Eighth Note (Fire Ballad Book 1)

by Kimberly Adams

  Will was already talking as I accepted the call. “Good God, Eva, I have been trying to get through to you for hours. You are safe?”

  “I’m safe, I’m sorry,” I poured, sensing his tone and knowing that he was beyond concerned. “There’s no reception in the mountains. We’re staying in a cabin that belongs to Cole, and the service-…,”

  “No. Absolutely not. I shall have a hotel room reserved and waiting for you. Give me your location.”

  “Will, I’m fine. I’m safe. Cole has been a perfect gentleman. We’re at Nina’s parent’s home right now, and I have to talk to them.”

  He was trying to calm down. I loved his anxious silence as he organized his thoughts, forming exactly the right words to convey his feelings. I pictured him pressing his fingertips to his temple, and immediately I ached for him.

  “We agreed to communicate. I love you, and I worry. But I know that you are strong, and capable, and I do not wish to quarrel with you.”

  “Thank you,” I breathed, sighing. “Please kiss Pea for me.”

  “I will. Dream of me tonight, Eva. I miss you.” His smooth voice traveled through the airwaves and dug deep into the pit of my stomach.

  I automatically reached for my hair, tugging at a curl. “I can’t wait to dream about you,” I replied, and his heavy sigh was all the answer I needed.

  Ending the call, I started for the main part of the house, following Cole’s voice.

  Mr. and Mrs. Fayette were standing in the dining room as food was being spread over the table. They were a matched set, like salt and pepper shakers, complimenting each other in varying shades of blue and gray. Mr. Fayette was older by several years, and his brooding eyes and square jaw were off-putting at first. As I approached, I could see the softness in his brown gaze, defenselessness, and I tried not to think of the video of his daughter’s death.

  Mrs. Fayette was far more approachable, reminding me of an older version of my mother. Her dark hair was short, bobbed, and smoothed elegantly to frame her tear-brightened blue eyes.

  Cole was shaking his head, and I pasted on my brightest smile, going right for Mrs. Fayette.

  “I’m Eva. I’m so sorry for your loss,” I hugged her, and she accepted me with surprise, tentatively patting my shoulders.

  “You were a friend of Nina’s?” She searched my eyes for confirmation, for solace, for anything that would take the pain of losing her child away. I nodded, letting her clasp her small hands over mine.

  “Yes. And I will find out why she died.”

  “She wasn’t taking drugs,” Mr. Fayette insisted, gesturing to the chair next to me. “Please, call me Gerald,” he added, pulling the chair out for me to sit.

  I glanced at Cole, and he nodded, indicating that we were staying for dinner. I thanked Gerald politely, and Mrs. Fayette- Betsy- took a chair next to her husband at the head of the table.

  “I know she wasn’t,” I said softly, watching Cole seat himself across from me. “She was one of the smartest women I’d ever met. She knew more about music- not just making music, but music itself- than most producers. And writers. She was brilliant,” I added, forcing a proud smile to Gerald’s face.

  “She was.” He agreed, and Betsy dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.

  “Eva told me that your daughter learned a lot about sound from you,” Cole spoke up, thanking a maid under his breath as she served him a glass of wine.

  Gerald threw back whatever was in his glass before asking for another. “Mr. Mathison, before I begin, I have to know that I can trust you. And Ms. Reed.”

  “Mrs. Reed,” I corrected him with a gracious smile, and his forehead crinkled as he raised his eyebrows. “My husband and my daughter understood that I needed to come here. To help.”

  “I’m sorry. I assumed you were together.”

  “Cole is an old friend,” I assured him. “And you know that he has… dealt… with things that law enforcement know little about.”

  “Paranormal. Demons. The devil,” Gerald spat, and Betsy grabbed her heart so fiercely that I nearly toppled over in my chair reaching for her.

  “Gerry, don’t,” she cried, and finally I realized that her coronary was for dramatic emphasis only.

  “Whatever we’re dealing with, whatever Nina went through, we’re here to help find answers,” Cole assured her, nodding my way. “Eva knows a lot about music. About sound. I’m sure you’ve both heard by now about the recording that Nina was making that night.”

