by Amy Patrick
“What do you mean my contact?” I asked Culley, but Trey started singing before he could answer me.
A tall guy stepped through the front door, coming straight toward us. He was Elven. Though he wore a plaid shirt and jeans with a large belt buckle, he stood out from the crowd like a racehorse in a pen full of mules. As he and Culley greeted one another, he shot a quick glance over at me and smiled.
I smiled back, hiding the shudder that went through me. Culley leaned close to my ear and said, “Be right back, love,” before moving off to speak with the man privately.
I watched Trey play and sing, but my gaze kept drifting to the side where Culley and his contact conversed. Finally, the man left, but not before Culley pulled something from his pocket and handed it to him.
He came back to me and reclaimed his spot at the bar. “What do you think?” he asked, nodding toward the performer. “Beaut, huh?”
I didn’t answer him. “What was that all about? Who was that guy?”
Culley’s shoulders lifted and fell. “An associate of my father’s.”
“What did you give him?”
His eyes narrowed as he realized I’d been watching the transaction. “Nothing for you to worry about.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, he handed it to me. “Father would like a quick word with you. Take it upstairs so you can hear. I’ll be up in a minute with music-boy here.” Culley gestured toward a staircase.
I took the phone, my belly sinking to the heels of my new boots as I moved away from Culley and up the staircase to the second level where another act was playing—two girls with guitars singing in harmony. It was not much quieter, so I took a set of scarred stairs to the third level. The purple painted walls of the stairwell were covered with what had to be decades-worth of signatures, messages, and graffiti. I had a sudden urge to scribble “Ava was here,” or something like that, but then, depending on what I was here to do, maybe I wouldn’t want to leave any tracks.
When I reached the top level, yet another band was playing loudly at the back of the room—a Bon Jovi cover—with fiddles—so I stepped out onto the connected open-air roof deck where the sound was more muffled then pressed the button to place the call to Audun. I hadn’t spoken to him at all since leaving L.A. He wasn’t a fan of talking on the phone—I suspected his glamour didn’t work as well as it did in person—so this must have been important to him.
He answered on the first ring. “Ava my dear. How are you? My son tells me you met with an unfortunate accident in Mississippi. Are you all right?”
The false concern in his voice sickened me. If I hadn’t been all right, it would have been his fault—his and whichever minion he’d sent to do demolition duty on the tea factory.
“I’m fine.”
“Glad to hear it. Wonderful. Well, since you’re feeling well and you happen to be in town, I’d like for you to have a chat with one of my clients—Trey Copley is there now, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” I said woodenly. This was going to be bad, I knew it. There was only one reason Audun would want me to chat with someone. He wanted me to alter Trey’s memories. Which ones I wondered? Was it money, power, or sex this time—or all three? Those were the currencies Audun most frequently dealt in. What had poor Trey done? What would he be forced to do?
“I want you two to discuss his contract. Trey is my client, and it seems he’s being hard-headed when it comes to some of the terms of his agreement with his label.”
Of course. Trey had signed a deal with the devil. Most of the major record labels were owned and controlled by Dark Elves. There’s no way they’d ever sign a human performer unless the terms of the agreement were to their distinct advantage. Like my father, Audun was an entertainment attorney. In fact, my dad had worked for him until his untimely death when I was seven.
“What do you want him to forget?”
“I need you to make sure he’s agreeable to signing the new addendum giving the label lifetime rights to all his original songs as well as his name and image.”
Closing my eyes, I pressed my lips together and inhaled deeply. It never got any easier—screwing people over at Audun’s command. Didn’t he have enough money and influence already? When would it ever end? This was exactly what I’d been trying to run away from.
I hated it but I didn’t dare refuse him. I couldn’t tip him off that I was no longer loyal to him—not yet. I had to get close to him first, keep his trust so he’d slip and clue me into his plans.
“Okay. Anything else?”
“Yes... how are things going with you and Culley?”
