The Griffin's Secret

by Cate Masters

“I’ll be fine. But thanks.” She fingered the bracelet and then made her way to the back entrance.

  He sat watching until she climbed the steps and went inside. A quick check to be certain no one spied on him, and he followed. Still caught up in the conversation, he walked slowly. Take her to the mall? In what universe?

  Kev stopped him in the hallway. “Where have you been?”

  “Nowhere.”

  A moment of uncomfortable scrutiny, and Kev jerked his head. “Let’s go. We have work to do.”

  Jackson strode alongside, focus trained ahead when his supervisor’s gaze weighed heavy on him.

  Someone had brought Layla a chair. A metal fold-up one, but at least she had a place to sit so she wouldn’t crumple to the floor again.

  Near the stage, he and Kev stood to the side while band members brushed past without acknowledging them. He melted into the shadows again, watching. Mal, always the last to make his entrance, entered with his usual flair, scrutinizing Layla on his way to center stage.

  Bastard hadn’t even asked if she’d recovered her strength. Why did Layla stay with him? From what Jackson could ascertain, she had no emotional tie, didn’t even like the star. Not that Jackson could blame her. So why would she allow Mal to harm her?

  Malcontent started its second set. The drummer, bassist, and keyboard player moved their bodies to the heavy beat in sync with Mal, who had the audience under his spell. Until the guitar solo.

  The normally searing array of notes fell flat. Mal glanced at his bandmates, who flicked nervous glances over at Mal. Then worry creased Mal’s face.

  Still relaxed, displaying no sign of stress, Layla sat on the sidelines facing the stage, one hand covering the bracelet. The misty glow enveloped her rather than flowing toward Mal.

  Whirling toward her, Mal held up the guitar and struck the strings. The speakers amplified the awful sound. His face reddened, features twisted in anger. He brought the pick down again and again. Same result.

  Lips curled, Mal nodded to the others. Fred and Shane played harder to cover Mal’s poor performance. He pretended to fiddle with the equipment, his back turned toward the audience as he mouthed to Layla, What is wrong?

  Fully alert, she shrugged.

  Mal’s mouth became a hard, jagged line. He shot to his feet as the song ended and grabbed the microphone. “Sorry for the technical difficulties, everyone.”

  Grumbling rippled through the stadium. Mal sent an evil look toward Layla. Jackson tensed even though she seemed unaffected. Maybe a little confused.

  Over his shoulder, Mal said, “Change of plans. We’re doing ‘Bound to Me’ next.”

  From the smirk he sent Layla’s way, the lyrics had special meaning. Not in a good way. The song had always grated against Jackson. What could have been an outpouring of love came across as more of a one-way prison. Nothing about it suggested real love.

  You’re bound to me, in all that you are.

  Your touch soothes my aches, brightens my star.

  Jackson’s attention sharpened. Brightens my star? Of course. Mal needed her, but Layla sure as hell didn’t need Mal. The song explained why she stayed. She had to. She was literally bound to him.

  A tear slipped down her cheek, and she stared at the floor.

  Still upright, though. Still awake.

  And Mal still a crappy guitarist. And not one bit happy about it.

  * * * *

  Malcontent limped through the last few songs. Layla hated every single concert, but tonight she dreaded the end of this one. Mal’s fury leached from him, poisoned his already noxious aura. Once he left the stage, he’d explode. Demand an explanation.

  If only she had one. Her mind raced, trying to come up with any plausible explanation. The potion hadn’t worked? The spell had somehow broken? Their bond no longer existed?

  Excitement coursed through her. Could it be true?

  The band ended the song, and Mal said an abrupt good night. Some booed, and some—female voices, mostly—called for an encore.

  Mal waved and strode toward her, guitar in hand. Without stopping, he grabbed her arm and dragged her to his dressing room down the hall.

  Three girls sat inside, the eagerness on their faces turning to malice at the sight of her.

  “Wait outside. Go.” Mal held open the door while they slithered out, then slammed it behind them.

  “What’s wrong?” Layla steeled herself for his inevitable rant.

