Voodoo Kiss (2 page)

I walked back to the entrance and grabbed the doorknob when my hand froze. Someone was behind me. The smell of musk, candles and herbs invaded my nostrils. I could feel someone's hot breath on my exposed neck. My pulse accelerated, my mind stopped working. For a moment, I just stood there, devoid of any thoughts, before I turned to face him.

"Are you all right?" His voice came low and deep, but he sounded young. Maybe twenty or twenty-five. A dark hood hung over his forehead, and partially obscured his features. I squinted, trying to get a better look at him, but the lamp over the entrance door didn't give enough light.

"You want in?" I nodded and stepped aside to let him into the club, but when I turned my head he disappeared right before my eyes.

I peered to the left and right, wondering where he'd gone, or whether my mind was playing a trick on me. A few sleepless nights and two painkillers could sure enough make one imagine things. Unless he could sprint ten feet to reach the corner in two seconds, the guy couldn't have been there because the alleyway had been empty when I left the club, and it sure was empty now.

No, I couldn’t have seen anyone. My imagination was running wild. It tended to do that a lot lately, particularly after Theo's death. Inhaling the freezing night air, I wrapped my arms around me to stop me from shivering and counted to ten, then left.

When I returned to the tiny room behind the stage, my band mate slash rookie, manager and everything else, Aaron, had packed away my guitar and was now loading our equipment into the van. Most clubs had an amplifier, speakers and microphone for the odd karaoke night, but as semi-professionals we prided ourselves on using our own stuff, even if we could barely afford paying the rental fee on the van.

"Want me to drive you home?" Aaron asked from the driver's seat. I shook my head as I regarded his spiky green hair and the ring piercing his lower lip. He looked more like a punk than a rocker. Then again, Aaron had never been one to fit into a group, stereotype or otherwise.

"Suit yourself," he said and started the engine. I watched him speed off in the distance, then returned to the bar to call myself a taxi. As much as I would've wanted to take him up on the offer because I really couldn't afford another taxi drive home, I knew it was for the best. Better to avoid another jealousy fueled fight with Gael before we even went on our first vacation together.

The taxi ride home to my tiny apartment in Brooklyn took about fifteen minutes, which I spent leaning my head against the cold glass as I watched my distorted face in the car window. The streetlights illuminated my recently dyed jet-black hair and emphasized the dark shadows under my eyes. Gael had said he preferred my ash blonde hair. His superficial statement still enraged me. But even if I wanted to please him, which I didn't, my natural hair color reminded me too much of my sister, so I had to do something about it. As a rock chick, it was either black or burgundy. I figured, black was the more reasonable choice. It made me look as haunted as I felt inside.

The car finally came to a halt outside the building. I paid and thanked the driver, then entered the dilapidated complex and rode the elevator up to the seventh floor. My roommate wasn't here for the week, which suited me just fine. I had been having a hard time explaining the crow perched on my windowsill day in, day out. I took a few steps toward the window to shoo it away, then stopped, changing my mind because I was too tired to bother. Instead, I skimmed quickly through my evening routine and then dropped onto my bed, unable to sleep for a long time because of the cawing outside.

***

Less than five hours later, after yet another sleepless night, the piercing ring of the bell interrupted my trail of thoughts as I was trying to recall whether I had remembered everything. The noise didn't stop, signaling my visitor was slowly losing his patience, so I tossed my sticky list on the breakfast table and hurried to open.

Gael, dressed in his usual white shirt and brown slacks, stood in the doorway, his mouth curved into a lazy smile, the faintest scent of sandalwood wafting from him. I reached out and he pulled me into a tight embrace, his lips locking with mine in a brief, sloppy kiss.

"Ready?" His dark eyes sparkled with anticipation as he ran a hand through his light brown hair that was a tad too long. I preferred it that way because it softened his square jaw and strong features.