  “People are dying,” he confirmed. “Two police officers. Dead.” Gerald’s chin jutted out from the strength of the second glass of scotch that he swallowed.

  “And how can you help us… help you?” I urged, trying but failing to ignore the grilled chicken, red potatoes, and asparagus that had been placed in front of me. My stomach growled impatiently. “Nina mentioned that you taught her a lot about sound, and how it can be used in the medical field.”

  “Entrainment.” Mr. Fayette raised his eyes to mine, and the elegant chandelier above the table flickered once. I ignored the light, concentrating on his words. “What do you know of history, my dear?”

  I bit the insides of my cheeks, considering my answer. “Both of my parents have PhDs in World History. I… don’t. I have a music blog.”

  Betsy’s laughter was almost relieved, and she sipped her wine, her eyes still holding a sheen of fresh tears.

  Gerald nodded, as though an unconventional child was naturally the product of two intellectual parents. “Are you a Christian, Eva?”

  Oh. I squirmed, just as I always had, at that question. My existence was based on the firm knowledge of reincarnation, so I answered the best that I could. “I have faith… a lot of different faiths, actually. I kind of march to the beat of my own... God.”

  Cole nearly choked on his wine, and I wished my legs were longer so I could kick him in the shins.

  Gerald watched me, a profound look in his eyes as he rolled his glass back and forth between his open palms. “Long ago, in the deepest, most southern parts of India, music became a door. Between worlds. I know this is a lot to swallow, but hear me out.”

  Two worlds? A door? No, I was following along just fine.

  “Music and religion spread across those lands, through Africa. Drums. Repetitive beats that the slaves used to preserve their religion, to meditate, to remain loyal through worship. Specific rhythms were used to call upon gods. In Haiti, it is called Voodoo. In Brazil, Condomble, and in Cuba, Santeria.”

  “Like… the Sublime song?”

  “Worship through meditation,” Cole clarified, ignoring me and leaning back in his chair.

  Gerald cleared his throat, completely disregarding his food. Cole looked at me pointedly and began cutting his chicken, and I followed suit, stabbing at a potato. “My point is that these rhythms opened an altered state of consciousness. Whether or not they spoke to their gods is not the debate. Is there a way to open the mind to other levels of awareness? That is the discussion.”

  “And you feel that there is?” I urged, sipping the goblet of white wine.

  “Entrainment is brainwave synchronization. The suggestion that an external stimulus can alter the brain’s frequency.”

  “Hypnosis?” Cole asked.

  “Of sorts,” Gerald answered. His voice became anxious, almost rushed, as he continued. “Nina did an internship with me while finishing her education. You know that she earned a degree in psychology, I assume?”

  I didn’t, and looked up at Cole. He raised his eyebrows, but I could tell he was just as surprised as I was.

  “She was so very intelligent,” Betsy sighed, her empty stare resting on her lap.

  “Nina wrote her thesis on entrainment, and mass hypnosis through popular culture. Very liberal. I tried to convince her to change her focus, but she was ambitious. Driven.”

  “Her music,” I realized. “She talked about auto-tuning, and creating a subsonic beat.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you watch the vid
eo? The surveillance video?” Betsy looked ready to break into tears. I gently set my fork next to my plate, my appetite doing a rare disappearing act.

  “We did. Cole showed me. That’s why I came here. I’m going to find answers.”

  “We have answers,” Gerald snapped, and my heart beat too fast at his sharp words. “We need questions. We need to know what we’re dealing with. Before there is more blood on my baby’s hands.”

  “Blood… on her hands? You think that she’s killing these people?” I asked, astonished, and Cole (whose legs were plenty long enough) kicked me from under the table. I ignored him. “Nina wouldn’t be haunting and terrorizing innocent people, making them go crazy and jump out of windows. Whatever is killing these people killed Nina. That’s what we’re going find out.”

  “What are you?” Gerald demanded, leaning forward in his chair. “Are you an angel? A demon? What are you?”

  My eyes. I knew they must have flashed from jade to burnt auburn. Blinking rapidly, I looked down at my knees.

