Rock and Ruin

by Saranna Dewylde

  I realized then that the guitar was made of bone. The frame shimmered like abalone, but I was sure it was human.

  The tendrils of energy dug deeper. I felt stronger, more confident.

  Looking back at my band, I held each of their gazes in turn, finding the fire in my heart reflected in their eyes. We pulled together until we stood close together on the stage. I held out a hand to both my friend, needing the contact before we started playing.

  Something happened to Nabila when she touched me, she was glowing. I realized we all were.

  But the biggest change was Oscar.

  He straightened his spine, standing tall with his shoulders squared.

  We started playing, hitting the first note in total harmony. And when Oscar’s mouth opened, the sound that emerged was deep, resonant, and absolutely perfect.

  We slowed the cadence of the song and Nabila joined in, voice low and smoky, turning the metal tune into a sultry wave that seemed to hypnotize the entire class. For once, I didn’t sing, I was afraid of what would happen if I did.

  Luckily, Nabila and Oscar next to me had snapped me back to my senses. Before our hands connected, I’d wanted to make the audience pay. To hurt them.

  After, I simply wanted to show these people what my friends could do.

  As the last strains of the song faded away, Oscar wilted, folding onto his drummer’s seat like a deflated balloon. Nabila smiled and bowed like the perfect witch-queen she was—while I stood there, frozen.

  The room was silent. Everyone seemed enraptured, even Nash.

  Bournival’s slow, solid clap echoed like gunshots. The rest of the class followed, breaking out into floor-shaking applause.

  “I can’t wait to see the show you put on for us at the ball,” Bournival said.

  Horror washed over me.

  The ball. Playing at the ball would reveal my whole hand to the Principal. He’d see my talents and know every card I held—if he didn’t already.

  I moved to return the guitar, but Bournival held up his hands.

  “Non, it is yours.”

  I was torn between wanting to snatch it up and go hide with it in the Hallway to see what I could do with it, and wanting to be as far away from this deadly instrument as possible.

  “I couldn’t possibly accept,” I managed, wincing as those strange flows of energy dug further into my flesh in with barbed tails.

  “It has chosen you,” he said simply. “There is no charge for this gift.”

  “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a cost,” I whispered.

  “You are correct.” He laughed, and the sound caused a shiver to course through me, but I held myself still only through sheer force of will. “You never know, maybe I’ll give you another gift in the future, a better gift.”

  “Maybe don’t,” I said.

  While I eyed him, he laughed again. “You delight me.”

  That couldn’t be a good thing.

  “Next time, I’ll send invitations for our special in-class performances.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “Perhaps with some little paper blades or a little bit of cheerful round-eyed candy.”

  I found myself laughing. Like, legit laughing.

  Hey, dumbshit. He just melted a dude’s eyes out of his head. He’s not funny. He’s scary. To be fair, I argued with the voice of reason, he did it to someone who was going to hurt my friend. And that candy invite would be the perfect cherry on the top of that lesson—Lord knew someone needed to teach the Shifters some manners.

  He winked at me and tapped my guitar as he resumed his regular position at the head of the class.

  The guitar pulsed in my hands.

  This is how they get you. It’s a slippery slope straight down to hell.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The night of the ball came much too soon.

  Saturday had passed in a blur, just like the semester. We’d survived our finals, but we’d failed the more important test: We hadn’t found any more clues at the Flambeau and we hadn’t figured out the ones we did have.

  Our time was at an end and we were no better off.

  Except for getting Bulldog off our backs.

  Temporarily.

  Of course, that had almost reached its end, too. Things were about to return to the status quo and I just couldn’t have that. Especially with the winter break looming. Jesus Christ. It just occurred to me that we’d be spending Christmas at The Milton.

  Christmas. With demons. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

  Delaying putting on my creepy dress, I checked for Jim.

  I found a note on the fridge that read: I’ll see you tonight at the ball. Wouldn’t miss your first performance.

  I sniffed it to see if it smelled like sulfur. It didn’t. Maybe it was really from Jim? I hoped so. It would be good to talk to my real father, even for a little—even just to reassure myself he was back to being himself.

  A tentative knock on the door startled me. Trudging down the hallway, I peered through the peephole and blinked in surprise.

  It was Nash.

  What was he doing here? I looked back toward the main room and cringed. Not only was it a crime of beige aggression, my school work, music equipment and dress were strewn everywhere. I didn’t want to let him in. I didn’t want him to see this dump.

  Then I squared my shoulders.

  It was what it was. We didn’t have a choice about living here and I’d done the best I could with what I had. Being ashamed of it was just another tool people could use against me, and I wasn’t going to give them the ammo.

  Although, I touched my hand to my hair—I hadn’t put my hair up yet. And I might have half my makeup on.

  Oh well. Show up without notice, this is what you get.

  I opened the door. “Hi, Nash.”

  He smiled at me. “Hey. Can I come in?”

  I noticed he had a box in his hands.

  “Uh, sure. I guess.” I opened the door wider and he waved to someone down the hall. Peering out, I looked down the corridor and saw Bulldog standing there a scowl on her jowly face. I was tempted to wave, too, but I didn’t.

