Shit. I wouldn’t wish her attention on anyone.
Wanting to buy Lucas enough time to get away, I stretched up on my tiptoes and kissed Nash. A full, proper kiss. For a moment, I imagined letting him chase me through the woods in some fucked-up sex-game version of Little Red Riding Hood. Heat flooded my body in response—I was almost ashamed to admit how much it scared me, and turned me on.
It must have done the same to Nash. Because his fangs sliced into my lip, drawing blood.
I pulled back, and realized something was moving underneath his skin.
Girl boner effectively murdered.
“Fuck,” Nash mumbled through a mouth that had suddenly filled with too many teeth. He covered his mouth, expression stricken. “I can’t... “
Bournival was on us in an instant, with Churchfield on wing.
“Would you take care of Mr. Thorn?” he said to Churchfield. “I’ll escort Ms. Alcantara outside.” He didn’t wait for her confirmation, taking me by the arm and guiding me toward the rear exit.
Glancing back, I saw Churchfield leading Nash in the opposite direction.
Bournival waved a ridiculously pristine white cloth before my nose. “See to your wound. You’ll have half this place in a frenzy.”
I snatched it. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t start my period.”
“Ah.” He chuckled. “Now she finds her humor. How apt.” He sounded like his usual, blasé self, but as soon as we reached the cover of the dark hall leading to the rear exit, Sunglasses spun me around and grabbed me hard by both arms.
“Do you think this is a game?” he hissed.
“I… no…” I stammered. “What?”
He sighed and loosened his hold. “I suppose it is a game, petite. Yet it is the most dangerous you’ll ever play. You must take it seriously.”
Muffled sounds of movement from behind us cut off what I was going to say next. Two of the faux nuns I hadn’t seen before were walking a woman dressed in a floor-length white toward the ball.
No. Not any woman. Oscar’s mother.
“Oh, God.” I put my hand over my mouth.
“Quit with that nonsense,” Bournival scoffed. “There is no God here.” And he was right, if the look of anticipation on her face was any indication. Unlike the woman I’d seen in Oscar’s doorway, desperate and pleading, this woman radiated certainty. She glowed with anticipation, so much it made my stomach twist and my insides tremble.
One of the faux nuns escorting her cackled. “This one will be dust after tonight.”
Bournival, the bastard, laughed with them. “I see she wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I bit my lip so hard it started to bleed again.
Bournival returned his attention to me. Still holding my arms, he dragged me outside and slammed the door behind us. “Must I spell everything out for you?”
“Yes.” I lifted my chin.
He lowered his face to mine, close enough for me to almost see behind those mirrored lenses. Smokey light, like the fire in a blackened log, burst to life. “Tonight, be grateful. It is better her than you.”
I jerked my arm out of his grasp. It occurred to me only months ago, I’d been running away from him while he scaled the sides of buildings like a spider from hell, and now I was sassing him without any thought to the consequences. “Why are you helping me? And why are you being such an ass about it? Stop dragging me.”
“Stop bleeding,” he said. “It’s rude.”
I pressed that ridiculous kerchief to my mouth.
“About fucking time.” Nabila emerged from the shadows, with Oscar shambling after her. I hurried over to them, taking hold of Oscar and slipping his arm over my shoulder.
“Oh, lovely.” Bournival sniffed. “Now, we can be civilized. I’ll drive you all home.”
I was going to say no, but really, how else had we thought we were going to get Oscar back to The Milton? Make him zombie-walk? Who knew how much that would take out of both Nabila and Oscar?
“Sure.” I shrugged. “Let’s take your car.”
Bournival gestured to a white BMW X3. “Now, petite. You’re not going to climb out a window, are you?”
I scowled. “Listen, you need to work on your approach.”
“Fair enough, petite. Fair enough.”
Nabila didn’t say anything. And Oscar was too out of his head to notice anything when we shoveled him in the SUV and seat-belted him into place. Probably a blessing. If he’d been coherent, he’d probably have shat himself.
I mean, I was close to it.
But Bournival was nothing but polite and kept his demoning or whatever to himself. “That’s quite the talent your friend Oscar has,” he said as we finally pulled in front of The Milton. “See he gets some rest. The first draw leaves a mark.”
“Uh, thanks,” I managed, stunned at his bizarre display of… kindness?
“See, old Claude isn’t so bad, eh ma cherie?”
Oh, he was all kinds of bad. “Guess not.”
He grinned. “You should thank me for tonight. There were those who wanted tonight’s ball to be… something else. They didn’t want you to play. They wanted you to dance the night away and fall in love.”
With Nash? Why would anyone care if I fell in love with him? And why would Bournival tell me?
Nabila tugged on my arm. “Ash, let’s go.”
“Yeah, thanks for the ride.” As I started to climb out of the vehicle, Bournival touched my hand and froze the marrow in my bones.
“I have one more gift for you,” he said.
“Unless it’s my father’s soul, I don’t need it,” I ground out, too shocked by the contact to pretend politeness.
