American Goth (13 page)

It was a nice little set, took us maybe about half an hour, and the early arrivals didn’t seem to mind; in fact, we got a couple of
nice job
s and a couple of enthusiastic
good ’un
s from the pre-dinner crowd that started to trickle in. And while I might have been nervous and edgy for about a whole twenty seconds before Hannah clicked into the first tune, the moment we started playing the nerves not only disappeared, but so did everything else but the groove: I felt pretty darn loose and just plain good way before the time we were done and it was time to unplug and get off the stage. I broke down my setup, then helped set the stage for the real band before I took myself and my bass to the table Fran held for us.

“Sounded good—
and
you look good up there,” she told me with a smile as I settled into a seat, and from the sparkle in her eye to the way she smiled, her regard was genuine. The same warmth that had flooded through me in the morning rose under my skin.

“Nah,” I demurred, slightly embarrassed as I tucked my bass safely against another chair, “it was just practice—we’ve a lot of work to do.” It was true—we did. We’d covered it pretty well, all things considered, but Kenny was dropping rhythm guitar in parts—although he never dropped the vocal—and whether it was obvious to the listener or not, I heard it, and I was certain Graham and Hannah had heard it too.

Fran leaned over and slid an arm around my waist. “You look and sound like you know what you’re doing—and enjoying it as well. Trust me, you look and sound good.”

“Thanks,” I told her as I put my arm over her shoulder.

Hannah gave me raised-eyebrow glance that I returned with a “what?” look of my own and she tilted her head quizzically, about to speak, when we were interrupted by the supply of food and drink Kenny and Graham managed to send our way.

Hannah, Fran, and I discussed politics and music as the officially scheduled group started their first set.

They weren’t bad, not even half, I thought as I sipped at the wine I preferred to the ale while I half listened to the interplay between the bass and the drum. In reality, the rest of me was attuned to the shifting energy dynamics in the room. The level built with the music, released and reflected from different responding bodily energy centers that resonated with the tones that bounced off the walls.

“Hey,” Hannah leaned over and spoke in a low voice, “mind if I ask Fran to dance?”

I sat back and cocked my head at her. “Why would I mind?”

Even in the dim light, I could see the slight flush that rose in her cheeks. “Well, I didn’t want you to think that I, I mean…” She hesitated as she raised her eyes again to mine, and in that moment I understood.

Hannah and I had flirted a bit during jam sessions, hanging out, and while we’d not decided on that dinner yet, there was an air of
something
between us. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t spoken about Fran and her visit (it was probably all I’d talked about) with Hannah, with the band, but I
had
disappeared for a week, only to show up with Fran in tow. I knew where Hannah was going with this.

I smiled into her eyes. “We don’t own each other, you and I, or Fran and I. Ask her—if she wants to, she will.”

“Yeah?”

I chuckled lightly. “Free will, baby. We’ve all got it.”

Fran gave me a quick, questioning glance that I answered with a smile and a wave as she and Hannah made their way to the floor, and I watched them with the same smile as they danced. Fran was having a good time, and that in turn made me feel good.

The presence made itself known as a sudden chill that floated across my shoulders.

“Join you for a drink,” the voice asked, low and dry.

“Help yourself,” I answered as I turned with my glass in hand.

He sat down, his movements graceful and quick. “You’re new here,” he observed and stretched back along his seat and lit a cigarette. The smoke rose in lazy waves as he contemplated me.

I returned the cool stare. Black boots. Black pants, fitted at the ankle but blossoming out as they rose. Fingerless black leather gloves. An old marching band jacket that in daylight would be maroon but in the half light of the pub was a bloody red.

“Next you’ll ask what’s a nice girl doing…?” I asked, then sipped, casually, bored.

He laughed. “Nah,
that
I wouldn’t ask.” He tapped his cigarette on the arm of his chair, let the ashes fall unheeded to the floor. “I’m sure you’ve moments where you’re not that nice.”

