The meet and greet tent behind the Desert Howl main stage was electric, buzzing with fans still high off the show. A long line twisted out the back flap and down the pathway, filled with screaming teens, giddy adults, and at least one guy in a full-body LED wolf suit.

Gabriel signed posters with a relaxed grin, tail wagging lazily. Thane stood beside him, arms crossed, his ice-blue eyes scanning the crowd for trouble out of habit. Mark sat off to the side, quietly sipping water and fixing a minor glitch in the band’s lighting sequence on his tablet.

Then came the moment.

Maya, mid-signature on someone’s guitar case, heard a voice shout from the back of the line:
“¡AY DIOS MÍO, LOOK AT MY BABY ON HER THRONE!”

Her head jerked up.

“Noooo way,” she whispered.

From between two stunned security guards emerged a woman in her fifties, short, stout, with fire in her eyes and red lipstick that could melt steel. A long braid hung over her shoulder, bouncing as she marched forward in wedge heels and a bedazzled denim jacket that read “Mamacita Feroz” across the back.

“MOM?!” Maya yelped, already blushing.

“I told you I’d come see your little rock band someday!”

Gabriel choked on his water. Cassie damn near fell out of her chair.

The security guards looked to Thane, who just shrugged and smiled. “She’s fine. That’s a mami, not a threat.”

Maya’s mom charged in, tackled her daughter in a bone-crushing hug, then turned to the rest of the band like she’d been managing them for years.

“¡Ustedes son geniales! That light thing, the sky-wolf, the fire—Maya, baby, you did that?!”

“Lighting’s Mark,” Maya muttered, still red.

“Pues then Mark, you little genius, if I had three more of you, I’d replace my IT department!”

Mark blinked. “…Thanks?”

The crowd loved it.

Until he showed up.

Bret. Vandal Saints’ own walking ego blister. He strutted through the tent flap uninvited, sunglasses on despite the dusk, and zeroed in on Gabriel and Thane.

“You think you’ve won something? That crowd’ll move on. They always do. You’re a damn meme band.”

Gabriel started to rise. Thane already had one hand curled into a claw.

But before either of them could move, Maya’s mom slammed her purse on the table and stepped forward.

“OYE, CLOWN SHOES!”

The entire tent fell silent.

Bret blinked. “Excuse me?”

She advanced like a bull.

“You come in here, throwing shade at these kids who EARNED their fans? You’re just mad nobody wants to hear your whiny little man-baby sob rock! What’s your band’s name again? Vaginal Stains?”

The tent exploded with laughter.

Bret turned bright red. “It’s VANDAL SAINTS.”

“Ah, perdóname, pendejo,” she fired back. “I forgot. Because nobody cares!”

Cassie covered her mouth. Jonah fell off his stool. Mark simply whispered, “Good grief,” without blinking.

Maya buried her face in her hands. “Mami, please—”

“No, no. Let me finish.”

She jabbed a manicured finger in Bret’s chest.

“You think these people made it ’cause of luck? Gabriel played with his fingers BLEEDING. Thane runs sound tighter than my Tupperware lid drawer. And Maya? Maya grew up watching me work three jobs and still never complain—so don’t you EVER try to cut her down, cabrón.”

Gabriel whispered, wide-eyed, “…Can we hire her?”

Bret backed out of the tent with a muttered curse and nearly walked into the same security guard who’d let Maya’s mom through.

She turned back to the crowd, blew kisses, and grinned. “Now. Who wants a selfie with Mama Feroz?”

Pandemonium.

Maya, hiding her face, muttered to Thane, “I’m never living this down.”

Thane patted her on the shoulder. “You’re not. But damn if she didn’t make a fan outta me.”

Mark, still fixing a script on his tablet, chimed in, “That was… deeply efficient.”

Maya groaned.

Cassie giggled. “So… can she come to all our shows?”

Gabriel just howled with laughter.