A chilly finger of dread trailed down the back of my neck, raising goose bumps. Why would he ask me that?
“Fine. I mean, we’re good.” Hopefully I was right about Audun’s glamour not working well long-distance. Culley and I were far from “good.” Reluctant tolerance was about the best I could honestly claim.
There was a stretch of silence over the phone then Audun said, “Excellent. We’ll want to set a date for your wedding when you arrive in New York. There’s much planning to do.”
I had to work hard to keep from gasping into the mouthpiece. “Yes... that’s fine. I’ve got to go. Culley and Trey are coming. I’ll... see you when we get there.”
I ended the call just as the two tall, handsome men reached me. Culley smiled broadly.
“Ava, I’d like you to meet Trey Copley. Trey, this is my friend Ava. She really admires your music. I’ll get us a round of drinks.”
Culley headed for the third level bar, and I shook Trey’s hand, working to speak around the giant lump in my throat left over from my conversation with Audun. I was never going to be free of him and his demands. If he forced me to marry Culley before I could get the information I needed, I’d be trapped forever in the sticky web of the Dark Council.
“Hi. Good performance,” I managed.
Trey grinned, revealing a star-making smile. No doubt he assumed I was star-struck into being speechless. “Thanks. You could hear it all the way up here, huh?” he teased.
“Oh, uh... no. I... was down there at the start of your song, but I had to take a phone call...”
His grin widened. “Just joshin’ with you.” His eyes scanned my body-hugging red dress and matching boots, but not in an icky way. It was more of a straightforward I’m-a-guy-and-you’re-a-girl kind of assessment. “So, you from around here?” he said. “You an actress? I’ve done a little bit of acting.”
“No. I’m from L.A. ...and Manhattan, but I’ve never done any acting.” The conversation couldn’t have been more awkward. What had Culley told Trey to get him up here? He was cute, but if I hadn’t been given specific orders to do so, I would have had no interest in talking to him. It was time to cut to the chase. “I want to ask you some questions.”
His brows pulled together in confusion. “Are you a reporter?”
“Something like that.” I gestured for him to follow me to a high top table near the deck railing. Below, the street hummed with traffic and boot-wearing tourists swarming the sidewalks.
“So, what’s it like working with the legendary producers at Opacity Records?” I asked once we’d settled into our seats.
Trey’s expression changed immediately. He shifted into official PR mode, his speech rehearsed and formal. “I feel lucky to have the opportunity to work with the same professionals who’ve launched the careers of some of my favorite musicians. Do you want to record this... or write it down?”
Culley returned before I could answer, balancing three shots in one hand and a huge mug of beer in the other. He winked at me. I know you don’t want this... I just want to loosen him up for you. Pretend to sip it or something.
“I didn’t know which you’d want mate, so I got both.” He slid the mug and a shot glass toward Trey before placing my shot in front of me and downing his own.
“Oh, thanks man. I don’t drink the hard stuff, but this is great.” Trey lifted the mug and took a drink. “So where were we?”
&nbs
p; “You were telling me about your new deal with Opacity Records.”
“Oh, um... I’m not sure what else I can say except that I’m real grateful—”
Reaching out to grasp Trey’s hand, I cut him off and exerted my Sway. “I know you have some reservations about the new contract addendum.”
“Wha—how did you...” he spluttered.
“You will forget any concerns you have and sign the contract as is,” I said, imbuing the words with the power of my glamour.
“Sign the contract,” Trey repeated, his formerly rich voice sounding dull and empty.
As it always did when I used my special “gift,” my belly wrenched with a sick feeling. From the corner of my eye, I caught the gleam of Culley’s smile. Did he think this was funny? I turned to look at him. No—he looked... proud. Did he admire me for my ability to destroy people?
I frowned at him and returned my attention to Trey. “You’ll be happy with the contract changes and feel relief instead of resentment over the restrictions.” Then, feeling bad for him, I added, “The music is what’s important to you, right? The fact that audiences are able to discover you and enjoy what you’ve created. Money doesn’t buy happiness.” I should know.