  “Sit.” He spoke as if commanding a dog.

  Controlling her rising anger, she sank into a chair.

  Circling her, Mal glared. “When I said tonight we’d make history, I didn’t intend for our show to be the worst performance of all time.”

  Then he should have specified. That was how magic worked. She stared ahead and buried her triumph deep behind a dull expression.

  He grasped the arms of her chair and leaned in front of her, eye to eye. He glanced at her bracelet. “Where did you get that?”

  If she lied, he’d know. He always did. “One of your fans gave it to me.” A small stretch of the truth. Jackson’s praise of Mal and his band had turned her stomach.

  He glared. “Get rid of that piece of junk immediately.”

  She shielded the silver jewelry with her hand. “Why?”

  Nothing playful about his wink. “Don’t add another screwup to the list. You know perfectly well why.”

  She’d suspected, but hadn’t known for sure until he confirmed it. The bracelet had protected her. “But I love it.”

  “You’re severely testing my patience. Do you remember what happens in such cases?”

  “Yes.” He took too much delight in dreaming up punishments. No physical marks on her, but those he left inside hurt far worse and took much longer to heal.

  “Good. Then I expect no more arguments.” He straightened. “Run along. I’m being rude to my guests waiting in the hall. Go to the bus. I’ll be along later.” He opened the door. “But don’t wait up, pet.”

  Glad for any excuse to leave, she lunged for the exit and shoved her way through the three females blocking her path. Outside, she fell against the wall, slumped onto a crate. Hugging herself, she bent over, lost in a whirlpool of thoughts. Next thing she knew, strong hands cradled her.

  Embarrassed by her show of weakness, she kept her head down.

  He crouched in front of her. “Did he hurt you?” he whispered.

  Jackson. She swiped her wet cheeks before raising her head. “No.”

  Brows knit, he studied her face before enfolding her in his embrace. Warm. Safe. She clung only for a moment, then released him before anyone might glimpse them together.

  “Feel like another walk?” He tugged her hand as he rose.

  His grasp was undemanding, gentle. So different from what she was used to.

  She didn’t want to let go. “Won’t Kev miss you?”

  “We finished packing up. Fastest ever, apparently.”

  How long had she been outside? After checking that no one else lurked nearby, he led her through an exit too small for equipment to fit through, so not used by the roadies. Their conversation mixed with the banging of crates that echoed into the night.

  Jackson pointed. “There’s a trail through some trees behind the stadium.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I did a little exploring earlier.” He jerked his head in the direction and began walking. “I get restless when there’s not enough to do.”

  She could relate. She followed, trying to ignore the swagger of his hips. “Look at those stars. They’re amazing.”

  He slowed his stride to walk beside her. “Yeah, I wish I had my motorcycle. The view’s much better on the open road.”

  “Sounds wonderful. I wish…” She shouldn’t wish. Nothing good came of it. Mal’s warning came back to her, and she shuddered. “Where’s your motorcycle?”

  He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets and scowled int
o the distance. “In storage. Too wrecked to drive.”

  “Sorry to hear it. But at least you’re all right.”

  His scowl deepened. “Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I have to make some money before I can repair the damage.”

  Uh-oh, wrong subject. “So you hired on with Malcontent. Not the highest-paying gig.”

  He grinned. “No, but I get to see the world. Or the inside of a bus and a few stadiums.”

  “Exactly. Traveling with a band isn’t the best way to see the sights.”

  He bumped his shoulder against hers. “No, but there are other perks.”

  She laughed. “Name one.”

  “The music.” A certain reverence filled his voice. “It’s amazing.”

  Yeah, thanks to the curse. “Okay. Name another.”

  “The energy of an audience is pretty wild.”

  “The term ‘rabid’ applies to Mal’s fans.” A few of which always ended up in Mal’s dressing room. Naked. Another side effect of the spell. They couldn’t help themselves, but Mal could, if he chose to.

  “Do you cowrite his songs?”

  “Why do you ask?” Her foot caught an exposed tree root, and she stumbled forward.

