wings under her clothes when she became Resurrection’s band manager. It was better not to stick out amongst demons if you weren’t one. She could feel them resisting against her back, begging to be set free, begging to fly.
“No. Not really.”
“Ouch,” Vaanya deadpanned.
“That hurts,” Vaarida finished, not sounding hurt at all.
“What are you doing here?” Alva repeated, her eyes rolling internally.
“We came to see your concert,” Vaanya simpered.
“We heard it’s going to be quite the event,” Vaarida teased.
“Everyone’s who’s anyone is supposed to be there,” they finished, batting their brilliant golden eyes at her in jest.
Alva remembered how cute they were when they were born. Their mother dressed them in matching clothes, and they hit all their milestones together. The family was so proud of them when they obtained their modeling contract. Prouder than they’d ever been of Alva.
“Of course!” Alva lied. “It will be! It’s going to be the greatest concert we’ve ever had!”
“Hmm,” they shrugged. “We’ll see.” They sauntered out her office, leaving her vexed and confused. She had just promised her sisters a stellar concert… the concert she’d just canceled… from the group she’d just disbanded.
“How are your wings?” Vaarida mocked as they left.
“Ugh!” she shouted at no one. “Why is this my life?”