I lit one of my own and leaned back in my chair. I stared at him blankly, uncaringly. That seemed to frustrate him and his lip curled into a sneer as he leaned forward. “I know how your father died,
Wielder
.” His voice hissed dryly even as he seemed to spit the last word. “I’ll live to see you die, too.”

Though the words about my father struck deep, deep into a hurt I didn’t realize could still ache the way it did, and sent an even colder chill through my bones, I’d already been taught well. Those feelings, and the questions that accompanied them, could be dealt with later. Now, though, the enemy stood declared before me. I took a casual drag from my cigarette and exhaled the smoke slowly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stared back into beetle black eyes, black like the bugs that crawled out from under rocks that lie undisturbed through the winter until they’re budged in spring for fresh planting. Those eyes glittered at me with malice.

He smiled, somehow managing to show all of his teeth as he did so.

“Of
course
you don’t—I’ll bet you don’t even
know
how he died—and you think you’re,” and his eyes traveled down my neck to rest pointedly on the ankh that hung just under my throat, “protected. You’re not. And you’re not the first, though you may be the last. You won’t last long.”

I sat back like I didn’t care; he was telling me nothing I hadn’t already learned, and so far nothing I didn’t think I’d eventually find out anyway. “What do you have?” he continued. “Maybe twenty, thirty, forty years before you’re caught, killed, destroyed? Even if you manage to
breed
and live a mortal life span, I will
still
be here. But,” and he leaned across the table, his voice lower now, urgent, full of…full of something I’d learn to recognize in time, “you
could
be one of us. The power sings in your blood, I can
taste
it in the air—I could…teach you…how to avoid your father’s fate, to use that power, so that you might never sing the black song and you would be immune to human frailty, suffering.” He cut his eyes toward the dance floor where Graham had run away from his duties long enough to whirl around with Hannah and Fran. It was Fran his gaze lingered on. “I can see that you’re…connected. I could ensure that’s permanent, if you so desire, or,” he sat back, a wide smirk on his delicately chiseled face, “I
could
force you because of it, should you refuse.” He waved his cigarette. “Tell me, is she even more beautiful when she cries?”

That…that got me, and I tried not to let it show, but I could feel the tendons in my neck tighten, the muscles across my chest grow close around my heart, a fear that snapped into anger.
I bet I could take him.

And then it hit me: as above, so below.
Don’t engage, don’t step out of the Circle.
I couldn’t be forced, I had to voluntarily step out of the Circle.

I focused and checked my own barrier—it was fine—and it took less than half a second to extend that to the sense of Fran’s presence.

“You’re not the most pleasant of drinking companions,” I informed him as I stood and slung my gig bag, heavy with the weight of my bass, over my shoulder. “I think I’ve passed my quota on rude for the day. Have a great night.”

He was so quick he’d grabbed my arm before I’d taken the next breath, but I was ready.

“We’re not done…Wielder,” he hissed.

I stared at his hand. “Let go, or lose it.” I focused the energy field where his fingers wrapped around my forearm and he released my sleeve as if burned.

“
Je reviens te chercher
,” I return to seek you, he whispered.

I caught his eyes, those glittering black pools, with mine. Funny. He wasn’t as tall as he’d seemed moments ago and he seemed somehow…familiar. “Good luck with that,” I said before I turned my back on him and made my way to the bar.

Fran met me there barely a moment later. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked with a concern I felt even before she cupped my shoulder. “I saw that that guy—was he bothering you? He seemed like a real creep.”

“He was,” I answered shortly, not knowing if or how to explain. “But yeah, I’m okay.” I put my hand on the small of her back and tried to smile reassuringly before I caught Kenny’s eye. He nodded back at me when I finally did, then sent two pints over. I handed one to Fran and she watched me as I sipped.

The heightened awareness that invaded me—the proximity of Fran’s body, the thoughts and feelings that swirled heavy in the air, thick as the cigarette smoke that surrounded us, filled with the unmistakable sense of hunger, lust—overloaded me, left me feeling heavy and edgy.

