by Jamie Magee
Chapter Eight
Kara didn’t push for details and I didn’t offer them as I poked my head in her room to tell her I was back.
I started to hum along with the guitar playing as I walked up the steps that led to my room. With the sound of my breaths, the guitar grew louder, like it had finally been perceived as real and was rejoicing. A smile came across my face.
Once in my room, I slid off my boots and jeans and pulled my phones from my bag. I found a charger for my phone on my dresser. The charger for Britain’s phone was still in the box. I plugged them in the wall by my bed and turned on every lamp in the room before climbing under the covers, still humming along with the guitar as it played.
I scrolled through the texts on my phone.
Bianca had texted me back: stop throwing shade see you in a bit.
I wasn’t responding.
Britain’s last text was thirty minutes ago: Starting to get worried maybe I should just come now…I furrowed my brow and scrolled to the text before that: text me when you get home
I texted back: Asleep.
Instantly, he responded: Good.
This was the norm with us. He was baiting me. Wanting me to ask what he meant by that. I was positive everything he said had a double meaning. Tonight the bait would dangle.
I needed to zone out, and I did.
I kept thinking of who I was when I woke up that morning before I graduated, and who I was now. Then I prayed for who I wanted to be at the end of tomorrow.
I was rattled out of my sleep by a vibrating phone. I squinted my eyes and moaned, prepared to tell Britain to leave me alone and go to sleep, but when I sat up and saw the sunlight coming over the short wall in my room, morning had arrived as charismatically as a blow horn.
With one eye open I read the text. It was a file from my mom. When it opened my camera roll flooded with images. One by one I slid through them. They were of the four of us. My crew. I saw pictures of us across this globe, ones of us when we were just kids.
My mom texted: Late night waffles always cleared my head too
I furrowed my brow as the ghostly music around me elevated as if to agree. I wasn’t ready for words, emoji’s it was—one laughing face and four hearts were sent her way.
I kept staring at the pictures of Draven and me. There was so much there, a pull that was electric, real. Side by side we looked like we knew what the hell we were doing. I hoped that was a legit perspective.
Realizing noon was minutes away I vaulted up and rushed through my room like a maniac trying to get dressed and straighten the very lived in look I liked in my space.
I heard my phone vibrating and dove for it sure Draven was texting that he was here. Where was this music lesson anyway?
My kick ass start to the day faded when I saw Bianca’s text.
It was a picture of Draven and me, one I’d just seen on my legit phone. Hottie. Don’t worry. I won’t tell Brit. A girls gotta play.
The idea of destroying the phone flared as I aimed my pitch at the wall. Then I stopped. The damage was done. If I had erased my life here the second Bianca and Britain showed it was a fools errand. They were too rich and my world was too modern for me to go black.
I refused to believe that I was insecure enough to think Bianca could make a move on Draven and take him. That couldn’t have been my reason. Which left my petrifying void. What the hell did she have to do with it? Why did I fear her more than my haunted life?
No.
I didn’t fear her.
I refused to fear her.
I could hear Kara talking to someone downstairs. Warm goosebumps covered my body. Draven was here.
I made a mad dash to give myself a once over and check to make sure I had no unwelcome conversation starters lying around. I’d just kicked the box Britain’s phone came in under my bed when I felt the air electrify.
I swung around to see Draven on the top step leading into my room.
Curiously he glanced over me. “Are you all right?”
My smile was a bit too girlish so I slaughtered it as I tossed a ‘yeah, I’m trying,’ glance his way.
He slowly moved to my side, the silence between us was screaming at me. “What do you see?” I asked.
“Walls,” he said biting his lip. “You, still dealing with this alone.”
“Buzz kill,” I said moving away from him as I rushed my hand through my hair.
“That right?”
I crossed my arms and stared back at him. “I spent serious time staring at pics of us when I woke up. Now...there’s this tension.”
He chucked his chin up. Silently saying it wasn’t him who jacked with my vibe.
I grimaced. “A trick sent me a pic right before you got here. It made me mad.”
“Got that much,” he said with a slow glance over me.
“I don’t want her near you.”
“The winning idea that landed us like this,” he said as anger flared in his eyes.
Confirmation that Bianca and company were as wicked as my gut told me wasn’t helping my bold approach to this day.
“It didn’t work. Whatever I did, didn’t work. She’s got the DL on us by now.” I stared him down. “So what does that mean? Should we bail or something?”
