Flopping forward, I rested my right cheek against the polished bar surface and regarded her from a sideways angle. “And being a performing monkey for the perv who tried to abduct me is better?”
Rolling forward, so my forehead pressed into the bar, I blew a breath onto the glass top.
“I take it there’s something else,” Cat prompted me.
I groaned. “I might have told another lie. That I had permission from him to start a band.”
Cat blew out a long breath. I watched her rake both hands through her hair, fingers curled. The motion almost violent. “Shit, kid. You really dug yourself into a hole, huh?”
I didn’t say anything, just watched her face.
“So if this guy is a creeper, maybe he’ll want to get in your good graces.” She glanced at me. “Why not just ask him for permission?”
“Eww. No way in hell. He could use it against me for…” I shuddered. “Just no.”
“As it stands, he can definitely use it against you.” She lightly poked my shoulder. “If you ask him to cover for you now, you can get terms you can deal with, not take a bad bargain in a rush. Know what I mean? You’ll get to choose.”
I liked that idea. That I’d get to choose.
Because nothing about this shit show so far had been my choice. But thinking about approaching Sunglasses still made me want to puke.
“I promise, it’ll go better for you if you get out in front of it,” Cat said. “I need your promise that you’ll deal with this by Friday, Ash. Please?”
“Fine. Sure. Whatever.” I wished the polished glass could somehow whisper the answers into my ear. “Does this mean you don’t want to give me a job? Cuz, that’s fine. I don’t have to hang around or anything. You can just say no. I’ll leave.”
“Fuck.” Cat cursed and flinched in quick succession. She stood up and poked me in the arm with a sharp nail. “Stand up, Ash.”
Peeling my cheek off the bar, I slowly gained my feet.
At five-foot-five, I wasn’t exactly short, especially with the extra inch provided by my favorite black boots. But even though Cat stood only a couple inches taller, she felt larger. More imposing. Like there was a well of untapped power locked in her slender frame. She looked at me for a long moment.
My heart tap-danced in my chest and my palms grew sweaty.
“This is a terrible idea.” She held out a hand. “The unadvertised job of table cleaner and stage-warmer is yours, if you want it. Pay is eight dollars an hour, for three hours a day, Monday through Friday.”
I hesitated, feeling like I stood on an invisible precipice. Unable to tell which step would bring me to safety and which would send me straight over the cliff. Was I certain—absolutely certain—that working every day in the Ground Zero was a good idea? To work for a strange, inhuman woman who brought in colorful mugs and hot chocolate just for me?
Yes. I did.
With a nod, I reached forward and clasped Cat’s hand. “I want the job. Thank you.”
“Welcome to Ground Zero.” She gave my hand a firm shake and squeeze before releasing it. “You leave by nine every day—without fail. You can use the stage when the tables are cleaned and the bar is set up for the evening.” She pointed a finger at me, the nail long and sharp in the blue bar lights. “If patrons arrive early, you leave. If I call and say don’t come in, you don’t come. You don’t even come near—we clear?”
Hope wove round my chest in thin, tentative knots.
She was giving me a base. A sliver of Vegas’ underbelly that Myrtle and Churchfield couldn’t take from me. I had a place to practice that wasn’t Sunglasses’ classroom or Myrtle’s courtyard, a space that was all mine! Of course, I still had to talk to Sunglasses—but that was a problem for later. Right now, I’d celebrate.
I grinned at Cat. “We’re clear. But I don’t have a cell phone. My old one got canceled when we moved here.”
“Right. Stay here.” She slipped away and into a back room.
Rustling echoed along the long, dark space, followed by muttered oaths. Heavy drapes shrouded walls from view and there wasn’t a window, covered or otherwise, in sight. I knew it was bright outside, the desert sun bleaching the expanse of cement, sand and stone that was Vegas. But not a shred of daylight existed here.
I ought to be scared.
