Smoke and Mirrors - Hollywood Knights One (8 page)

“Guess I should have locked the door.”

“Um. I guess. Um. Dinner’s ready,” he said,
gesturing vaguely down the hallway.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

London nodded as he backed out and shut the door.
Then I wasted a minute or two on abject mortification. At least I’d
waited until he left to break out in a full-body blush.

Shaking it off, I pulled together an ensemble fit
for dinner with my nearest and dearest friends: flannel sleep pants
and a faded Harley-Davidson t-shirt. My concession to company was
putting on underwear. If anyone didn’t like my clothes, they could
look at something else.

When I stepped off the stairs, Seth hopped up from
his seat on the couch and offered it to me. I took it. The next
thing I knew, he was handing me a plate of something that smelled
like heaven and an ice-cold beer.

“I didn’t know you knew how to be a proper host,” I
said.

“I don’t,” he replied, flashing me a
grin. “Technically, you’re not a guest. And the actual guests had
to serve themselves. I
suck
at playing host.”

He disappeared back into the kitchen while I was
still shaking my head, reappearing a minute or so later with
another plate and another beer. He found a spot on the floor near
an empty chair and dug into his dinner. A couple of minutes later,
Elizabeth took the empty seat, and we were all present and
accounted for.

Conversation ebbed and flowed, ranging from music to
sports to music to movies to music. Even the non-musicians in our
party were more than a little obsessed with the stuff. It was part
of the glue that held our disparate group of friends together.

Everyone in the room was also clued-in to magic.
When the conversation turned that direction, some of the
non-practitioners asked questions that clearly made Elizabeth
uncomfortable. She used gathering up dishes and taking them to the
kitchen as an excuse to escape. I decided to help as an excuse to
check on her.

“You okay?” I asked her, once we were alone in
Seth’s massive, gourmet kitchen.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Talking about that shit just isn’t
my idea of a good time, you know?”

“I get that.”

We worked in silence for a bit, rinsing plates and
silverware and getting them into the dishwasher. The rushing water
and the clattering of dishes covered up the conversation that
drifted in from the other room. It was kind of peaceful, in a weird
way.

Once the dishes were taken care of, Elizabeth cast a
furtive look through the doorway into the living room and then
dragged me to the far corner of the kitchen.

“I listened to your warning,” she said. “I’m taking
precautions.”

It took a minute for me to remember what she was
talking about. “The pill?” I asked.

“Yeah. Do you think it’ll change things?”

“It might.”

“I know you said the future is always changing and
uncertain and all that. I’m just…you kind of scared the hell out of
me.”

I gave Elizabeth a quick hug. “I didn’t mean to.” I
thought for a second before adding, “You know I can’t ‘read’
you.”

“Read me?”

“Peek at your future,” I explained. “The shield
spell in your tattoos won’t let me do that.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“I can still read London, though. If you want me to
try. I mean, there are still no guarantees or anything.”

“I know,” she said. She bit her lip, looking
pensive. “Can you do it without him knowing you’re doing it?”

“Nope. He always has his shields up.”

“Shit. I knew that.” She paced, her arms crossed
across her chest. “I really don’t want to tell him what’s up.”

“We don’t have to. I’ll be vague as to why I want
access to him. Or I’ll flat-out lie. And yeah, I know you’re not
big on lying to him, but I’m not asking you to do it.”

She stopped pacing, staring out through the
half-open blinds. Then she turned to me and nodded. “Please,” she
said.

“Done,” I promised, giving her another quick
hug.

I wandered back into the living room and pulled
Elizabeth’s vacant chair up behind London’s, placing it so the
chairs were back-to-back. I put my hands on London’s shoulders and
straddled the empty chair, leaning down to murmur in his ear,
telling him that I wanted to take a peek at his and Elizabeth’s
future. He nodded to let me know that he’d heard me, and I rubbed
his neck and shoulders while I concentrated on the information that
Elizabeth wanted.

The seer thing is hit-or-miss at best, but the
glimpses I caught of their future didn’t include anything like what
I’d seen in my read of Chris. Mostly, I just saw a lot of
happiness—for all three of them.