She put her mug down and caressed my cheek with her fingertips. She studied my eyes, then leaned in, her lips next to my ear. “Let’s go.”

“Do you want to?” I asked her in return. All things aside, the weight of minds, the none-too-subtle threat from the…whatever…I didn’t want her to worry, wanted her to enjoy herself, the pub, the company I normally kept.

Still, the press of her body and the light whisper of her breath over my face served to remind me of the night before and how we’d spent our day, making my skin tingle with the memory.

Fran curled her hands into the collar of my jacket and tugged me closer. I rubbed my cheek against hers. “Yes.”

I kissed the spot I’d just pressed my face to. “All right, then. We’ll go.”

“Hey, I see Old Ralph Jones made a try at you.” Hannah’s voice cut through the surround sound atmosphere.

“Jones?” I asked her as Fran threaded her arms under my jacket and around my waist.

“Yeah. Jonesy, our local dealer.” Hannah pointed over her shoulder with her thumb and my eyes followed.

There he was still, the brass buttons on his band jacket winking in the stage lights, and sensing my attention, he looked my way and saluted me with his drink. He emanated cold waves in every direction.

I wondered if Cort was aware of him as I cut the contact and returned my attention to Hannah, who’d just swiped my pint.

“It always tastes better from someone else’s cup,” she said, smirking at my raised eyebrow. Not that it was a big deal, it was now a running gag among us, since everyone’s cups, cans, and pints got mixed up in the studio.

“What do you mean, dealer?” I asked as she sipped.

“You know, the usual stuff,” Hannah answered after she swallowed. “Soft stuff, pot, acid, that sort of thing, coke if you’re into it, some of the more…exotics. If you want it and it’s out there, Old Jones will find it.”

“For a price, of course,” Fran interjected.

“There’s always that,” Hannah agreed, “and some pay more than others. Ask Graham—I hear they’ve had some nasty run-ins. Back when he was a girl, I think.”

Fran’s hold tightened about my waist and I pulled her closer as I shifted, taking her out of Jonesy’s line of sight. If he wanted to look, he could stare at my back, but if he wanted Fran? He’d have to go through it.

“Really?” I said to Hannah over Fran’s head. “Do you know what it was about?”

I wondered, as I held Fran in my arms and against my body then rubbed my cheek against her hair, what it was Graham and that…thing…had discussed. Had he been threatened or extorted similarly? There was something about Old Ralph Jones. He surely wasn’t a hound, he radiated something different, definitely a more…commanding presence, a different sort of energy…and there was a familiarity about him I couldn’t quite place.

“Well, not
that
directly. Graham doesn’t talk about much, so you’ll have to ask her, uh, him,” Hannah returned, slipping pronouns for the first time since we’d met. The thought flickered through my mind that perhaps there was a connection between the subject and her slip as I nodded at her.

“Maybe I will sometime. Hey, we’re gonna run off,” I told Hannah, who rewarded me with yet another smirk.

“So…I suppose we’ll see you in the studio Sunday, then? You’re welcome to come as well,” Hannah told Fran with the same smile.

“Maybe,” Fran said nonchalantly, “or maybe I’ll take the opportunity to start Christmas shopping.”

Hannah and I both stared at her. “But…it’s only
just
October!” Hannah observed with obvious surprise. “There’s plenty of time.”

Fran shrugged, a gesture that brushed the curve of her breast against mine and reminded me that there was more than one reason to be leaving. “It’s the only time Ann won’t be with me, and I need to find just the right thing. But,” she said and lifted her eyes to mine, “I’d be happy to meet you there later.”

The half smile that curved her lips got one in return from me and I inclined my head to—

“Right then, Sunday it is. Good, very good.” Hannah’s voice sounded more than slightly amused, though it only showed in the sparkle of her eyes when I glanced back at her.