  Nash stepped inside and I closed the door behind him.

  “Baby, we have got to get you out of here.”

  I bristled defensively, ready to unleash hell on him, but logic stopped my tongue. If he could get me and Jim out of here and away from Myrtle—

  —then I’d be away from Nabila and Oscar. Unacceptable.

  I shrugged. “It’s not the worst.”

  “Uh, yeah. It is. Your Keeper told me no fucking on the way up.” He looked deeply offended—probably more by the rule than the assumption. “She wanted to escort me inside.”

  My face heated. “What?”

  Nash laughed. “Yeah, whatever. I gave her my name and she backed off. It’s good to be king.”

  “So what brings you to my hovel, oh mighty king?”

  “I wanted to see you before the ball tonight and I brought you something.” We came to a stop in my main room, complete with dishes soaking in the kitchen sink and piles of finished homework assignments. He handed me the box. “I hope you’ll wear it.”

  The box was gleaming black with copper gilt and probably cost more than my couch.

  Taking it carefully, I opened the box with hesitant fingers. I had no idea what could be inside: it could be chocolate or a nest of scorpions?

  I found a purple ring of flowers that had been woven into a bracelet.

  “Oh, Nash,” I breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

  “My dad said I should’ve made it into a crown, but you’re not the tiara type.” He shrugged. “Figured you might wear a bracelet.”

  “You made this?” Warmth spiraled through my heart—he really did get me. Sure, he was dating me to please the powers that be… or that’s how it started. Maybe it had become something. “Tiaras mess with my hair.” I grinned happily at Nash, added a wink. “And it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to wear a crown to a ball for the Principal�
��s arrival, either.”

  Nash shrugged again. “You’re with me. He wouldn’t care.”

  This was a different side of him. He was being so considerate, so kind. I was almost afraid of it, but my sixth sense told me it was genuine. I’d have to convince Oscar to get on board with Nash, because he might be a keeper.

  Just like his gift.

  I held up the bracelet, studying the blooms. “These flowers. They smell so good.”

  “Good. They’re wolfsbane. If you didn’t like how they smelled, well… that would be bad news.”

  “Shouldn’t wolfsbane repel you?”

  “It’s not like in the movies. It’s a protective flower.”

  It was for protection, and he’d given it to me. I had to stop myself before I hugged the blooms to my chest. This was the first time anyone in this shitty place had given me something purely to help me.

  To protect me.

  After everything with my dress, I’d meant to keep the way he treated Oscar at the front of my mind. My mother always said the true measure of a person was how they treated someone who couldn’t do anything for them. If I really thought about it, Oscar and the other Feeders should’ve been revered for what they provided. Their very essence kept everyone fed! And Nash and the rest went out of their way to make their lives miserable.

  But, like a shithead, that all faded to the back of my mind.

  Nash was here. He was big, strong and he wanted to take care of me in his way. Not that I needed taking care of—still, it was nice to know someone could.

  My mother was dead. My friends thought I was some kind of magic.

  My father… Jim.

  Demons wore him like a raggedy old sweater.

  I had to make sure my friends and my father were safe. I needed to fight. And before I could face that final fight, I needed someone who cared about what happened to me. Maybe that wasn’t Nash, but right now, he felt like it.

  “Put it on me?” I held out my wrist to him.

  His fingers brushed my skin when he fastened the wire base around my wrist.

  Time seemed to stop.

  I raised my eyes to meet his, finding them glowing amber in the dingy half-light of the rundown apartment.

  I felt like a princess. Even though Nash was no prince.

  No, he’d said himself. He was King. Or he was going to be.

  “You’re not scared,” he stated. “Even the other girls like me get a little scared when my eyes glow.”

  “Do you want to hurt me?”

  “Not in any way you wouldn’t like.”

  “Then why should I be scared?” My mouth went dry and warmth tingled through my whole body. I stood up on my tiptoes and kissed him. Another knock rattled the door and we broke apart.

  “Ignore it,” he said, curving a hand around my waist and tugging me closer.

  “Ash?” It was Oscar.

  “I’m sorry, I have to.”

  “Fucking Feeder,” he snarled.

  “Stop it,” I said and walked down the short hallway to open the door.

  Oscar’s shoulders were slumped and his head bent. “Mistress sent me to say your guest has to leave.” His voice was barely a whisper.

  “You little piece of shit,” Nash growled. “Are you telling me that I have to leave?”

  Oscar wouldn’t look at him. “I am delivering the message to Ash from Mistress. I wouldn’t presume to tell you anything.”

  Nash lifted his chin. “Damn right.”

  I put my hand on Nash’s arm. “Hey, this isn’t his fault. The Keeper put him in an impossible position.” Of course she had. She’d put him in this position to get payback against me.

  The red-hot fire of rage burned in my guts.

  I wanted to kill her. I imagined picking up my bone guitar and singing her death. No, not her death. I didn’t want her life to be over. I just wanted it to hurt. I wanted her to feel every single awful pain she’d ever inflicted.

  “Uh, Ash…”

  I blinked. Stunned to discover a high-pitched keening sound was coming out of my mouth, carrying my rage off me in sound-filled waves.