He drew his head back in thought then landed his eyes on mine. “We aren’t bailing until you are you.”
“Don’t put that on me. The three of you can’t sit here tempting fate, waiting on me.”
He ticked his head toward my dad’s studio. “Better stock your armory, then. Not touching your blind spots til’ you break through this.”
I narrowed my stare. “Of all the thing’s I’ve done, of what I’ve forgotten—forgetting the music trips you up the most, doesn’t it?”
He inched closer to me; the heat of his body singed my skin. “Music is your soul. Yes, it bothers me that something was powerful enough to cut that from you.” He leaned closer; his lips brushed mine as he spoke. “Music, you—it keeps me pure.”
I forgot the topic of conversation when his lips fell on mine and for precious seconds nothing else mattered but the way he made me feel, the way I made him feel.
His hand fell in mine as he pulled me up the stairs to my dad’s studio. The sound of the guitar haunting the house amplified, Draven grinned acknowledging it as he strolled toward the windows.
I followed him wondering what he was looking for. He nodded toward his house across the way. “Just checking to see if Aden was up.” If I narrowed my stare, I thought I could see Aden lying across the couch.
“Your studio,” I said gripping the painless threads of memories coming to me.
“When I play—it doesn’t matter if it’s the dead of night or the middle of the day—I always look in this direction, at this floor. I know it’s good if the lights in this room turn on, and then off.”
Hit the breaks!
I was cool with him and me hearing the same sound. I was good with not freaking out as I stood in this room, even though something unseen wouldn’t let me leave until I touched a guitar. Calling a spade a spade...I wasn’t ready, not yet.
“Blind spot,” he said as he turned and moved toward the guitar on the couch.
Determined as ever I reached the couch the same time he did, for the guitar in the same way he did.
“I’ll use this one,” he said, nodding in the direction of the guitar stand. I moved my hand from beneath his, then walked to the stand and reached for the least intimidating guitar. “Not that one,” he said.
I glanced back. He followed me to the stand then carefully reached for one of the electric ones. It was dark gray with smoky black lines running across the body. Intimidating didn’t being to explain it. It was iconic, the one my dad played the most on stage. I could feel the vibration of it humming as it lay cold and silent.
“Not ready,” was all I managed.
The feeling of static in the air, loose cobwebs and looming ene
rgy that was anything but bashful stole my focus.
Draven arched a brow, not commenting on the shift in the air.
“He kept me here yesterday,” I warned.
“Sounds right.”
“He doesn’t scare you?”
Draven slanted his head; silently pointing out next to nothing rocked his balance. I glanced down at the guitar in my hand, then let my fingers grip the neck, feeling the audacity of playing such a beautiful instrument come over me.
Draven took the cord from the amp, and led it to the couch. He moved the case to the floor to make room for me to sit next to him. As I watched him put the strap around himself and adjust his fingers against the strings, I discovered a whole new appreciation for the instrument I was sure he was. The hum of his voice as he toyed with the strings gave me something to focus on, fall into. Something beyond the room and its demanding audience.
I walked slowly to his side, sliding the strap of my guitar around myself before sitting and adjusting my hands. My skin chilled as I felt my fingers being adjusted. Draven glanced up, no expression came from him, but his one look took away the feeling crowding my personal space. Inside I cringed; it’s not cool thinking you just shut your dad’s ghost down.
Draven reached in his pocket and pulled out a black pick, then handed it to me. I tried to hold my hand steady as I reached for it, but a tremble managed to escape. He gripped my hand in his and locked me in a stare.
I was flying blind, couldn’t read minds the way him and the others could, but his frequency was coming through loud and clear. I heard him tell me to chill, that I had this. Every being in this room wanted the best for me. They wanted me to unlock what was inside, what was already mine.
As he arched his fingers around the neck of his guitar, I recognized the chord he was preparing to play.
“C?” I said, asking if that was what I was supposed to do.
He nodded. “C is always first, at least in my book.”
I arched my fingers around the neck to get my fingers to line up on the strings. I saw him shake his head no. I knew what I was doing was wrong. My fingers weren’t bent the right way. I was deadening other strings by pressing against them. I raised my fingers, only letting my fingertips touch the strings. I felt a burning sensation and the slicing pain of the chord as I tried to hold it in place. I strummed the pick across the strings.
I released my fingers before the sound had a chance to end.
“Listen,” Draven said, playing the chord.
