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

wanted to give you something to take out on stage.”
    “Okay” was all the coherence I could manage. Really, I was proud of such progress. How had he gotten in here? Had he been hiding under the couch? Had he magically appeared?
    A knock came at the door. The show manager’s voice came through, muffled.
    “Richie, you’re on.”
    “Okay!”
    But I wasn’t about to cut short my time with Nick. Not even for ninety thousand people. Although, admittedly—despite my nervousness—I did want to get to the concert. I’d waited years for it. I wanted to revel in the roar of the crowd, to feel its energy roll over me as the people sang along with me. I wanted to watch their hands waving in the air, and their thousands and thousands of cell phones lifted in reverent homage to a power ballad. I wanted to see Kurt and Sandra there in the front row.
    “I’ll be fast,” Nick said. He picked up the smooth black box, and tapped the top again. “You need to use this. It’s amazing.”
    He tilted the lid of the black box up. The hinge creaked. I leaned in close to get a better look.

Chapter 5: I didn’t learn this in science class
It took way more work than you would have thought to get into that dressing room. Bribes, sneaking, note-writing, spell casting. I’m pretty sure it would have been easier to meet with the president of the universe.
-Nick Savage
    From the box, Nick withdrew a device about the size of a phone.
    A thrill of danger ran up my spine and into my shoulders—summoned, no doubt, by Mom’s warnings and my open rebellion. I did the natural thing. I ignored the feeling. I also paid no heed to the knocking at my door.
    “What the devil is that?” I asked, staring at the object.
    Smiling, he held it up and admired it as if it were pure gold, even though it looked like a real piece of junk. On one end, it had a bulbous piece of glass, no larger than a quarter inch across, like the end of an old thermometer. It attached to a black bar about the size of my little finger, which had a bunch of LED lights along one side. A clear tube curved from the base of the bar to a cylinder of dark wood connected to the backside of the black bar.
    “This,” Nick said, “has been known by many names through the ages. Flask. QXT. Tap. Nowadays, we call it a Cask.”
    “It looks like a little kid built it,” I said.
    He turned it over in his hands, smiling. “This is one of the most ancient, powerful of devices known to man.”
    I looked from the Cask to him, then back at the Cask. Maybe his mental guitar strings needed tuning.
    “What does it do? Create world peace?”
    “It harvests and stores raw emotional power.”
    The sense of danger came again, like a red flag popping up in my head. Maybe Nick Savage was insane. It would make sense. All the really good artists lost their minds at some point.
    “Raw emotional power?”
    “Richie! Get out here!” That was Mom’s voice, at the door with the show manager.
    “Holy crap, Mom!” I said. “Just a minute!”
    Nick nodded, his eyes wide and just a little crazed. “What you don’t know, son, is that the emotion you create in your audience when you perform is a mighty source of energy.”
    “Like electricity?”
    He shrugged. “Kind of. Only better. You don’t believe me?”
    “I never learned about this in any science class.”
    “No, you wouldn’t.” He motioned at the TV and Xbox. “It’s like those guitar games. They measure the excitement of the virtual crowd at each venue. When you play well in the game, the crowd responds with enthusiasm.” He tapped the Cask. “Well, here in the real world, that enthusiasm creates an invisible, powerful energy, and this Cask harvests that energy.”
    I kind of understood, but certainly didn’t believe him. Plus, the warnings in my head had grown stronger. Could I politely tell him I thought he’d lost it? Probably not. I mean, he may have been crazy, but he was still Nick Savage. You don’t just say to Nick