Chapter 14: The Night Slot

Drake Rafferty's earpiece had been shouting for four minutes.

"Sir, the clock is ten past six," said the head of programming. "The Season Night broadcast starts at nine."

"I know when it starts."

"Ninety-one million in ad contracts are tied to that slot. Celia Pellham is the headline. She sings the closing song."

On the porch, Celia sat on the top step with her knees together and did not look at anyone.

The old woman sat beside her and would not let go of her sleeve.

Demi's mother had been helped into the lodge by two medics.

Her father stood at the rail with his mouth open and no sound coming out.

"Sir?" said the earpiece.

Drake looked across the meadow.

Demi stood at the edge of the crowd with her arms folded.

She had not moved since the old woman said Birdie.

She still thought he had come up here for the numbers.

He had no way to prove otherwise.

He did now.

"Cancel the concert," Drake said.

There was a silence in his ear.

"Sir, the board..."

"The board can call me. Move the lodge feed to the main broadcast, nine o'clock, no edit, no delay. The gate stays on air until it is finished."

"That is the biggest night of the year."

"Yes," Drake said. "Pull the ads, or run them around it. I do not care which."

He took out the earpiece and put it in his pocket.

When he looked up, Demi was watching him.

She had heard none of it, but she had seen him do it.

She crossed the grass and stopped an arm's length away.

"Why is the stage rig being taken down?" she asked.

"Because there is no concert tonight."

"The concert was your slot."

"It was."

"That is ninety million dollars," Demi said slowly. "Everyone on this mountain has been talking about it for a week."

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