One chord. That was all he played, and it was beautiful. It sounded like a perfect beginning, the onset to a beautiful song that could go in any direction. One chord and I felt a wall crumble inside.
“Starting to remember,” I whispered.
“Play for me…” he said, letting his eyes fall to the guitar in my lap.
I stared down then arched my fingers again, squinting with the pain. My fingers fell, deadening the strings just as I went to play the chord. Embarrassing frustration blushed my skin. It was just one chord how hard could it really be? I tried again, only to find one of my fingers falling again. I stretched my fingers out as if that would make them longer.
A warm sensation came through my arms and into my hands, and then a gentle pressure closed my hand around the neck. My fingertips lined up across the fret. I played the chord, but I didn’t stop there. My fingertips moved on to D, and then E. I flew through those three chords at least five times in random order before the sensation left my hand. I managed to play C and E before I fumbled again.
I nervously glanced at Draven.
“How did that feel?” he asked.
“Not me, I didn’t—,” he lifted his chin. “Good,” I said shortly glancing to the static in the air. I sensed it move back.
“Feel the music and let your fingers play,” Draven said, nodding to the guitar.
I raised my fingertips up and stared at the strings. I fumbled through the idea of playing a chord or just playing then I began to move my fingers at random. It was horrifying at first, but then I’d remember what sounded awful and refuse to move my fingers in that way again. After a minute or so, it started to sound like music. I could feel the sound all around me, like I was the core of its existence. I was the music.
When I didn’t think I could stand the pain of arching my fingers any longer, I let go. Draven moved closer to me and stared into my eyes as he reached for my hand. It was too numb to tremble as he took it. His eyes fell from mine as he pulled my hand gently to his face so he could see the marks the strings had left on me. Slowly, he let his lips rest on my burning skin.
He let my hand fall and reached his fingertips around the strings of his guitar. “I’ll play for you now.”
As he played I stared at his fingers. They glided across the strings. The simplest move of his hand would command a sound so powerful you could feel it in your core. He played through at least four songs before he stopped. “Now, you play again,” he said, winking at me.
“This is the saddest battle of bands in history,” I said as I put entirely too much effort into how to bend my fingers.
I slowly closed my eyes. As I began to play, it almost sounded like a chord, so I decided to just stop thinking about it. I moved my fingertips in a pattern that should have reflected a solid sound, but it didn’t. The sound was harsh and unforgiving. I smiled through it with my eyes still closed; telling myself it didn’t matter if it was good or bad. It was sound, sound that wouldn’t have existed if I hadn’t played it. It was an overpowering experience. When the pain became too much, I let go and opened my eyes to find Draven grinning.
“Perfect,” he said.
“Closer,” I corrected.
When his phone went off he made a face then texted back.
“Everything good?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he flicked his jade stare up at me. “Are you ready for Nana?”
My wide-eyes clearly told him it was a debatable topic.
“She wants you to come for dinner.”
I slanted my head as memories of her singed through my mind.
“Headaches bad?” he asked.
“Getting easier.” An uneasy smile surfaced. “Doc’s orders, keep it real and all. Dinner sounds good.”
“We can hang out here if that’s easier. She gets it.”
I started to play; he played with me, hours passed. When I couldn’t take the sting in my fingers I fell back on the couch. This was better than finding a second to not think then exploding back into my life with answers I couldn’t see before.
“It’s a shield,” I said turning my head to face him. “You called it a weapon.”
Draven relaxed into the couch beside me. “When it gets bad, yeah, you use it as a shield. You can see out, nothing can get to you.”
“I used it on you. When we fought the other night, I put you on the outside.”
The tight clench of his jaw was clarification enough.
“I didn’t want those people near you guys,” I said knowing I had nothing to back up my reasons.
“I didn’t want you to feel sorry for them,” he said as he stood. Pretty much stating what our impasse was.
I stared him down as he put the instruments away. “I don’t,” I finally said.
He pulled me up. “You do. You’ve always felt sorry for the damned.”
A spike of pain nearly brought me to my knees. “Fine,” I said grunting through it.
Draven pulled me against him. “Getting there,” he said after a minute.
“I’ll meet you at your place in a bit, like six?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said distantly. The static vibe in the air vanished; we both glanced up at once. When his eyes met mine again, I saw a boyish grin fill his face as he leaned down at took my lips.
“See you in a bit,” he said when he drew away from me.
