Ashes Of The Phoenix

After a long while in which she tried to decipher the contents of the message, she realized that he was giving her an appointment. 'I’ll meet you at 11 am at the lions' square. Jag'.

“And how the hell am I supposed to know where that is!” She blurted, thinking out loud, and then she realized she had raised her voice a little too much.

She was thoughtful for a few minutes. She had no idea of what time it was, so she looked around in search of answers and on one wall she saw a set of clocks set on the different times of the world's capitals, until she found the clock showing their time. It was only 08:30 am.

“If I can help you,” the receptionist interrupted the silence “The young Master has ordered a taxi for you.”

Those words annoyed her: she didn’t need a baby sitter, nor did she want to feel indebted towards someone.

“No, thanks, I’ll get around by myself,” she replied, “I just need a map of the city.”

A few minutes later the girl was outside in the crazy traffic, holding a large map on which were indicated only the starting point and the point of arrival of her trip. She tried to memorize some of the main streets but gave up shortly afterwards, the place was so full of people walking back and forth that it was almost impossible for her to skate. She had always been accustomed to a much wider living space, because the people in her neighbourhood made sure to stay far away from her when she was around. In that city, however, she was nobody, a perfect stranger: “and not even particularly outstanding” she thought, crossing a group of punks seated on some secluded steps. Her thoughts were giving her a headache, so she decided to walk through secondary roads. There, the streets were definitely less trafficked and she could move faster.

The search for the place she needed to reach was very unnerving but at least she didn’t have time to think about the life she had left. At times, it even seemed to her to be walking along familiar roads, she stopped every now and then to look at the overflowing windows of some Arabian shop with the temptation to go in and steel something, because she was starving. She cursed Jag for letting her to get used to eating early in the morning.

She stood still in front of a store remembering those days, and then she shook herself, deciding not to think about them, focusing her attention on the items in front of her.

On a side shelf, lying between multi-coloured diaries, one with a black cover and shiny Gothic accentuated designs stood out. The girl couldn’t help but feel a connection between her and that object in that exact situation. Then she skated away.

Over two hours later, she found herself in a large square full of pigeons. She hated pigeons; she couldn’t stand the sight of them since she had seen a group of them fighting over a fried chicken thigh on the ground. She also hated fried chicken, which is why that disgusting association of 'fried cannibalism' aroused her disgust for birds.

Suddenly she heard Jag calling her from afar, his voice was accompanied by the noise of flapping wings from a large group of birds. Turning around, she saw the boy sitting on the back of a large lion's statue; his waving had scared all the birds around him. She reluctantly skated toward him, banging her skates noisily to get rid of the wretched animals that blocked her road, but they just flew a few yards further and continued to peck the ground; others flew around her head making her feel under the attack of an enemy fleet.

When she reached the boy she was quite bemused. He cheerfully drew bread crumbs from a paper bag and threw them to the birds; he even had a pigeon on his head. Fade solemnly decided that from that day onward she wouldn’t even touch him again.

The boy threw the crumbs far away and all the birds disappeared, as if they had been tied with invisible threads to the paper bag and had been dragged away with it, then he slid off the metal body of the statue and enthusiastically reached her.

“I guess you didn’t take the taxi,” he said, looking at the wrinkled map in the girl's hands.

“I prefer managing on my own,” she replied proudly.

“Come on, I'll bring you to a special place!” He said running off and raising a column of pigeons with his feet, which dropped back to the ground, creating a sort of grey 'wave'.

Shortly later, they found themselves in a narrow pub with wood panelled walls. Behind the counter, a hearty man was about to cut some meat for a sandwich.

“This is the best kebab in the city. Come on, let’s eat, I'm starving!” He said as he approached the man. She followed him, uncertain as to trust him or not, but her stomach left her without a doubt: she was also starving.

“Ibrahim!” The boy called. The man turned suspiciously but then he glowed at the sight of the pink bob.

“Jag, you're back! Is it me or have you shrunk?” He kidded him.

“You're the one who got fatter, you nut head!” The child replied with a hint of animosity in his eyes; the man noticed his look and tried to calm him. “Sorry, sorry, I was just kidding! I’ll make you a nice sandwich!”

“Alright,” he cut him short, still visibly angry, but then his mood changed. “This is Fade!”

“Good morning Miss,” Ibrahim countered, with his back turned as he cut some more meat. “Good morning,” she echoed, weakly.

“Ibrahim, I'm going to wash my hands, I’ll have the usual” the boy ordered, heading toward a dark door, through which he disappeared.