I was standing in a dark shadow tucked beneath glowing casinos. If I disappeared, the only person who would know where I’d gone was Myrtle. Not comforting. Cat was fast, had claws, drank stupid amounts of protein mix, and was currently rifling around in a back room. If this was a horror movie, she’d return wearing a mask and wielding a hook.
But I wasn’t scared.
For reasons I couldn’t fully explain, I felt safe with Cat. Her aura of strength was comforting. After the hospital bed and tests and sickness, being around someone so vital was a welcome change.
And didn’t that make me feel horribly disloyal.
“Ah hah!” The exclamation rebounded into the bar moments, shaking me from my reverie. She reappeared, a slender object clutched in one hand. “Alright, Ash, this is your new phone. It is not a toy.”
I sent her a disparaging look. I was hardly the kid she kept calling me.
“I’m serious.” She pushed some buttons while I tried to peer past her arm to see what kind of phone it was. “My number’s in here. The phone isn’t covered for long distance or data crap. Use in emergencies only—got it?”
I nodded vaguely as she let me take the phone; delighted to discover it was a sleek, stylish smartphone. Mom and I had never been able to afford one of these. It even had enough storage for music—score. Myrtle and her agenda could suck it. Cat had given me a job, a smartphone and was going to let me practice on a real stage.
Things were looking up.
Nabila, Oscar and I had some plotting, and playing to do, because Oya’s Blade had found a home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Oya’s Blade had not, in fact, found a home.
The realization punched me in the gut. I looked back and forth between my friends while we waited for the bus, desperate to be wrong. But I wasn’t. They weren’t the least bit thrilled about being able to practice at Ground Zero. “Guys, come on. This space is awesome. Cat is awesome. You’ll love it.”
“The Bulldog said we can only go to school and home. We’re not allowed anywhere else,” Nabila said, lips scrunching to the side, as if the mere mention of Myrtle had left a bad taste in her mouth. It probably had.
“Damn it.” I kicked a rock into the street.
It seemed every time we found a solution, another complication reared its head, like a demonic game of Whack-A-Mole.
“We’ll just have to find a way to practice here,” Nabila said, raising her chin. “If Keeper Myrtle doesn’t want to listen to us play…” She shrugged. “Then we’ll have to make her not want to listen.”
Oscar scrubbed a hand over his face. “That’s a dangerous game, Nabila. And I don’t think I can play it, or be in the band. Not like this.”
“No! We have to play every chance we get. Ash and I tapped into something, something big when we sang together. And Oscar, you have to do it, too.” Nabila grabbed his arm.
“I can’t. My mother…” Oscar shook his head slowly.
“Maybe we can help your mother,” I blurted before I could lock my stupid mouth shut.
Oscar’s face crumpled. “Don’t make those kind of promises, Ash, because I know you can’t keep them.”
“Maybe we can!” Nabila whispered excitedly. “I don’t know exactly how it works, but Ash has some kind of magic with her music. My ancestors say she’s the missing piece to our investigation. Her truth and her music.”
Hope shone bright in her dark eyes.
So bright it hurt to look.
In that moment, I wanted to get away from them.
Away from the painful hope in Nabila’s face, away from the insane jealousy brewing in my heart over her connection to her past.
Throat tight, I studied the slope of the pavement angling into the drain. What if I couldn’t deliver? I didn’t want to disappoint her—I couldn’t bear to see that brilliant hope burn to ashes. It would be just like watching that flickering flame of promise die on my mother’s face when she realized the doctors were lying to her.
I didn’t want to lie to Nabila.
Biting my lip, I considered. The demons wanted me. They wanted me badly. Enough to let me run roughshod over one of their Keepers, enough that they made a bargain with my father. I didn’t think I had anything to offer them except my smart mouth and an awesome riff. Sure, I could tell if people were lying, but to quote Cat, everyone in this neck of the infernal woods could do that. Nothing special there.
But if Nabila’s ancestors thought I had some kind of power, maybe they could see something in me that I couldn’t?
