Aura Lyconotu

14:58 EST

November 3, 2030

Lyconotu Residence

Pigeon Forge, TN

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I sat at my computer, dog-tired and sipping on a Cheerwine, squinting at my screen. I'd been up all night slogging through the novel-sized documents Scuzball had dumped on Zak. Each file covered a different unit’s history, written with all the flair of a tax manual. Each one dry as hell, and all of them boring as fuck. I could barely keep my eyes from crossing as I skimmed over paragraph after paragraph of legalese about unit protocols, formation dates, and strategic changes. Riveting stuff, if you were a history professor. I’d finally knocked out the 102nd’s divisional song and was now wrangling the 588th’s. Normally, I loved writing music, but this… this was killing my soul.

If it weren’t for Cayro’s request, I would’ve tossed this whole project out a window and told whoever’d asked for it to go jump off a bridge. There were a thousand better uses for my time, and right now, anything would have been better than this.

Meanwhile, my husband was tearing through the NAWC like a chicken with its head cut off. The Night Guardians, bless their overachieving hearts, had been scrambling to gather last-minute concert supplies. Only problem? The equipment they’d managed to scrape together was one small step above junk. It was driving Zak up a wall; I didn’t blame him, but he’d insisted this concert shake the very ground Knoxville was built on. Which, given the current quality of our supplies, was bordering on impossible. But the Night Guardians did what they could with almost no notice.

Shoving my laptop away, I trudged over to the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge. My stomach had been growling up a storm, and it felt like I hadn’t eaten all day. I started moving things around, looking for the real prize: a container of leftover pot roast. Jackpot. I tossed it into the microwave and leaned on the counter, flipping through one of the skyboarding magazines that had accumulated around the house. It had been weeks since I’d last gone out on my board, and I was itching for some wind beneath me.

The microwave dinged, and I carefully pulled out the container, stirring the pot roast before stabbing a piece. It was incredible. Zak knew his way around the kitchen—thanks to his mother drilling those skills into him—and he always made sure there were leftovers, just in case I needed a quick bite. He understood that a hungry Aura was a dangerous Aura.

Just as I was about to savor my second bite, my phone started ringing from the coffee table. I eyed the annoying device from across the kitchen. It wasn’t Zak, so I ignored it and focused back on my food. But by the third bite, it was ringing again. Narrowing my eyes, I picked up my food and made my way over to the table. The screen lit up with Christian’s name. What in the Great Luna did he want? Begrudgingly, I snatched up the phone.

“What?” I snapped, my voice coming out in a low growl.

“My apologies, my Lady, but I can’t seem to reach Lord Lyconotu,” Christian said, his tone polite and cautious as usual. “Is he there with you?”

“No,” I replied, biting off the word. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually,” he answered with his typical patience. “Since I can’t get ahold of him, I may have found a solution for the concert, but I need either his or your approval.”

“Whatever it is, Christian, it’s approved,” I said, waving off the formality. If it could make this concert one ounce less chaotic, then I was all for it.

“Lady Lyconotu,” he responded, a bit hesitantly, “I think it would be best if you saw what I’m referring to. This isn’t something I’m comfortable acquiring without your or Lyconotu’s direct involvement.”

I groaned under my breath. Of course, it couldn’t just be straightforward. “Fine. Send me the location. I’ll be there as soon as I’ve finished eating.”

“My apologies, Lady Lyconotu, for interrupting your meal. That explains your… brevity,” he added cautiously, his tone entirely too diplomatic. “I can have one of the Night Guardians pick you up in fifteen minutes, if you’d like?”

“Christian, I don’t need a chauffeur,” I shot back. “I’ll get myself there. I’m not exactly a fragile flower.”

“Understood, Lady Lyconotu,” he replied, his tone formal as ever.

I hung up, tossing my phone onto the table and quickly wolfing down the rest of the pot roast. If Christian was calling directly, then this had to be something he couldn’t handle himself, which was saying something. Normally, he didn’t bother us unless he absolutely needed to. With the last bite gone, I tossed the container in the sink and eyed my car keys—only to spot my skyboard hanging next to the door. It had been weeks since I’d felt the wind, and right now, I could use the distraction.

Leaving the keys behind, I snagged my leather coat from the hook, pulling it on over my shirt, then wrapped a scarf around my neck and pulled on my boots. Grabbing the motorcross-style HUD goggles, I slid them over my eyes and activated the link to my phone. A text from Christian popped up, complete with a location pin. Russellville, Tennessee, about an hour’s drive away, but on a skyboard? Half the time, maybe less.

Smirking, I stepped outside, placing my foot on the board and letting the hum of power vibrate under me. I shot up into the sky, flipping mid-air and feeling the rush of wind snap me awake. Finally, some freedom. The map app adjusted to flight mode, and I picked up speed, pushing the board past a hundred miles an hour. I grinned as the landscape blurred below me— now this was flying, and I was making up for lost time.

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I gunned my board, making it to the drop point in just over twenty minutes. Flying overhead, I spotted Christian’s black Chevy Tahoe parked in front of a house with a sprawling metal barn beside it. Circling down, I landed next to the Tahoe and tapped on the window to get his attention. Christian jolted, his expression briefly flashing the kind of panic that almost made him shift right there. I couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh, stepping back so he could get out.

“Lady Lyconotu,” he said, trying to recover his composure as he climbed out. “I wasn’t expecting you to arrive so soon. Were you in Knoxville when I called?”

“No,” I replied, jerking a thumb back toward my board. “I flew.”

“Ah,” he managed, giving a slow nod as he took in the board. “Of course.”

“So,” I said, folding my arms and grinning up at him, “what’s got the Great Christian Maddox so rattled that he had to pull either me or Zak all the way out here to approve something? Isn’t this more your area?”