After minutes of endless silence, the man turned around holding a stuffed sandwich in his hand. “What do you want?” He asked seriously.

“What do you mean?” She replied suspiciously.

“What do you want in your sandwich? You can add any of the ingredients I have here,” he said, pointing with a movement of his eyes to some bowls sunk into the counter, full of weird slops. She looked at them disgustedly. “That's all!” And she grabbed the huge sandwich he offered her.

The man took a lit cigarette, abandoned on a corner of the counter, and dropped a long line of ash.

“You must be careful, Miss. Jag isn’t what he seems to be”, he said, and then he took a big puff reducing the cigarette to the filter alone.

“What does that mean?” She asked, remembering her own suspects. The owner approached her, leaning against the counter, as if to tell her a secret. Fade also approached him, but not too close, to listen. The man, before starting to speak, exhaled a puff of smoke onto the girl’s face, and she began to cough violently; one of the many things she hated was cigarette smoke.

She kept coughing, her eyes and lungs burning, the sandwich fell on the floor as the heavy coughs made her head burst. Although it seemed absurd to the eyes of the owner, she dropped unconsciously onto the sticky floor.

“Miss!” The terrified man shouted, slipping out from behind the counter to help her, but it was too late: Jag was coming out of the bathroom at that moment.

“Ibrahim!” The little boy roared fiercely, “What the hell did you do?” He asked, kneeling next to the girl and holding her head.

“Nothing, I was giving her a sandwich and she fainted!” He babbled in confusion.

“Go get a glass of water!” he ordered as he tried to make her com to.

The man got up and went behind the counter bumping into everything and clumsily filling a glass.

“No, no, no, no! You can't leave me right now...” Jag murmured as he waited.

“Here's the water!” The man exclaimed, reaching them, and poured it all on Fade’s face under the boy’s petrified gaze. The girl woke up screaming.

“Ibrahim!!” he yelled at him angrily. “She was supposed to drink it!”

“Sorry, Jag! Sorry!” He excused himself, in total panic.

“Oh, leave him alone!” She interrupted him, bothered by the noise.

“How do you feel?”

“Very clean,” she said sarcastically.

For the rest of the time the man didn’t speak, while the two of them ate at their table. Fade was still upset and wished she would shut off her petulant companion who kept talking like a crazy machine, then she tried to focus on the taste of the sandwich, which actually wasn't bad at all.

The two went out, she said goodbye to Ibrahim, who shyly returned her greeting. She was a little surprised to see such a big man obey so humbly to the orders of a small little boy. Jag, on the other hand, went out without looking back.

“What do you think of the city?” He asked, once they had walked a while.

“Nothing special...” she said uncertainly. “What do you want to do now?”

“I've already spoken to the Momuht's manager, tomorrow morning I’ll meet with the band.”

“How the hell did you manage to convince them so easily?”

“Simple: I'll be a co-financier of all their future projects. Tomorrow we'll discuss the fees; you're coming, too!”

“I don’t understand anything about these things, no...”

“I only need someone to act as a secretary,” Jag explained. “A child alone isn’t very credible.”

“Even less so if you're joined by a lunatic on skates!” she stated.

“Ha Ha! You don’t know the bands tastes! Let's go, you have to learn all about them” he concluded. “There’s an internet point nearby!”

Connected to the network, the two took a glance on the band's most hidden — so to speak — secrets. The child gloried at each link to their private life, trying to explain their whole story to the girl who, of course, didn’t understand anything about it.

Jag decided to enter the official website: a specifically made video footage, with pictures taken from their concerts, invaded the entire screen.

“Look!” He grinned with satisfaction “Now I'm gonna show you the guitarist’s page!” And clicked on the link with the mouse.

A single page opened, with a collage of objects scattered on a table seen from the top. In the lower right hand corner there was a Polaroid photo of the 'emo' boy showing half of his face, moreover, covered by a hand, allowing to see just an unbelievably blue eye through the space between his fingers.

“This must be the greatest representation of intrigue and mystery of the moment,” she thought. In the rest of the page were displayed scattered objects that were supposed to represent the young man’s personality.

Note books scribbled with compositions and notes, a lighter, an empty cup of coffee with a stubbed out cigarette in it, a catalogue of musical instruments, a half open flick-knife. The same table was engraved, probably with the latter, with incomprehensible signs.