I stood there for a second staring apologetically at the empty room. “I want to...I’m terrified to see what I hear,
but...I want to see you.” When the guitar sound filled the air I didn’t freak, I grinned then stuffed my hands in my jeans as I made my way back to my room.
Madison was asleep on my bed; I tilted my head questioning how long she’d been there. I nudged her as I climbed in beside her and leaned against the headboard. “Late night?”
She smiled before she opened her eyes. “Spreading good karma. Closing doors.” She looked up at me. “Sounded good when I got here. Figure your vice out?”
“Kinda.”
She eyed me.
“What do you see?” I asked.
“Your shield in place. Not so sure I like Draven’s game plan.”
“You don’t trust me,” I accused, not blaming her. “You think I’ll hide what I know, deal with it alone.”
She arched a brow. “All I meant was he wants you to have a way to protect yourself. That’s always his focus, but I think us seeing what you’re tangled in will help. When you have your stride, fine, put up shields. You know I respect your space.”
“Very protective,” I agreed as echoes of our fight started to move through my mind. Something weird happened during that fight, something weird for us.
I was trying to figure out if it had helped or hurt me when Madison said. “You know they’re here, right?”
“Who? Bianca? Britain?”
“I passed an Aston Martin on my way here. Not many of those around here.”
I rubbed my hands across my face. “Maybe she’s not here—at least, not yet.”
“Why does Britain not bother you,” she asked a bit defensively.
“He does.”
“Not like her.”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Bianca is like a live wire, she wants to seem as audacious as hell. Likes it when she takes you off guard, when your shock leads you into a state of blind submission.” I made a face as the sour taste for her resonated. I had nothing to back up my opinion. I couldn’t list things she’d done, or that I’d heard. I just knew what I knew. She got off on something she shouldn’t disrespect.
“Brit,” I furrowed my brow. “He’s a different kind of predator. Obsessive. He gets so transfixed that I’m sure I can outrun him.”
When I sensed Madison draw into herself, I glanced down. Like a fool I got it. She was obsessive too. I wouldn’t say she got lost it the weeds, but she did get hung up on things. If she gave you her attention and loyalty it was there to stay. Outrunning someone who looked at life a little deeper would be hard for her. Giving someone shallow, all about the noise, the slip would be easy for her.
“I’m not saying Britain is legit.”
“What connects them?” she asked glancing up at me. The tone alone told me she had been tangled up in this question for a while.
“I don’t know. It’s like Brit is here as a favor or something. Not to Bianca, though.”
She rolled on her stomach. “It’s all bad, Charlie.”
I smirked sure I’d heard those words a million times.
“And good,” I said, and then squinted my eyes. “Except for her.”
“Play into it for a day or so. They think they chained you. When they think they didn’t, they’re gonna come knocking.”
After Madison left I did some digging in my own room. I found notebooks with songs written down. A few notes here and there, I even found books on lore. Witchy things. I glanced down to a ring I was wearing. When I was playing before I went to take it off, the sharp angle of Draven’s eyes stopped me. I assumed then he was telling me to stop complaining about the pain. Now though, as I looked down at the white nugget of crystal on my hand I questioned where it came from, why no matter what I’d worn over the last few days this remained.
I went to draw it off, the guitar around me erupted so loud and fast that I thought an amp had kicked on. Taking the hint I left the ring on then flipped through the tattered pages of a book I’d found. A few minutes later I read a passage talking about cleansing and purity.
It had been on my hand this entire time but now, after reading a few words, I felt like a new person, bolder. So weird how what you need is already there, inside, even stranger that it’s easy to forget that it is.
I caught up with Kara for a few minutes before I headed out. I stopped at the covered bridge in my driveway. I had to figure out if Madison was right about seeing Britain’s car. I could play confused and lost on the phone; in person it would be impossible.
Are you here? I texted Britain.
I looked to the road ahead of me, watching for passing cars, knowing he’d have the audacity to show up here.
Anxious? Was his reply.
Trying to figure out how much you respect me.
Burn.
I rolled my eyes.
Not a bad drive. Want to go out? he texted.
Can’t.
Charlie, drive safe. Storms are coming your way.
My stare flicked to the road then to the overcast sky as I turned the phone off that he sent me. For all I knew he was tracking my every move. I sat there for a second twirling my rings and wondering where I could find more witchy books, more charms to ward off the evil in my life.
When the whispers began to call out my name I turned my music up and started my drive toward Draven’s.