Ready? Not really. Sleep deprived as I was, I felt like crap, and yet I couldn't tell him. Gael didn't like moaning and complaining. "Yep." I pulled him after me into the apartment and closed the door behind us, my nerves flaring up again. The strange feeling in the pit of my stomach hadn't subsided ever since Gael had tossed the flight tickets on the table, but I associated it with the fact that my love life was moving way too fast in a direction I wasn't ready to take just yet. The pain of losing Theo was as strong as on that fateful day when I was informed of her death. The wound in my heart still burned too bright to let me focus on a relationship. In fact, I had been considering breaking off with him. He was hot, no doubt about that, but the spark just wasn't really there.

"Is that all?" Gael pointed at the two worn suitcases in the corner. The brown leather was torn in places, a string was bound around the grip in case the old buckle might snap open. I nodded shyly, embarrassed that I couldn't afford at least some decent looking second hand suitcase, let alone a brand name. Gael O'Connor originated from a long line of Irish aristocrats with plenty of money to their name, but if my lack of finances bothered him, he didn't show it. In one swift movement, he lifted my suitcases and carried them down the seven stories to the waiting taxi. I locked the door and followed behind, the uneasy sensation in the pit of my stomach intensifying and my thoughts running wild again. Did I feel uneasy because I had never been a fan of traveling? Did I feel guilty because I felt I should be grieving instead of enjoying my life? Partly I hoped and prayed Theo's death was a huge misunderstanding. I knew all the obsessing was nonsense and that Theo would never come back, but I couldn't help myself. Trying to push the nagging thoughts to the back of my mind, I snuggled against Gael, who wrapped his arm around me.

We arrived at JFK International Airport with half an hour to spare during which we grabbed a cup of coffee and made our way to the gate. It was still early on a foggy September Monday, but huge crowds of travelers had already gathered at every corner, chatting as though they enjoyed every minute of their journey. Most travelers were well dressed, which was something I adored about NY. Everyone was so fashionable in a casual way, reminding me a bit of Paris and Rome.

I wiped my damp hands on my jean skirt and peered at Gael from the corner of my eye, admiring his strong features and the way he always seemed to look presentable whereas I always looked like a hot mess with my jeans and chipped nail polish.

"Nervous?" he asked with a grin. I nodded even though I knew better than to wear my feelings on my sleeve. He might be able to catch a glimpse of my fear, but he had no idea of the hurricane wracking havoc inside my stomach. Boarding a plane had always been one of my many phobias ever since I took my first ten-hour flight from Moscow to NY, which I spent bowled over the matchbox toilet. I could only hope I had grown out of that habit.

Gael grabbed my arm and pulled me against his chest whispering, "There's nothing to be nervous about, Soph." His warm breath, smelling of fresh coffee with the slightest hint of mint, caressed my cheek. I sighed and leaned against his broad chest, inhaling his aftershave I had grown to love during the six months we had been dating.

Six months. That's a long time for a nineteen-year-old. A lot can happen in six months. One can finally graduate from school, move out of the motherly abode and seek to get a job to support one's music career. Or make friends, go partying, enjoy youth. My cheeks started to burn. Really, I was such a moron to have the thoughts I had when my boyfriend couldn't be more caring and supportive. But it wasn't my fault I saw him more as a friend than a lover.

"You never told me how the gig was," Gael said, as though reading my mind. I raised my gaze to meet his dark eyes.

"Great. But I might as well have mimed naked on stage."

He smiled. "Now
that
would've definitely grabbed everyone’s attention."

"Everyone was so drunk I doubt they'd have noticed the difference."

"You have to start somewhere. You'll be a star soon enough." He always said that which is why I had learned to keep my mouth shut and never tell him about my gigs.

"Why Rio?" I asked, changing the subject.

"What?"

I moistened my lips. "You never told me why you're taking me to Brazil."

Gael averted his gaze. His eyes glazing over for a moment told me he was considering his answer. Maybe he was even hiding something from me. Even though we had only been dating for months, I had known him and his family for way longer, even before my sister died and his brother was killed around the same time. While I was still having nightmares, Gael seemed to barely remember Derrick's name.