My family used to have a huge income, and I couldn’t remember a time when my mother was satisfied—even before my father was killed. Poor Trey. He’d never get the chance to find out if money bought happiness because he’d be a virtual slave to his record label unless he decided to change his name and go out on his own, starting over again from nothing.
Trey nodded. “Right. It’s all about the music.”
“Okay then. Well, thanks for the interview. Our readers will love the chance to get to know more about you.”
I stood and offered Trey a handshake.
Blinking and coming out of it, he rose to his feet as well. “Yeah. It was... fun. Nice to meet you. You’ll send me a copy of the article?”
“Oh sure,” I said. “As soon as it’s done. Hey, sounds like they’re calling for an encore down there.”
Sure enough, chants of “Trey, Trey, Trey,” could be heard rising from the first floor along with the unmistakable sound of stomping boots.
Trey smiled, tipped his hat to me, and shook Culley’s hand before heading for the staircase with his guitar. Before taking the first step he looked back toward us. “Thanks a lot. It was real good meeting you folks.” And then he was out of sight.
I sat back in my chair, letting out a long breath. I couldn’t release the self-loathing as easily. On a sudden impulse, I picked up the shot glass in front of me and downed its contents in one quick gulp. And then I was breathing fire. I coughed and gasped until I could inhale normally again.
Culley burst into a fit of laughter. “First shot, huh? Well, you deserve it—good job, love. Now we can go back to the hotel and get you into that nice soft bed you’re craving.” He stood and waited for me to join him.
I did not. Instead, I picked up the shot glass next to Trey’s unfinished beer and emptied that as well.
Culley rushed over to me and patted my back as I coughed again. “Whoa there, cowgirl. Let’s tap the brakes on the whiskey or you’re gonna be hurting in the morning. We’ve got a long drive still ahead of us. Come on now. There you go—on your feet. Let’s go home.”
I was on my feet, but I had no intention of going back to the room. Not after what I’d just done. There’s no way I could sleep. I wouldn’t be able to stand being alone in that quiet room with the memory of Trey’s vacant eyes, his dead voice, his ruined future.
No, I needed loud music, and laughter, and a raucous crowd around me. And I needed the rest of Trey’s beer.
Lifting the mug, I stood and headed for the purple stairwell with Culley close at my heels. He tried grabbing the mug from me as we descended. I twisted, holding it out of his reach.
“Ava—I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I want you to give that to me—you don’t want to drink it. It’s not some flimsy American light beer. That’s a craft beer—its alcohol content is about double the average.”
I tucked the mug into my belly and kept going. “I’m not a child,” I yelled over my shoulder at him. “I don’t need a babysitter. I need...” Darting into the entrance of the second floor bar I spotted a big cowboy standing alone at the edge of the dance floor and looped my hand through his arm. “... a dance partner.”
Surprised, the guy turned to see who’d grabbed him, then a big grin spread across his stubble-covered face. “Hell yeah, I’ll dance with you. Come on girl.”
He pushed through the crowd like a linebacker, and I followed, still cradling my beer mug. As we reached the floor, I took a long drink from it, then began moving to the music.
“Damn girl,” the cowboy said, wearing a look of appreciation. “That drink’s biggeran’ you are.”
“I can handle myself,” I told him then took another large swallow of the malty liquid.
“I can see that,” he said and placed his hands on my waist as I danced in front of him.
He wasn’t a bad dancer. It didn’t matter. He was here and willing. I was here, and now I definitely planned on shutting the place down. Maybe there was somewhere downtown that stayed open even later than two-forty-five—the louder and rowdier the better.
Suddenly Culley appeared at my side. “It’s time to go, Angel.”
He was not dancing. He was not smiling. He was boring. He wouldn’t help me forget.
I ignored him, but the big cowboy took notice. “You know this fella, darlin’?”
Glancing to the side, I smirked. “Not really.” Which was true. It was impossible to really know Culley Rune.