The girl didn’t listen to the explanations, for she was intent on finding new details on the screen. Her attention was interrupted when the kid decided to pass to a new page. He clicked on the singer's page: the black-haired girl with the stern look.

Same scenario as the first: on the bottom, the Polaroid photo of a girl sitting at a Japanese noodle stand. The Japanese curtains, which dropped from the roof of the stand, concealed her identity, while leading to believe that it was indeed her sitting there. Again, scattered items which represented her identity: a little doll with a big blond head was hanging by a cord to a smartphone of the last generation which displayed on its screen the progress of an audio track, a mini xylophone with drumsticks and a stuffed animal in the shape of a cat, was all that Fade managed to see before the kid changed the page again.

The two searched the percussionist's page: immediately apparent were the two drumsticks crossed on the table. The boy's Polaroid depicted him while playing basketball, as he was about to toss the ball into the basket in a spectacular jump. Among the other things, an MP3 with headphones, a sports band, and a CD of Beethoven's Omnia Opera, a detail which puzzled the girl, given the type of band.

The last page the child opened was that of the bass player, as well as the leader of the band. On his table was only an ashtray overflowing with cigarettes butts, a glass with the last sips of whiskey, some bags with spare strings for the bass and a piece of knotted rope. His Polaroid photo showed just his hand, his middle finger raised, wearing a ring on which was engraved '666'.

“If we're lucky tomorrow you can see them live!” He said. “I don’t really care!” The girl replied. “But, if I have to act as your secretary, why don’t you start telling me the names of these dummies.”

He smiled at her with an intuitive look and explained the details of their meeting.

The next morning Fade was extremely tired; Jag had made her visit the city almost all night long, and had never stopped talking about 'his band'. She followed him reluctantly, while he, on the other hand, walked with a quick and triumphant pace to the entrance of the Momuht’s studio.

The group manager invited them to sit at the round table in satin glass of the meeting room to wait for the band to arrive.

After an endless wait, the four members came in through the door. The kid was so entranced he remained gazing at them with his mouth agape and a blithe smile, which made her doubt that he was even breathing.

They entered in sequence: “Nef, the bass player” Fade mentally recalled, “Ted, the guitarist, Joanna called 'Sushi', the singer and Jess, the bean-pole drummer” closed the group.

The first came in triumphantly, showing off the boisterous ornaments on his neck, his thumbs sunk into the pockets of tight jeans tucked in inlaid cowboy boots. The second followed him with a curved posture, his hair was so flat over his face that he seemed to have been licked by a cow; he wore torn jeans and a T-shirt. The girl was wearing thigh high boots, a short skirt, and a shaded t-shirt in glittering colours; she followed them with her gaze stuck to her smartphone, quickly writing texts. The last of the group, a young man with a deep gaze, followed them with the expression of someone who at that moment would have preferred being on another planet; all of his stature was clothed in branded high fashion garments. The four sat at the table followed by their manager who immediately began the conversation: “Well, I guess you already know the names of the members, so I’ll leave the presentations to you.”

“I’m Jag and this is Fade!” The boy began, recovering. Sushi’s quick fingers stopped for a moment in hearing those names, then they rapidly started again. “I'm going to finance all of your future projects: albums, concerts, music videos, everything! I have unlimited funds, so don’t be afraid to dare.”

After a considerate look at their manager, the bass player, Nef, replied: “And what do you want in return?”

“I want to be part of the band!” the boy replied in such a firm tone that he no longer sounded like so. All the glances were now on him.

“And what instrument can you play?” asked the very tall Jess.

“It's not in my interest to play, I just want to see you at work, witness the creation of new pieces, follow the rehearsals, stay here, in short.”

A moment of endless silence followed those words.

“Well,” Nef concluded. “The band will evaluate your offer, and we’ll let you know.” Said that, all the members got up and left the room.

Before closing the door behind him, Nef turned towards the two of them and said “Jag, right? Come with me, I have to discuss some things with you. We'll leave your secretary here to bargain with the manager.”

At those words Fade jumped, but she had been prepared for that possibility, she knew what to do. The boy immediately stood up and ran to his idol like a trained puppy. The door closed behind them.

The girl brought her attention to the manager who waited silently; she stood up on her skates and reached her handing her a large file of papers that Jag had told her to deliver without commenting. The woman took them and began to examine them closely.

Meanwhile Jag followed Nef through the long hallways of the studios, speeding up from time to time so as not to be left behind. The other three members had vanished.

