BRANDON WAS IN HIS DRESSING ROOM LEANING BACK on a tan couch, still on a high from God giving him a name, when Reece texted him a message that got him to his feet: YOU NEED TO BE CAREFUL TONIGHT. He dialed Reece’s number.
“Hello?”
“I’m careful every night.”
“I was praying for your concert just now and got two things.”
“Tell me.”
“I heard the Spirit say today would be good.”
“It’s already been that. And the other thing?”
“That you’d have a battle on your hands during the concert.”
“What kind of battle?” Brandon strode from one side of the room to the other.
“I don’t know, that’s all I got. But I will say it feels serious. I know you have to go on soon, but what was the good?”
Brandon told him about his talk with Kevin and God revealing his new name.
“I’m thrilled for you, Brandon. Maximus is a powerful name. And it’s interesting that you swung your sword just before you received it.”
“I saw the shame and self-loathing all over Toby.”
“Those with eyes to see.”
Brandon smiled. “I almost blew the kid off.”
“Now I know why the Spirit told me tonight is serious.”
“The enemy can’t be pleased that you got your name. Can’t be pleased about what you did for Toby.” Reece paused. “Dana and Marcus should be here soon. We’ll war for you in the heavens tonight.”
“I’ll let you know what happens.”
“I think your eyes are going to be opened.”
Brandon rubbed his head and scuffed a light brown stain in the carpet with the toe of his shoe. “The last time you said that, Marcus saw demons.”
“Yes, I know.”
Brandon hung up the phone and stared at his guitar. That was his sword tonight. He would swing it well.
Brandon glanced at Kevin as his manager strolled through the dressing room door. “Is everyone tanked up?” He put the last new string on his guitar and started tuning the Taylor six-string. If Reece was right—and he usually was—his team needed their spiritual radar to be finely calibrated.
“You have guitar techs who would install new strings for you.” Kevin grabbed one of the folding chairs and sat backward, his arms resting on the back of the chair.
Brandon repeated his question. “Is everyone tanked up?”
“That question could be interpreted in a number of ways.” Kevin laughed and mimicked taking a swig from a bottle. “Let me just say I strictly prohibit the band from getting drunk before they go onstage.”
“I’m not kidding around, Kevin. Yes or no?”
“Why are you so worried if we’ve been praying?” Kevin gave Brandon an exasperated look. “We always pray before a show.”
“Reece said something weird to me on the phone a few minutes ago.”
“That there would be some kind of spiritual battle at the concert tonight and that my eyes would be opened even more than they have been.”
“Cool, you always play better when you can see.”
Normally Brandon would appreciate Kevin’s humor. But this time it fell flat. He’d felt a tingling at the back of his mind all day—which he’d ignored till now—but it seemed like it had grown exponentially in the last few minutes. He didn’t know if the increase was the Spirit putting him on red alert or his own imaginings because of his conversation with Reece. It didn’t matter. Either way Brandon needed to be ready.
An hour later Brandon strapped on his guitar and strode toward the stage. Kevin stood at the end of the hall, a Cheshire-cat grin on his face. When Brandon reached him, he gave a smile of his own in return.
“Someone is happy.”
“Would you care to share in my joy?” Kevin made a mock bow.
“Speak.”
“Sold out. We turned people away. And we’ve already sold the majority of the T-shirts. You are still loved, mon frère.”
A thought streaked through Brandon’s mind. He didn’t care about sold-out crowds anymore. It didn’t matter if one person came or one hundred thousand. This concert was about an audience of One. As Brandon took the stage, the crowd roared and he grinned and waved at them, which increased the volume of their greeting.
“Hello, Dallas.” Brandon adjusted the mic clipped to his ear and gazed out over the crowd. “I love you! But God loves you more! And he wants to set you free!”
The crowd yelled its approval as Brandon turned to his band and gave a countdown. “One, two, three, four . . .”
They kicked into a sped-up version of his megahit from two years ago, “Flying Faster,” and the crowd surged to their feet, arms raised, bodies moving in rhythm to the music.
Lord, this is for you. It’s about making you more famous. Lead me tonight.
Brandon prayed that at the start of every concert, but this was the first time in ages he’d said it with his heart instead of his head. Maximus. The thought of his new name bypassed his mind and went straight to his heart. He gazed at the crowd. Tonight he would fight for them with all his strength.
Brandon turned and grinned at his band. This was right. He was at the center of the universe onstage. It hadn’t been like this in so long. The music flowed out of him almost without effort.
“This is so cool, Jesus,” Brandon whispered as his lead guitarist played a blistering solo.
The next forty minutes flashed by in what felt like seconds. In between songs he spoke out of his heart and the words flowed like the river at Well Spring.
After their eighth song, Anthony, his bass player, slid up to him. “Something is different tonight.”
Brandon covered his mic with his fist. “You think? You’re feeling it?” Brandon threw his other arm around Anthony’s shoulder.
“What changed?”
“The Spirit. He’s here and we’re flowing in it again. Like the old days.”
“You’ve had a wake-up call.”
“I’ve been spending some time with a guy who’s helped me get back on the sometimes straight and always narrow.”
“That retreat you went on?”
“Yeah. I’ll have to tell you more about it.”
“I’d love it.”
Brandon turned back to the audience and shouted, “Are you free tonight?”
The crowd roared.
“It’s what he wants for you!”
The band kicked into their next song and Brandon soaked in the audience, the music—his head went light and he felt like he was floating. As the song finished Brandon glanced at the set sheet taped to the top of his guitar. Next up was “Water in the Wasteland.” But a thought filled his heart: Play “Free Me.”
Brandon glanced behind him at the band, then took a step toward the crowd. “We haven’t played this next song in a while. But I think God is saying it’s time to bring it out of hibernation. No vocals to this one, just music, so let the Spirit put whatever words to it he wants to.”
Brandon glanced at his band members, asking with his eyes if they were good with the song. They all nodded. He turned back to the crowd and smiled. “On this song I don’t do much more than play the opening chord, so when we’re done, if you like the tune, be sure to give it up for my band.”
As the crowd cheered, Brandon formed the opening chord high on the neck of his guitar and pulled his pick hard across the strings. An instant later the room went black. The only light he could see was a razor-thin sliver at the back of the auditorium. Faulty lighting? This had to be the attack of the enemy Reece had warned him about. But it didn’t seem to faze his band.
Thirty seconds later the lights still hadn’t come back on, but the song continued to ring out. That his band remembered the song well enough to keep playing in the dark surprised and pleased him. But it would be nice to be able to see.
Brandon fumbled his way over to Anthony and gripped his arm. “Any idea where the lights went?”
“What do you mean? You want the lights on over the audience?”
“Any lights would be nice at this point.”
“So the ones in our eyes aren’t enough?” His bass player laughed.
“What are you talking about? I can’t see a thing.”
“You have three spotlights on you right now. Are you blind?”
Brandon didn’t answer because an instant later he could see again. But he didn’t like the view. He knew he was the only one onstage who saw what was coming out of the chests of the audience. What was coming for him.