  “I’m just a woman. And I have a daughter, Mr. Fayette. I am a daughter. I couldn’t imagine losing my child. I wouldn’t want my parents to go through what you’re going through.”

  We ate in an uncomfortable silence for another twenty minutes. Betsy finally spoke, letting us know that the funeral would be at the end of the week, and that she’d contact us.

  I couldn’t have been more relieved as Cole pulled out of the circular drive. “Did ya get the feeling we were dealing with a couple of loose screws?”

  “I can see why Nina was anxious to move out.” I peeled off my cardigan, tossing it into the back seat. Next I reached up the back of my dress, unhooking my bra and yanking the tan lace out the arm hole of my sundress. Cole watched me from the corner of his eye, pulling onto the highway.

  “You’re runnin’ out of clothes, hon,” he warned, and I rolled my eyes at him.

  “Please. I’ve been sitting in the car all fucking day.”

  “Hey.” He cracked the window, unsheathing a cigarette. “You did good in there.”

  “Thanks. I’m sorry, but I’m totally going straight to bed when we get back. We’ll discuss all Mr. Fayette’s crazy shit in the morning, okay?”

  “Okay.” He agreed. I tugged the ponytail from my hair, letting the wind whip my scarlet curls around my neck.

  “Any requests?” He watched me raise my hand above my head, shaking his head no.

  “Not tonight. The wind is all I want to hear right now.”

  Shrugging, I dropped my hand into my lap, turning to rest my cheek against my palm.

  I barely managed to get from the car to the house, mumbling a goodnight to Cole. I took two steps at a time, kicking my shoes off and pulling my sundress over my head. My loaded Glock would spend the night under my pillow, and an oversized AC/DC tee-shirt served as my pajamas.

  Brushing my teeth with well water was goddamn disgusting. This wasn’t typical well water; it tasted like copper and dirt and yuck, so I relied on the Listerine to wash away the nasty film. Bottled water for brushing. I began a mental shopping list, overly exhausted from the wine and weirdness of the evening.

  Crawling into the gazillion-thread-count sateen sheets, I took a moment to appreciate my excellent magical taste before closing my eyes.

  Chapter Nine

  I found him on the couch by the fireplace.

  “Where’s Will?”

  He moved his forearm from his eyes, confused. “He’s not here. Are you sleepwalking?”

  “I’m looking for Will.”

  “I’m the only one here, kid.”

  A banging in the walls drew my attention to the back of the house. Great- pipes here, too?

  I blinked.

  I was upstairs, in the bedroom again, but now Cole was lying in the bed that I’d claimed in the cabin.

  He gripped the blanket, eyes narrowed. “How did I get up here?”

  “That window,” I whispered.

  Cole sat up, slamming his back against the headboard.

  “You’re walking too fast,” he exhaled, and I lowered my face to my bare feet.

  I’d crossed the entire room.

  My toes were pointed inward as I moved, my knees slightly bent. I straightened them out, staring at the window, my stomach churning.

  “Eva…?”

  “Cole… help me…,” I moaned, splaying both of my hands over the window panes. The glass should have felt cool beneath my touch, but the burn branded my skin, forcing me to wrench my hands away.

  “Come here,” he ordered, and I obeyed, suddenly petrified. I usually had complete control over my dreams, and finding Will had never been difficult. “Is this a dream?” He suggested, pulling me into the queen-sized bed with him. I nodded, flattening myself against him. Yes, I knew how incredibly wrong and indecent the entire situation was, but I was seeing stars with the amount of adrenalin charging through my terrified psyche.

  “I’m scared,” I admitted, lifting my face to his. The words were foreign to me. “You told me to tell you when I was scared.”

  “It’s just a dream.” His fingers pinched my chin, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “Are you even here?”

  He rolled and turned us both so that he lay over me, hovering, his eyes focused on mine. I pushed against his bare shoulders weakly, trying to call on my powers. “Cole…,”

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he spoke into my neck, his voice gravelly as his wide hand slid up my side, beneath the tee-shirt.

  “Don’t… please…,”

  “You feel so warm.”