After going down a flight of steps they came to a small white door. The musician took a hold of the ornaments of his chain, he singled out a key from them, with which he opened the lock and entered.

Jag found himself in a sort of privé with soft lights, purple walls, and a large, white corner sofa with a coffee table in the same colour.

The musician walked behind a large counter: “What will you have? Wine, liquor, a cocktail?”

“I don’t drink things like that” the child sat with his hands resting on his knees. “Of course, you're just a brat” he said, pouring himself a whiskey.

“Don’t underestimate me” was the answer as the ice dropped into the glass.

The man sat on the opposite side of the couch, stirring his whiskey in a circular motion. “So you really are who I think you are?”

“Yes, I saw your ad on the internet and I came here in person to bring you what you asked for.”

“And that girl would be...?” The man investigated, trying to reveal as little as possible.

“She's the virgin you seek for your sect's 'party'.”

He choked on a sip of whiskey; that kid didn’t beat around the bush, so he decided to go straight to the point. “The ritual will take place within a month and I can’t afford to make mistakes. You were the only one who understood my encrypted message, and I still don’t know how you did it and how you reached me, but when you said the two code names in front of everyone I had to verify that it hadn’t been just a coincidence.”

“No coincidence,” the child insisted. “As to how I traced you, I have a widespread network of information, I can reach anyone.”

The man drank the whiskey in a gulp spitting an ice cube into the glass. “Well, then,” he concluded. “You can stay.”

“Your offer is really tempting,” the manager summarized as she lifted her eyes from the sheets. “We'll draw up a contract right away.”

Fade nodded, though totally unaware of what all those columns of numbers on the sheets meant. Shortly afterwards, Jag reached her triumphantly, “Fade! We can go visit the studios! Let’s go!” She barely had the time to pick up her coat that she was literally dragged away by the euphoric boy.

The two followed Nef, who proudly walked through the corridors of the studios, while explaining that he had them built on purpose. In the most intense periods — especially when they had to record a new album — he required all of the band members to be present 24 hours a day; therefore, he had set up rooms where everyone could sleep: returning to their own homes was almost forbidden, if not for entirely exceptional reasons. At that time, they were just recording their new album.

The man gave them a quick tour of the rehearsal room, the recording and mixing rooms, the little private cinema, the game room and the kitchen, and then the coffee room and bar-winery corner. They then climbed to the next floor using the elevator and crossed a long hallway on which many doors opened: the first had been smeared with spray cans, the second decorated with a lucky charm 'neko' cat hanging on it, the third was full of scratches, like the walls of a mental institution, and the last, carved in low-relief, depicted a great Mesopotamian demon. On all the doors hung on a 'Do not disturb' tag.

“This is my room...” Said Nef pulling out a magnetic card from the back pocket of his jeans and passing it into a scanner at the side of the door which opened with a dull noise.

The room stood out in front of the startled eyes of the two guests, one excited for a dream come true, the other because of what she saw inside. The place had a disturbing atmosphere; it was cloudy, with a curtain of smoke that hardly allowed to see the objects in the shade. When he turned the light on, everything became more distinct: between cactus plants, ethnic statues, plane models, full and empty bottles and cans left all over the place, hanging pendants, plasma lamps and a bear skin on the wall, the attention was drawn to overturned crosses, demoniac prints, tarots cards, tapestries with mythological figures, and on the unmade bed a bass and an ashtray full of cigarette butts. Above all there was an unbearable stench.

Fade moved aside, disgusted, leaving Jag alone in contemplation. The boy rushed inside and Nef approached the girl. Like a lady’s man, he leaned a hand on the wall and asked, “So, do you like Momuht?”

“Quite enough,” she replied, lying, shocked by his attitude.

“You look tall with those skates, how old are you?” the musician continued.

“It's none of your business” she replied, looking elsewhere.

“Hey! Don’t act like that; we need to get to know each other since you’ll live here!”

At those words she turned angrily. “What’s this story about? Jag is the one who wants to stay here, what do I have to do it? Jag!”

She cut off the conversation with the bass player and faced the real culprit of her problem; she reached the doorstep and called the child several times under the man's amused look. “Get out of this stinky room!” she shouted but he wasn’t listening to her, ecstatic in front of a witches Sabbath stamp on the wall.

“Jag!”

She wanted to go and grab him from the ear, but the stench was too nauseating and she just screamed from the door, so loud that the other members came out of their respective rooms to see what was happening and when their eyes fell on Nef at the same time in search of answers, he just shrugged and said: “The contract is signed!”

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