Her ancestors.
Wow.
What must it be like to have that kind of connection to your past, that depth of knowledge?
When mom had been alive, it hadn’t seemed to matter. Not really. I honestly didn’t know whether my mom’s family had come to the States from Mexico or farther south, though once she’d said something about Puerto Rico that felt heavier than most of her comments, so maybe we were from there? Maybe, if I knew for sure where I’d come from, if I had even a hint of Nabila’s connection, my mom wouldn’t feel so far away.
If I asked Nabila to help me find that connection, to show me how to feel part of my past… I glanced at her, the sheer determination stamped on her features. When Nabila committed to something, nothing would shake her.
Maybe it was time to try to trust again.
What did I have to lose except my eternal soul?
Because if I could help her and Oscar—if I could be the person her ancestors saw—maybe I’d do more than reclaim my soul.
“Your ancestors are all well and good,” Oscar said, palms out as if he’d already surrendered. “But Mistress punishes us when she sees us together. She wants to keep us apart. Nowhere inside The Milton is safe. She hears everything.”
I thought about Myrtle’s cold appraisal, still hanging on the back of my neck like a wet towel that had been drenched in slime.
Something had to give.
Maybe it needed to be me.
“What if I got us permission to be together?” Hell, why not? I already had to ask Sunglasses to approve the band, why not throw in permission to practice? It basically went hand-in-hand anyways.
We couldn’t be a band without actually playing together.
Sungla—Bournival… I’d be giving him what he wanted. But if it got me what I wanted and added a measure of protection for my friends, wasn’t it worth it? Still, I couldn’t help but think about my earlier conversation with Jim. About all the logical reasons, all the manufactured circumstances, demons could arrange to get a soul.
Swallowing hard, I decided this one time, it would be okay.
I wasn’t selling anything. I wasn’t offering Bournival anything, except maybe my participation in class. And Cat was right, the sooner I asked, the better I’d be able to negotiate the terms.
Being forced to beg for mercy when I was out of options? No. Thanks.
He was a lizard spider-monkey from hell, but at least he wasn’t Churchfield. I could talk to him.
For Nabila and Oscar, I would.
Drawing in a deep breath, I faced them. “I’m going to tell Bournival about our band. I’m going to tell him that I need you both. If he wants me to play so badly, he’s going to have to make it worth my while.”
“I don’t know, Ash. If he asks you to sign anything, or to owe him a favor…” Oscar began.
I wasn’t that stupid, but I didn’t say so. I was touched that Oscar wanted to keep me safe. But I wanted to keep him safe, too. Or at least as safe as he could be, as a Feeder.
Of course, Nabila said it for me. “Our girl isn’t that stupid. Right?”
I grinned. “Right.”
“We can go with you…” Nabila said.
I shook my head. “No, let me go alone. That way, you don’t get in trouble with Bulldog. In this case, it’s definitely not easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. We’ll follow the hierarchy and made Churchfield proud.”
I turned and looked out the window, ending the conversation before I could change my mind.
Er… chicken out.
Because I wanted to.
“It’s going to be fine,” I promised my friend in the window’s reflection.
Although bold, my words rang cold and empty because no one believed them. Especially not me. But I’d committed. First last night, to Cat. And now to Oscar and Nabila. The promise weighed on me as I got onto the bus, as I sat silently close to my friends—not beside, of course, we had to be careful.
It was the fastest bus ride to school. Ever.
It felt like I blinked and we’d reached the front gates. These twisting iron spikes belonged to a gothic jail—or asylum.
God knew it felt like one.
If I’d had my way, I’d wake up back in Portland and this would all be a dream.
My mother would still be… still be what? I wanted to think “alive,” but my brain finished my sentence in the most unexpected way: My mother would still be running from demons.
Truth.
This reality I was dealing with hadn’t been anything new for my mother. She’d kept it a secret from me, kept us moving and kept me safe.