  He caught her around the waist. “Did you already forget I heard the tune you wrote?”

  “How could I? You helped me finish it.”

  Despite the darkness, he appeared to be studying her. “You’re not related to any of the band members. Not a typical groupie. You’re too smart and pretty to be here.”

  She was glad he couldn’t see her embarrassment. “My mother was a free spirit. Like my grandmother, she followed a lot of bands. I grew up in this scene.” She heaved a breath. Such a relief to say it out loud for once. A sort of freedom in itself.

  “But you’re obviously educated.”

  She wished. “Self-taught. I read a lot, studied the subjects I wanted to learn.” Thank goodness for the iPad and book racks in convenience stores. She had never stayed anywhere long enough to apply for a library card.

  “Incredible. You’re more intelligent than I thought.”

  The admiration in his tone warmed her. “No more than anyone else.”

  “Yes, you are. Other people take their education for granted. I did. You did it all yourself. That’s amazing.”

  Heat flushed her cheeks again. The first one to notice. And voice his appreciation. Don’t get used to it, pet. Mal’s voice in her head popped the brief bubble of happiness. “My grandfather was the same way. And I’m no different than you.”

  He huffed. His lips twisted as if he’d tasted something unpleasant.

  She went on. “You pursue music. The thing you love. Except I bet you’re a better player than anyone in the band.”

  “Not Mal.”

  At least he didn’t deny his talent again. “Mal has an advantage over everyone.”

  He visibly tensed. “The guitar?”

  Damn. Was that why he brought her out here? To learn more about the freaking guitar? “Yes.”

  “I knew it. You’re linked to it, aren’t you? When he plays, you get weaker and weaker so he sounds better and better.”

  “So what?” She didn’t mean to snap at him.

  “So I’m worried about you, Layla. You need to get away from him.”

  Tell me something I don’t know. “Someday I will.” Another thing she’d never said out loud. It scared the hell out of her, but it was also intensely satisfying to make the declaration.

  “I’ll do what I can to help. If you want.”

  “Why?” She watched him for any sign of betrayal. Only sincerity.

  “Don’t you want to be free of him?”

  “More than anything.” A dangerous thing to admit.

  “He shouldn’t keep you prisoner. Anyone can see how unhappy you are.”

  She huffed. “Mal can’t.” Or refused to.

  “Because all he cares about is stardom.”

  His anger took her by surprise. What did Jackson care about? Really? “I better get back before someone notices I’m gone.” She mustered a smile. “Thanks for the walk.”

  He heaved a breath and nodded. “Anytime.”

  “Tomorrow night?” Slipped out, dammit.

  He hesitated an agonizing moment. “Can you get away safely?”

  “Yes. Mal will be busy entertaining his fans.” She tried to keep the acid from her voice, but it slid out on the last word. Not out of jealousy. Those girls kept him preoccupied, and for that, Layla had nothing but gratitude. Too bad they sacrificed themselves to someone so unworthy, but they’d never believe he was anything less than a superstar. Their choice, not hers.

  Choice. The problem exactly.

  She had none.

  And wanted the right to have it. So much, she could taste it, sure as if she gnawed on the invisible tether tying her to him.

  Chapter 5

  Under eighteen wheels, the road slipped beneath Jackson as he slept, a black strip winding through the night. In his dream, he rode on two wheels.

  Stars filled the moonless sky. The motorcycle engine rumbled, and he shifted into a higher gear. With a laughing squeal, the girl sitting behind him tightened her embrace around his waist.

  The perfect ride with the perfect girl. The Harley might have been soaring through the air, lifted by their shared happiness. Every night should be like this for the rest of his life. Their lives. He intended to spend every moment with her. Making her happy.

  As if she read his thoughts, she nestled closer against his back.