  He was pushing his hips between my thighs. As with all of my dreams, the details between point A and point B were hazy, confusing, and then- jarringly- lucid.

  His mouth crashed down on mine, and I tasted cigarettes and wine. I was opening my legs for him, tightening my thighs, my ankles digging into his hips. He was hard, grinding, the thin barrier of my panties the only thing preventing him from sliding into me.

  I reached for his shoulder, my fingers tracing the music notes and words. He caught my hand, slamming it down to the mattress.

  His rocking became urgent, and the fire burned in my fingertips. Warmth pooled in my stomach, and delirium washed over my thoughts. His tongue swept over my lips, and then plunged, tangling with my own. Hands, mouth, hips, muscles, everywhere at once, and from the corner of my eye the room around me burst into flames.

  Will never moved this fast, and had learned to sense when I was close to losing control.

  Will.

  “You feel so fuckin’ good,” he ignored the inferno, crushing into me, locking my hip in his free hand and dropping his forehead to my neck. “Yes, god Eva...,” his finger was hooking around the elastic of my panties, and I gasped, finally realizing what I was doing.

  “Cole, stop,” I cried, lacing my fingers in his and twisting his wrist firmly. He jerked away from me, wincing, and I knew I was causing him pain.

  “What the hell?” He hissed, and I released my hold on his wrist. The flames were licking at the edges of the bed, and he nearly fell into them as he realized his proximity and scrambled away.

  “I have to concentrate and put out the fire!”

  “Eva?”

  The hammering in the walls behind our heads silenced him, stealing my breath. The persistent knocking seemed to force a tremor into the floor.

  The fire extinguished into a hissing silence.

  And then the walls began to peel.

  The sides of the room were a treadmill of movement, and it took every ounce of my concentration to focus on what was happening.

  Insects. They had no room to move without stepping on themselves, and every time one would fall to the ground, another would take its place. They crept over the ceiling and across the floor. I moaned, ducking under Cole, unable to catch my breath. I knew I was going to hyperventilate if I didn’t get a hold of myself.

  Earwigs. Disgusting, vile bugs. We had them in Ohio when I was a kid, and now, they cra
wled over each other, fell, and their miniscule pinchers were needles against my bare skin. I shrieked, trying to brush them off, but they continued to fall from the ceiling, poking their way over my arms and legs.

  “Eva, they’re gone, honey, they’re gone,” Cole’s voice, soothing.

  A roaring moved through the house, a tornado through my ears. Screaming, I fought his grip on my shoulders.

  “No- Will!”

  “Wake up! Wake up,” he shook me, and I forced my eyes open.

  Cole stood at my bedside, fully dressed. Sunlight streamed in through the window.

  In less than two seconds, I had the Glock in my hands, chambered the round, and aimed at his head.

  He reared back, hands in the air, nearly stumbling over his own feet.

  “Cole?”

  “You’re fine. It’s me. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, put the gun down.”

  I did, panting in tiny, terrified breaths, taking in the room around me. “There were bugs…,”

  “It was real, then.” He sighed, gave a little groan, and shot me an accusing look. “You can come into my dreams. I didn’t know that. Fuck. Fuuuck,” he repeated, running his hand through his hair.

  I pressed my palms to my face, closing my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Oh God.”

  “Eva.” His voice was near the door. “Nothing happened. Dreams are just dreams.”

  “Not for me,” I dug my knuckles into my forehead, shifting uncomfortably at my damp panties. “Get out. Get out!” I screamed, hurling the pillow in his direction.

  He was already gone from the doorway.

  Will. No. Only a dream.

  Will.

  I ran to the bathroom, slamming the door.

  The moment I did, my magic fell away, and the old cabin materialized around me. Gasping and fighting back the burgeoning sob in my throat, I waved my hand, trying for the enchantments that I was so familiar with.

  Nothing.

  The sink had gone from pedestal with nickel trim to dingy, stained porcelain. I flicked the handle, watching cold, yellow water spit and spray over the murky drain.

  Guilt. I hated guilt more than any emotion, more than any feeling. It ate at me from the inside of my lungs, overcoming my ability to breathe, to eat, to make music… to function.