At some point, I’d have to learn how to keep myself safe.
I held that thought in mind when we climbed off the bus and headed inside St. Damon’s School for the Eternally Fucked. I refused to let myself think it couldn’t get any worse, because I knew that it could and I didn’t want to tempt whatever powers might be waiting to prove me wrong.
And I still had so much homework to do.
Seriously, it was like I’d already sold my soul and this was hell—pretty accurate, I guess. I used to have nightmares about this exact situation. That I’d be buried in a landslide of papers and books and as soon as I’d dig my way out, some stern-faced teacher would unleash another wave. Oh, and in those dreams I’d also been naked. And the popular girls, like Alison Beauford, had been pointing and laughing.
Amazingly, reality was still so much worse.
In my very real nightmare school, I had Homeroom with an actual Nun from Hell, with her Exorcist-worthy spinning head promising a world of torments if I didn’t finish my papers on time.
The only thing that made Homeroom bearable was Nash.
Sadly, his sexy self wasn’t there to brighten Herbology and Chem, but the coursework was at least interesting. Who knew I’d find natural poisons fascinating? I didn’t have any problem cramming that information in my brainpan, either. But for some reason, the History of Demonic Order just wasn’t sticking.
It shouldn’t have been as hard as Discrete Math—I was just memorizing a timeline of facts, not performing entry-level accounting.
But here I was. Lagging horribly behind in my history class.
I had a sneaking suspicion my subconscious was just as rebellious as the rest of me. I was pissed off about the demon world, pissed off I’d been trapped here, and pissed off I had no control over what I studied.
Clearly my brain had decided that memorizing demonic history was something it could control.
I wished my brain would get with the program, though.
Sliding into my seat, I let myself have one shared smile with Nash before I opened my text and tried my damnedest to read the stupid words on the stupid pages. I needed to memorize this chapter on the hierarchy of Hell, or I was going to end up in detention with Churchfield—who’d probably send my own head literally up my ass.
All the words were running together like over-boiled noodles.
I turned the page and sighed. Not only did I not care about Henry the Eighth and his asshole approach to divorce, but I couldn’t even make my eyeballs read how that fuckery had lan
ded him a seat at the demonic high table.
Maybe I’d try another chapter, see if I could get started on the regions.
A warm hand squeezed my thigh. Heat shot to my core, and I glanced overtop my book at Nash. With a wink, he waved two hall passes at me and nodded his head toward the door.
I fought the urge to look up at Churchfield.
I was slightly disgusted by the fact we could get hall passes to go make out—because the demons wanted our energy… Yuck.
But I had to admit it was kind of cool, too.
I mean, come on, who didn’t want to sneak out of glass to lock lips with the sexiest guy at school?
Closing my hateful book, I followed Nash out into the hallway that would take us to the library, and from there into that dark place where everything faded away. Kissing Nash was almost like a drug, and I needed my next hit.
He took my hand, his fingers were warm and strong as they laced through mine.
“I thought we both needed a break,” he said.
“Why did you need a break? All of this demon lore seems to come pretty easily to you.”
He winked at me. “Maybe I just wanted one. Or maybe I decided to show you a better way to study.”
Heat snaked out through my limbs as I realized what he meant.
Clearly, my throat, I tried not to sound like a panting, hungry bitch. “I don’t think grinding on you in the make out hallway is considered studying.”
“Pleasure is definitely a subject that we study at St. Damon’s. Seduction and sexual manipulation.” His lip curled up over his teeth in a much too toothy grin.
I was breathless. “Is that what you’re doing now? Seducing me to manipulate me?”
He pushed me up against a shelf of books in the central library. We hadn’t even made it to the dark hallway yet. “If you have to ask…” He nosed at my throat and I tipped my head to the side to give him better access. “Then I’m not doing it right.”
I laughed and he scooped me up, carrying me the rest of the way into the hallway.
A girl could get used to this.
Rock and Ruin Page 22