"It's a beautiful city…for lovers," he said eventually.

"Been there before?" I marveled at how I wasn't even jealous that he had invited other girls to join him on his vacations.

He shrugged. "A few times."

I laughed, feeling the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach again. "Care to elaborate?"

"There isn't much to say."

His lips curled into a grin. I nudged him playfully. "Ah, I like your style. So you take a chick down there, and then get her all drunk on samba and the Brazilian flair so you can hook up with her. Not bad. If I were a guy with money I might just do the same. Not."

He laughed as he pulled me closer. "No other girls, Soph. Just me and my family on a boring, private beach. I didn’t really have a good time." He pointed behind me. "Let's board."

I nodded and followed him through the usual boarding motions. A flight attendant accompanied us to the aircraft.

"Take a seat. I'll be right back," Gael said.

Shrugging, I did as he instructed, surprised to find Gael had booked us first class seats with all the extra perks. Then again, what did I expect? That he fly economy like every other normal human being? As I slumped into my window seat with the extra legroom, I watched him talking to the flight attendant, his voice too low to hear, his hand hovering in mid-air mere inches away from her arm. I turned away, slightly irritated with myself that I still wasn't feeling the jealousy I thought I should feel.

 
Gael returned to his seat with a glass of water, which I drank hastily. "Ready for the trip of your life?" he asked, grabbing my hand.

"Looking forward to it." I smiled and leaned back. My eyes felt heavy after the lack of sleep from last night. I let myself drift into an uneasy nap accompanied by the sound of fluttering wings inside my head.

I slept through most of the flight. By the time we were ready to land in Rio de Janeiro, I felt excited to visit one of the most remarkable cities in the world. Granted, it did have a reputation for mugging and kidnapping, but with Gael by my side I was ready to capture the world.

"Sorry about this morning," I said as we squeezed our way through the huge crowd gathered at customs.

"No worries," Gael whispered. "Make sure you clutch your handbag tight."

My handbag wasn't the only thing I'd clutch tight. I peered at the tall, tanned girls with their generous cleavages ready on display for anyone who wanted a second look. My hand moved to Gael's, and he shot me an amused look. I smiled back out of habit.

"What?" Gael asked.

I shrugged. "Nothing. I'm just glad we get to do this before college starts and we're both thrown into—"

"Sold out gigs and frat parties?" He raised a brow.

"No. Think more in the line of brooding over library books about coordinated vocal cords and lots of voice training until my throat's sore."

"Sounds like fun." He pulled me behind him. "Come on."

In spite of my fear and insecurities at what lay before me, I couldn't wait to jump right in and put in the necessary work to become a rock star. It wasn't about the fame; all I wanted was to make my family proud and help my mother financially. The family had battled poverty their whole life and deserved a break from it.

The customs officer asked something in Portuguese and Gael answered back for me. For a moment, the dark-haired woman regarded me intently, mouth pressed into a tight line, and then she nodded and motioned me to move along. I whispered a thank you and followed Gael to the hired limousine waiting for us.

As soon as we stepped out of the arrivals hall, a hot gust of air hit me in the face, making it hard to breathe until my lungs adjusted. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the glaring brightness, and I'm not talking about the sun alone. There were so many people around us, dressed in all possible rainbow colors. I couldn't help but stare, hoping I didn't make a complete fool of myself—or worse, break a few country customs in the process. That's when a dark-haired guy caught my eyes.

He was tall, at least a few inches taller than the rest, with shaggy bed hair framing high cheekbones. His unbuttoned shirt revealed toned chest muscles and a dragon tattoo slithering south. My attention snapped from his cute face to his sculpted body you usually only see in magazines. The guy was just hot. I rose on my toes to get a better look, but a redhead, about a head shorter than the guy, partly obstructed my view. Like on cue, both the guy and the girl turned to face me a moment before Gael opened the door to the limousine and I jumped on the backseat, losing sight of them.