He looked down to where he held me. “Ah, my apologies.” Bournival released me. “I forget how my touch feels to the living.” He pulled a vial from his pocket. “But I think you’ll want this.”
“What is it, and what do you want for it?”
“It is a serum that will see your friend restored and back on his feet. Each Feeder can be restored with it periodically, but every use dulls its effectiveness. Have him drink the entire vial.”
I eyed it. “And what do you want in return?”
“Only your goodwill.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Bull—”
“Thanks.” Nabila reached out and snatched it out of his hand, and I scrambled out of the Beamer.
Well, if she wanted it, then I wouldn’t argue.
Besides, Oscar looked even worse now than he had on the stage—damn my stupid dad and that stupid dance. Together we got him up the stairs and down to my apartment, and Nabila made him down the entire vial Bournival had supplied.
The middle of December and the weather was considering being chilly. In Portland, it would be a t-shirt and jeans day, but right now, in Vegas, Nabila and I grabbed blankets and bundled up on the couch with Oscar. We both breathed a sigh of relief as color slowly returned to his face.
I turned on the TV—not to watch it, just for the comfort of the sound.
On my shitty couch, in my shitty apartment, we held onto each other.
We faced an evil even bigger than I’d imagined, and our music had the power to push it back—or to feed it. I wished I knew which of those would win. Had everything we’d done been exactly what the Principal wanted?
The last remaining flower on my bracelet flickered, and for a moment, I imagined that blossom glowing with purple light.
I closed my hand over it and took a deep breath.
Beneath my palm, I felt a tiny flicker of strength. I clung to it like a desperate spider monkey. I needed it for what came next.
The demons used falsehood and guilt against us, I couldn’t have any of that rising up to bite us later.
I faced my friends. “Oscar, I have to tell you something.”
“Can’t this wait?” Nabila hissed. I was kinda surprised she hadn’t stuck me with a pin.
“I’m so sorry, it can’t.” I shook my head, willing my voice to remain s
teady. “Oscar, when I was leaving I saw… On the way out I…”
Oh, fuck. I couldn’t say it. Tears burned the backs of my eyes.
Oscar took my hand. “I know my mother was going tonight.”
“Wait, what?” Nabila shot up off the couch like she’d pricked herself with her own pins. “Your mother was there?”
“She went there to die. It’s what we got her ready for.” Oscar’s eyes were haunted, his jaw set in a hard line.
In reply, Nabila wrapped an arm around him.
I leaned my head on his shoulder and held his hand. “I didn’t mean to break my promise,” I said softly.
“We tried,” Nabila said, her tone fierce. “I’m not ready to stop.”
You define the war, Cat had said. You define the victory.
I might be pissed at Cat for lying about being an Upper, but that didn’t make her wrong. That one moment, when that first wave of music had hit Churchfield, we’d shattered Churchfield’s control—tore away her ability to steal the Feeders’ energy. If we’d done that once, we could do it again.
Use what I have, huh?
Well, I had two best friends, a badass band, and the ability to use our music as a weapon.
“So we keep trying,” I answered. “We don’t quit until we burn this down.”
“Might as well,” Oscar said, his words slow and measured. “I’ve got nothing left to lose.”
“Yes, you do. You’ve got us,” Nabila promised.
“We’re your family now. We might be dysfunctional as shit, but there’s no one else I’d rather have beside me,” I swore. As I spoke the words, their truth reverberated through me with their own frequency.
Their own music.
A promise.
Demons might have called it a contract. Fuck that. I called it choosing my family.
My extra sense told me I was going to have to face the fallout from my deal with Bournival and our act of on-stage rebellion soon enough. A demon hunter knew what I was and where I lived. And my mentor was a secret Upper.
I’d burn those bridges when it was time.
For now, I would bury myself in the safe warmth of this circle, curled beneath blankets on my couch—I’d treasure the precious new family that my friends and I had built for ourselves.
End of semester one.
What will next semester bring for Ash and her friends? Find out in Rock + Riot!
Thanks & More
Thanks for reading Rock and Ruin. We hope you enjoyed the story as much as we enjoyed creating it. When you combine two geeks who connected with Supernatural, Harry Potter and nineties cartoons on a cellular level, you pretty much have to end up with something the right side of crazy.
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Dee J. Holmes writes rebels and rule breakers. The characters she cares about don't follow a prescribed path. They don't sit in some narrow, boilerplate box and do what they're told—they're not content with the status quo. Whether battling supernatural odds, facing science fiction terrain or nursing a supernatural heartache, they're defying expectations and changing their worlds.
Saranna DeWylde has always been fascinated by things better left in the dark. She wrote her first story after watching The Exorcist at a slumber party. Since then, she's published horror, romance and narrative nonfiction. Like all writers, Saranna has held a variety of jobs, from operations supervisor for an airline, to an assistant for a call girl, to a corrections officer. But like Hemingway said, "Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure, only death can stop it." So she traded in her cuffs for a full-time keyboard. She loves to hear from her readers. She also writes as Sara Arden, Sara Wylde and Sara Lunsford.
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