  From the oncoming lane, headlights blazed in his eyes as a pickup veered into their path. He jerked the handlebars to swerve, but too late. Cold metal slammed into his leg, crushed the side of the motorcycle. The truck tire bit into the bike tire and began to swallow them. The Harley slid beneath the truck. The impact sent him rolling across the highway, helmet thudding against the asphalt over and over and over until he came to rest on his back. Dizzy, he couldn’t make sense of the world. Couldn’t focus. Sarah. Where’s Sarah? He struggled to lift his head but it weighed a ton. He’d stopped moving, but the stars spun overhead.

  The crunch of metal, screeching brakes roused him. Sarah. No. He scrambled toward the pickup, screaming her name. Legs twisted in an unnatural position, half her body lay beneath the pickup. A few feet away was her helmet, crushed. Her hair fanned out on the road, dark streaks staining long strands. Blood. For one terrible instant, he froze. He tried to swallow but a thick, hard lump formed in his stomach.

  “Sarah.” He lunged to the ground, wanting to cradle her but afraid to lift her head. She didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

  “Sarah!” He couldn’t stop screaming. Someone else’s screams mixed with his. Someone dragged him up. Pounded his chest.

  Her mother. “You killed her. Murderer.” Angry tears streaked her face.

  “No, I tried to protect her. I tried, I swear.”

  “You took her away from me forever. And now I will make sure you never know love again.” Through clenched teeth, her mother said, “Not for long anyway.”

  “I don’t want anyone else. I love her.” He wanted Sarah. Only her. But she was gone.

  Her mother’s eyes glittered, all her hatred compressed to diamond hardness. “All men declare undying love, and then find another woman. But for you, love will be a death sentence from tonight forward.” Her lips moved in a low chant and didn’t stop. Each repeat of the curse carved a new hole in his heart.

  He couldn’t stand to hear her. Couldn’t stand to think of any other girl. “Sarah. Sarah.” No matter how many times he called her, she didn’t answer. “Sarah!”

  The pounding on his body became shoving. Chest heaving, he fought for every breath and batted the hands away.

  “Dude.” Stubby shoved at him in the dim night. “Pipe down. You’re keeping everyone awake.”

  The roadies. He was in his bunk in the bus as they headed to the next concert stop.


  His ragged breaths quieted. “Sorry.”

  Stubby grabbed the bunk’s edges against the bus’s swaying. “Who’s Sarah?”

  Hearing her name sliced his gut like a knife. “A girl I knew.”

  “An ex?” Stubby dropped to the bunk below. “It’s rough to leave them behind sometimes.”

  “Yeah.” The guy couldn’t possibly know how rough for Jackson.

  “I told you before. Plenty of girls along the tour.” Stubby yawned. “They’ll help you forget her.”

  Jackson rubbed his face and tried not to laugh. “Right.” Forgetting Sarah would only cause more heartache, for him and some unlucky girl who fell for him.

  Layla.

  The dream was a reminder to stay away, one way or another. The old witch had long ago made sure of it.

  What about Layla? Was she a witch, too? She had some sort of power, that was obvious, but how much? Did she cast only musical spells for Mal? For money? Was that what bound her to him through the guitar?

  His mind churned with questions needing answers. “Hey, Stubby.”

  In the darkness, the roadie grunted sleepily.

  “What’s the deal with the guitar?”

  “Don’t ask,” came the muffled reply.

  Too late to stop now. “It’s enchanted, isn’t it?”

  The bunk below creaked. “Keep your nose out of their business.”

  “Come on. Mal needs Layla so he can play like a guitar god, right? He doesn’t really care about her, does he?”

  A sigh. “You’re not listening, dude.”

  “Just say yes if I’m right, and no if I’m wrong.”

  “Yes. Now go to sleep.” Barely audible. Stubby must have burrowed into his pillow.

  No problem. Jackson had learned all he needed to know.

  And now, understood everything he shouldn’t know.

  * * * *

  The world was entirely different to Layla. No nasty headache, no bone-deep weariness like she usually suffered after concerts. She awoke energized, clearheaded. All because the bracelet had protected her during last night’s performance. And somehow Mal knew, so had told her to get rid of it. No way. She unfastened the clasp and hooked the chain through her jeans belt loop. Out of sight, but not out of mind. She tugged the bottom of her shirt over it.