Satisfied, I leaned in close to tell London, “Thank
you.” I found Elizabeth, told her the happy news, and padded into
the kitchen to retrieve a battered package of cigarettes and a
cheap lighter from the junk drawer. Then I ducked back through the
living room and out the sliding glass door onto the back deck. I
plonked down in a deck chair and lit up, inhaling deeply and
letting the smoke out slowly as I listened to the unfamiliar sounds
of the countryside drift through the chilly night air.

Chapter Seventeen

I hadn’t quite reached ‘Zen’ when the door slid open
again. I looked up to find Parker closing the door behind him. He
turned and gave me a smile.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I pick it up; I put it down,” I said with a shrug.
“I don’t smoke much these days because if Dylan smells it on me, it
makes her sick.”

Parker nodded. “I’ve been trying to cut back because
Lori doesn’t like it.” He looked thoughtful for a second. “You mind
if I bum one?”

I handed him the pack and the lighter. “Trouble in
paradise?”

“Something like that.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked as I shifted in my seat to
face him.

“I’m not Seth Webber,” he said. He took a drag and
let it out before he continued. “I thought we were good, you know?
And then Seth came back into town, and she has her head so far up
his ass it’s amazing she can see anything at all, much less
me.”

“I noticed. I’m sorry.”

Parker shrugged. “I get it, though. I mean, he’s
everything I’m not, and probably never will be.”

“Don’t say that.” I took another drag while I
thought about what else to say. “Look, Lori is young…”

“She’s the same age I am.”

“Shut up. I’m talking,” I said. He looked chastened,
even though there hadn’t been any heat in my words. “I’m not sure
if you’ve noticed, but boys and girls are fundamentally
different.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“Guys your age are okay with casual dating and
flings and one-night stands and just about anything else that
doesn’t feel like a noose around the neck. Girls your age…they
still believe all the fairytale-princess bullshit. They want the
whole deal.” I made air quotes as I added, “Happily ever after.” I
sat up and leaned forward, toward Parker. “As a general rule, girls
Lori’s age don’t do temporary or casual or even less-than-perfect
very well.” I took a drag on my cigarette and blew out a smoke
ring. “Give it fifteen years or so and the tables will turn. She’ll
be looking for something low-stress, and you’ll be looking for a
picket fence.”

“So I’m wasting my time.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “And I’d be a
pathetic loser to sit around waiting for her to get over him and
take up with me again.”

“Would you? You’re the only one who can make that
call, Parker. What anyone else thinks doesn’t mean diddly shit.
What you think and how you feel about it is all that matters.” I
settled back in my seat and wished there were enough light to look
him in the eye. “I’ll tell you this, though: you don’t have to wait
for her.”

Parker took a deep drag, the fiery end of the
cigarette illuminating his face for a second, and then he dropped
his hands loosely between his splayed knees. He looked down, like
he found the ground between his feet fascinating. “Yeah, well…maybe
I want to. For a while.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t just sit around in the
meantime. You’re a good-looking guy. Smart. Funny. Sexy as
hell.”

Parker looked up through the fringe of hair that
brushed his brows and gave me a little grin. “Sexy as hell,
huh?”

“Especially when you do that.”

He sat up a little and brushed his hair back from
his face.

“And don’t even think about trying to use me to make
Lori jealous,” I warned him.

“What about that whole casual dating thing?” he
asked, grinning.

“That depends. Are you talking about casual dating
to have fun? Or casual dating to make Lori jealous? Or maybe casual
dating to try to get into my pants?”

He gave my pajama bottoms a pointed look. “I think I
could fit in those with you.”

I sat forward and flicked my cigarette ashes at him.
“Jackass.”

“But I’m so good at it.” He took a last drag of his
cigarette and crushed it out in the ashtray sitting by my chair.
“Speaking of your pants, I think you should take them off.”

That surprised a laugh out of me. “What?”

“There’s a perfectly good heated pool right down
there,” he said with a vague gesture. “Come swimming with me.”

“You’re nuts,” I said, still laughing.