  Oscar had shied away and Nash had pulled away from my hands.

  “What the hell is that?” Nash asked. “Don’t even try to tell me nothing. I felt it.”

  “I don’t know what it was, but I’m pissed.” I remembered what Cat said about everything being energy. Through my cry, my rage had become energy, and I realized that’s how it worked with my music.

  My music took my sixth sense, wrapped it up in my feelings and my intent, and made it real in the world.

  This was my power. Or part of it.

  But what did it mean?

  “I’m sorry, Oscar. I’m not angry at you—I’m pissed for you.” He didn’t say anything, I guess he wasn’t going to until Nash was gone.

  I turned to my boyfriend. “I’ll see you at the ball?”

  He looked back and forth between Oscar and me before he answered. “You’ve got to hang with better company, baby.”

  My chin lifted. “I’m in fine company.”

  “I’ll change your mind.” He smiled at me and kissed my cheek before pushing into the hallway.

  Oscar waited until Nash was gone before raising his head.

  His eyes met mine, and I was surprised to find no judgment in his gaze. Just… understanding? Or something sadder, something older. “He’s going to make you choose between us, Ash,” he said. “When he does, pick him.”

  “What? No.” I shook my head. “Don’t be—”

  “Don’t you know how hard my life will be if you don’t?”

  I grabbed his hand. “We’re going to change things. I promise.”

  “What did I tell you about making promises you can’t keep?”

  “I will keep this one,” I vowed. “No matter what.”

  “Don’t say those kinds of things inside The Milton. The walls have ears and hell is always too happy to oblige.”

  I didn’t want to think about that. “Hey, we’ve got to leave so we can get set up. Are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Great. Just let me put on my dress and put up my hair.” Hope and fear twisted in my guts like twining snakes and I wanted to puke, but I knew once I picked up that guitar, it would all fade away and I could get lost in the music. I wouldn’t have to think about demons, or Ferals, or witches or hunters or lost souls. “I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

  I put on the purple velvet sheath dress, belted it around my waist with the crystal spider, and laced up my shitkickers. I applied a thick line of winged mascara and spiked my hair with a practiced hand.

  Looking in the mirror, I decided I totally looked like the frontwoman of a band called Oya’s Blade.

  Bonus: I’d be too busy on the stage to shit myself when the Principal arrived.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The ball started out as lame as any high school dance—barring the epic gothic ballroom, big enough to put any European cathedral to shame.

  I had to admit the candelabras full of thin, black candles lining every wall, and the massive chandelier flickering overhead, was pretty cool. Not to mention the floor-to-ceiling black velvet curtains, currently hiding the stage from view, and the purple and amber lights that seemed to burst into life across the dance floor.

  Of course, all that paled in comparison to Nabila.

  She was…stunning.

  When I’d left the Milton with Oscar, I’d thought I looked like the front for the band—I’d been fooling myself.

  It was all Nabila, our avenging goddess. The roots of her hair had been braided with tiny, bleached bird skulls and abalone shells, the strands pulled to the crown of her head where the rest of her hair fell natural and free. She wore a white dress made of something filmy and fey, which flowed around her lovely curves like water. On her upper arms were multi-colored cuffs shaped like snakes—The Rainbow Serpent.

  Her eyeliner was white, as was her mascara. It was the per
fect contrast against her lovely dark skin. She looked otherworldly, as if she’d peeled back the curtain between the worlds and put a foot in each.

  She was Oya in that moment. And so beautiful, it hurt to look at her.

  “That is a boss bitch,” I said to Oscar.

  “That’s Nabila,” he said with a grin.

  It seemed the rest of the room thought so, too. Even Churchfield did a double-take when she stepped inside the gym, her head swiveling all the way around on her shoulders like an evil owl, watching us as she made her way over to Bournival.

  I tried to turn away—found I couldn’t. Her sooty energy lashed onto my face, making me meet her eyes—literally controlling me.

  She smiled a wide, extra-toothy grin that revealed a mouth of sharp teeth.

  I smiled back. What else was I going to do?

  Run like hell, whispered a voice in the back of my head. I wish. But she had my face, not the rest of me.

  My hand wearing the flowers felt stronger than the other. With it, I strummed my thumb down the guitar, drawing strength from the vibration against my palm and creating a discordant sound.

  Churchfield wrinkled her nose and abruptly released me.

  This time, when I smiled, it was genuine—and probably more than a little mean. Because I finally knew what I needed to do at this ball.

  Squaring my shoulders, I turned to Oscar and Nabila. “Okay, guys. Let’s go.”

  “That’s it, Freshy?” Nabila chortled. “Do I need to stick you with a pin? This is our big moment, where you’re supposed to make the encouraging speech and all we get is ‘okay guys?’ Try again, bitch.”

  I grinned at her. “Sorry, you just look too badass. I can’t stop looking at those skulls in your hair.”

  “Flattery will not get you out of the speech.”

  “That’s it. That’s all I got. Your gorgeousness broke my brain.” I spread my hands. “We’re going to play and we’re going to kick ass and… then we’re going to find another reason to hang out at The Flambeau.”

  “I accept this speech,” Oscar said.