I turned my back to him and kept dancing. Culley left only to reappear moments later on the dance floor directly in my line of vision with a girl. Blonde and curvy, she wore skin-tight jeans and a tiny halter-style top. She looked like Country Barbie. Like all the other women in the place, she gazed at Culley with obvious desire. She pressed her body close against him and undulated seductively. His eyes lifted from hers to meet mine with a satisfied so-there squint.
Whatever. He thought he could make me jealous? Ha. I set the mug on a table to the side of the dance floor and moved a little closer to my cowboy, placing my hands on his shoulders. “What’s your name?”
“Brad. What’s yours? Angel?”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes, making myself dizzy. Those shots were taking their natural course. Goody. “No. That’s just what he calls me.”
“That Australian fella your boyfriend?”
“No,” I said definitively. “We’re traveling together. I work for his father.”
He nodded, and his big dopey grin got even bigger and dopier. “So then, maybe you’d be interested in coming back to my place later. It’s not that far—it’s over in the West End. It’s clean,” he offered.
I laughed. “Sounds tempting, but I can’t.” See, I’m Elven, and if I sleep with you, we’ll be bonded for eternity. “I have to leave early in the morning. But I’ll be happy to dance the night away with you.”
Oh God. I was drunk. When I’d said “dance” it came out sounding like “dansh.”
Brad smiled. “I guess I’ll take what I can get.” He spun me then slipped his arms around my waist. As we danced, he continually pulled me closer. After a few minutes, his hands began to wander.
When they slid up my ribcage and his thumbs grazed the underside of my bra, I lowered my elbows, pressing them tight to my sides. Undeterred, Brad moved his hands downward. They slipped around and rubbed my lower back. Then moved lower still.
If I’d been sober, I’d never have allowed it. But as it was, I could barely feel my body. Sensations, sights, sounds—they were all starting to take on a hazy air of unreality. I’d had alcohol before—wine, champagne, light beer. This was different. I felt like someone else—someone freer, happier, someone who didn’t care anymore.
Brad rubbed a hand over my bottom then pulled back so he could see
my face. His bore a wicked smile. “Are you wearing a thong?”
And then his hands were no longer on my backside or any part of me, and he was no longer in front of my face. Culley was there, standing between us with a glowering face and one hand spread on Brad’s chest.
“You mate,” he spat out at my randy cowboy friend. “...will never know. It’s no one’s business but mine—she’s my fiancée, she’s off her face with grog, and I’m taking her home. Are we gonna have a problem with that?”
Brad stepped back, raising his hands in the don’t-shoot-me posture. “No man. Sorry. I didn’t know she was engaged. She said she didn’t know you that well.”
“Yes, well, we had a little disagreement, but the party’s over.” Culley pulled out his wallet and extracted a wad of bills, shoving them at Brad. “Here—have a drink on me.”
Brad stared down at the money in his hand, then lifted his head to watch us go. I gave him a weak wave and then tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other as Culley pulled me along. I had no energy left to fight him over leaving the bar—simply staying upright was a monumental effort at this point.
“Come on, love. You’ll feel better when you get outside in the fresh air,” Culley encouraged as he steered me back to the stairwell and downstairs toward the open exit door.
We emerged from the club onto the still-populated downtown sidewalk. Music poured from the doorways of the club next door and the one across the street. A party bus powered by multiple sets of bicycle pedals rolled by, its passengers laughing and chanting something I couldn’t quite understand. The Nashville night was apparently still young.
Culley guided me as we started the three-block trek back to the hotel. It wasn’t easy. Tottering down the sidewalk was the equivalent of an American Ninja Warrior obstacle course in my current condition.
Passing the doorway of another club, I took in the blurred picture of a small group of people leaning against its brick-fronted exterior, laughing and smoking. When I walked through a particularly potent tendril of cigarette smoke, my stomach suddenly rebelled against the ridiculous quantity of alcohol I’d consumed.