“And?”

I was actually contemplating skinny-dipping with
Parker when Elizabeth stepped out onto the back deck.

“Hola, pretty lady,” Parker said. He dragged
Elizabeth down onto his lap, and she made a face and covered her
nose. “Sorry,” he said. “Jenny’s a bad influence.”

Elizabeth dropped her hand and turned to smile at
me. “Always.”

“She was just trying to convince me to go
skinny-dipping in Seth’s pool.”

“Was she?” Elizabeth asked with a grin.

“You should come with us.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Can’t. I feel like ass.
And you guys might not want to, either. The boys are talking about
heading to the studio.”

“Studio?” I asked.

“Seth’s studio,” Elizabeth said. At my blank stare,
she added, “In the pool house.”

“Oh. That’s what’s in there. Huh.”

Sure enough, the guys began spilling out of the
house a moment later, headed for the pool house. London stopped to
check on Elizabeth, and she told him she was going to go rest for a
while.

“Brian’s getting Dylan settled in upstairs,” London
said.

Elizabeth nodded, kissed him, and went back into the
house. London watched her go, then turned to me and offered his
hand.

“Come hang out,” he said.

I didn’t see any reason to turn down the offer, so I
let him help me up and followed him to the studio. The guys brought
the party with them, including beer and Seth’s Scotch. Brian,
London, and Teddy ignored the hooch, but the rest of the guys—and
Lori— split their attention between the booze and the music.

After half an hour or more of them discussing Seth’s
gear and fiddling around with bits of it, they managed to put
together a jam band. It was interesting to me, watching them all
switch up from their usual positions. London, who played drums for
DPS, took up the bass. Seth took lead guitar, ceding his usual
rhythm guitar duties to Parker. Brian, who lived to play guitar,
plopped down behind the drums, while JT, Tangled Web’s lead
guitarist, cozied up with a keyboard. Teddy, like me, played his
usual role of spectator, and Lori was part spectator and part Seth
Webber groupie.

This setup lasted for all of two songs before Seth
said, “Someone hand Jenny a microphone.”

I tried to decline the offer, but London chimed in
with, “What? Are you scared?” his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Swallowing the sudden burst of lust-fueled
adrenaline that his smile sparked in me, I gave him my best
withering look. “Seriously? Are you going to double-dog dare
me?”

“I might,” he teased.

Seth scowled and said, “Just take the damn
microphone, Jenny.”

I kicked his foot and said, “Well, since you asked
so nicely, how could I refuse?”

He at least had the decency to look a little ashamed
of himself.

A couple of song suggestions were thrown out, and
then Seth ignored them all and started playing one of the most
recognizable guitar riffs in all of rock music. I kicked his foot
again.

“You want me to sing Guns N’ Roses without warming
up? Really?” When he just kept playing, I shrugged and called him
an asshole. And then I sang.

Music had always been a big thing in my family. Mom
loved to sing, and Dad loved to listen. Mom had made sure that all
three of her kids had piano lessons, something none of us had
appreciated at the time. We’d all grown up with a deep appreciation
for music, but none of us had any musical aspirations.

That had eventually changed for Chris, when he’d met
Seth. Seth had taught him to play a little guitar and they’d spent
a lot of nights writing songs together over the years. My brother
had a gift for lyrics, along with an amazing voice that Seth had
just had to have on backing vocals for some of his songs.

As for me, I’d been in choir in junior high and high
school. I’d liked it well enough, but I didn’t have any desire to
take it to the next level. I chose to stick with singing in the car
and occasionally making a fool of myself at karaoke.

I didn’t have the artistic gift that my brother or
any of the guys in Seth’s studio had. I couldn’t create something
out of nothing. But I could sing, so sing I did. And even though I
didn’t really have anyone I could brag to about it, there was a
certain thrill in jamming with the likes of Seth Webber, JT Boyd,
Brian Kelly, and London Dahlbeck—guys who had played sold-out shows
around the world, inspired people with their music, won awards, and
earned the loyalty of fans from all walks of life—and I felt a
helluva lot of pride that I could hold my own while doing it.