Christian straightened, giving me that polished, no-nonsense look he’d perfected as a Night Guardian. But beneath it, I saw the faint trace of a grin as he acknowledged the title. Despite his formal demeanor, the man had a reputation as a powerhouse, known for his family’s long leadership in the Guardians, and he didn’t often break character—unless there was something significant.

“Well, Lady Lyconotu,” he started, adjusting his stance, “I reached out to an old friend in procurement who knows someone outside the Council network. They’re not… your typical suppliers, but I trust them, and I thought they might be able to meet our needs given the time crunch. But this one was, as they say, a bit outside our usual scope, and I wasn’t comfortable closing the deal without you or Zak present.”

I smirked, already amused by the level of drama this was clearly stirring up in him. Christian didn’t call lightly, and to see him out of sorts was rare. But, given the pride he took in upholding Night Guardian protocol, it made sense that he would go to lengths to make sure this acquisition was on the level.

“Follow me, please.” He gestured towards the house with a polite nod, leading me to the front porch, where he knocked firmly on the door. Moments later, it opened to reveal a man who looked like he’d just stepped out of a motorcycle club. He was in his late fifties, bald-headed with a beard that practically growled ‘don’t mess with me,’ and covered in tattoos. This guy radiated retired biker bad-assery, and I instantly approved. I’d dressed in a faded leather jacket and punk-style boots, so we were oddly on the same wavelength.

“Thank you for letting me wait here, Mr. Krebbs,” Christian said in his best professional tone, looking just slightly out of his comfort zone.

Mr. Krebbs gave me a once-over, his sharp gaze sizing me up. When he saw I wasn’t fazed by his tough-guy image, a grin broke out across his face. “Maddox, you didn’t mention your employer was the Queen of the Wolves herself. I’d say what I’ve got here is exactly what she’s looking for.”

He headed back inside to grab his coat, leaving Christian and me standing in the cold on the porch. I glanced up at Christian, one eyebrow raised in silent question, wondering why I’d needed to come in person for this. He read my look instantly.

“Lady Lyconotu, I may be capable in certain areas, but I’m still… well, a suit,” he admitted, almost sheepishly. “People like Mr. Krebbs here don’t usually warm up to someone who looks like they’re in the secret service. He didn’t believe me when I said I wanted to rent his equipment.”

“Ah,” I replied, now understanding. Mr. Krebbs was the type to value respect earned by street cred over formal titles, and Christian wasn’t exactly radiating rebellious vibes. “Good call. It’s probably better it was me instead of Zak, too. He might be able to pull off band attire at home, but these days he’s usually in a suit when he’s out. This guy would have laughed him off his porch.”

Christian gave a slight nod, smiling as if he hadn’t thought of it that way before. Mr. Krebbs reappeared, shrugging into his jacket with an air of authority.

“Alright, let’s go take a look at what I’ve got,” he said, motioning for us to follow as he led us toward the barn.

Stepping into the dimly lit barn, I had to give my eyes a moment to adjust. Before I could make out anything, Mr. Krebbs flipped a few switches, and a cascade of lights blinked on, illuminating the entire space. My jaw dropped. Right before me was a massive old passenger bus, meticulously converted into a portable stage, the kind that could transform from road cruiser to performance platform in minutes.

"What... what is this?" I asked, momentarily stunned.

Mr. Krebbs chuckled, clearly enjoying my reaction. "It's a late 1980s Silver Eagle, converted into a full fold-out sound stage by Red Bull back in 2020. They used it for mobile events, concerts, the whole deal. Been kept in good shape since then." He ran a hand along the bus’s side, clearly proud of it.

A grin spread across my face as a wicked idea flashed through my mind. I knew one die-hard Red Bull fanatic who’d flip when she found out about this little gem. Lyra, of course. She’d be green with envy—and I’d enjoy every second of it.

“How much to rent it for November?” I asked, cutting straight to the chase.

Mr. Krebbs tilted his head, looking mildly confused. "I think Mr. Maddox here might have misunderstood a bit," he replied, glancing at Christian. "I’m not renting it out. I’m looking to sell it."

I blinked, caught off guard, and turned to Christian, who looked as if he’d just bitten into a particularly sour lemon. Whatever protest he had ready, I shut it down with a look. The solution to our concert problem was staring us in the face.

“How much?” I asked, direct and to the point.

Krebbs seemed taken aback by my sudden interest, hesitating for a moment as he considered. “One hundred and thirty grand.”

I exchanged a glance with Christian, who looked faintly horrified as he realized where this was headed. But as far as I was concerned, the deal was as good as done. This stage was precisely what we needed, not just for the concert, but as a one-up on Lyra after the infamous car stunt she'd pulled a few years back. I still owed her for that, and I wasn’t about to pass up this prime opportunity.

“Christian, get the funds transferred and handle the paperwork,” I ordered, my tone brooking no argument.

Christian raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback but then dipped his head in compliance. “Understood, Lady Lyconotu. I’ll see to it.”

Turning back to Mr. Krebbs, who looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck, I smiled. “Now, how about giving me a proper tour of this fine machine?”

Once he’d recovered, he led me over to the bus and started the grand reveal. It had everything we needed: sound equipment, lighting rigs, speakers, control boards—all of it meticulously packed into a mobile setup designed for quick deployment. Every detail was professional-grade.

With each piece of equipment he pointed out, my excitement grew. Not only had we found the perfect solution, but it was about to be ours. The very idea of owning a stage like this, ready to roll out for any show Zak and I dreamed up, was electrifying. The more I explored the bus, the clearer it became that this was going to be the centerpiece of a concert that no one in Knoxville would forget.