Page 12 of Bewitched by the Phantom (The Bewitching Hour #6)

Chapter

Twelve

F uck it. Sometimes a bitch has gotta do what a bitch has gotta do.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I try to casually walk toward apartment number three without looking sketchy. I’d checked the schedule. The Cadaver Cantata are due in the rehearsal room so they should be over there, far away from their apartment. Which means their apartment should be empty.

I hadn’t slept a wink last night. Instead, my mind had replayed every interaction I’ve had with Erik, going over every detail, before connecting them to the Phantom. I don’t know if it’s possible, if what my mind is saying is even real, but there’s only one way to confirm it or debunk it.

Break into Erik’s room.

Okay, so maybe it’s not the best idea. Honestly, I’m not even sure this will tell me anything.

Erik could be a neat freak or a minimalist and have literally nothing in his room.

I’m not sure which theory is worse. That he’s just a lead singer who leans heavy into the mystery and spookiness of his persona or that he’s the real deal spooky?

Fuck, I don’t even know which one I want to be true.

I do know that he shouldn’t be in his apartment, and I’m going in whether it’s a good idea or not. A girl’s gotta put her mind at ease.

Apartment number three is on the other side of the hub where they built the temporary apartments into the area.

Honestly, I don’t know how they managed to build apartments in the middle of an abandoned power plant, or why they decided to waste so much money.

They could have just brought in campers or something.

Hell, we would have slept in a tent just fine if there’d been no other choice.

And now I’m going on a rambling mind rant while I stand outside of apartment three looking suspicious.

Do it or leave , I tell myself, trying to hype myself up to break into the apartment.

Funny enough, if I get caught, this won’t be the first time I get in trouble for breaking and entering.

Lucky for me, the last time I got caught, the cop was sympathetic.

I’m not really sure what would happen here.

I glance around. No one’s looking at me.

No one’s paying attention at all. Maybe no one will question it.

Maybe they’ll assume I’m hooking up with one of the band members.

There’ve been quite a few hook ups between bands.

It happens. It’s not a big deal. Honestly, I’d rather rumors float around about that than someone realize I’m breaking in.

When I realize no one is paying attention and Erik isn’t anywhere to be seen, I step forward, grab the doorknob and twist. The door opens, and I realize they don’t even bother locking their door. Idiots.

I step inside and close the door behind me, looking around at the living and kitchen area.

Nothing looks out of place except for a gaming console rigged up to the TV.

The controllers are tossed haphazardly on the table, as if whoever had been playing didn’t want to stop or did so in a hurry.

The kitchen itself looks pristine, like no one ever uses it.

Glancing between the four doors, I try to decide how I’ll know which room is Erik’s.

I move over to the first door and peek inside, but I immediately decide it’s the drummers when I spy all the drumsticks sitting around.

Broken ones, new ones, some that look like they were used as some sort of eating utensils.

Definitely not Erik’s room. The second room doesn’t feel like his either.

There’s nothing inside it to indicate anyone even sleeps here.

I turn toward the third room and roll my shoulders.

The closer I walk to it, the more I’m certain this is his room.

I don’t know how I know that. Just that it’s a feeling.

When I open the door, the scent that always clings to his skin, petrichor and velvet, hits my nose and I know I’ve found it. I push the door open wider and take in the small room.

We were given the option to decorate our own rooms, but that had seemed pointless when it was only temporary.

Erik clearly didn’t think the same. His room is like a shrine.

Antique furniture takes up the space, including a beautifully carved wooden bed, bigger than the twin size mattresses we all got.

The furniture is well-loved, but also well-taken care of.

The comforter on the bed looks like velvet, lush and beautiful in red.

There are even red drapes hanging from the corners above the bed, giving it all an air of mystery.

Candles sit on every surface, extinguished right now, but clearly used when Erik is here.

They’re not the kind you plug in either.

These are pure wax flame candles, fancier than anything I’ve ever seen.

On the dresser, there’s a silver candelabra, red candlesticks half melted on it.

The room smells like old roses, burned sugar, and dust, but beneath all that is the smell of Erik.

It’s not what I expected, but somehow, I’m also not surprised.

Erik’s golden electric guitar sits in the corner and it gives me pause. Doesn’t he need that for rehearsal? Unless they’re doing a song where he doesn’t need it. It’s a beautiful guitar, clearly well-made and very vintage. It fits Erik’s style, and matches his mask.

On top of the dresser, a small, old record player sits, a golden record on the mat ready to play. Frowning, I move over to it, my eyes tracing the label before they widen.

“What the fuck?” I whisper, leaning closer in case I’m somehow imagining it. “Chris Feral. Demo. 2019,” I read out loud. I never made a demo back then.

I lift the cover and set the needle on the record before I hit the play button. The old record player takes a second to wind up, but when it does and the music starts to play, my confusion only grows.

My own voice starts singing to me from the machine. It’s my lyrics, but not my arrangement, and beneath my voice, someone else is harmonizing with me. Low and haunting, so I know exactly who it is. But I don’t remember recording this. I don’t understand.

I hover here, frozen, as I listen to a song that shouldn’t be recorded, my voice meshing perfectly with Erik’s. It’s fucking beautiful, and it shouldn’t be.

I press a hand to my forehead. I’m losing control of this situation. Fast. I came in here to prove that Erik is Phantom and instead, all I have are more questions. I’m frustrated, unnerved by his flirtation, but also relishing it at the same time. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Get ahold of yourself, Chris,” I hiss under my breath, my eyes on the record player as it begins to wind down, the song about to end.

The final line whispers from the record player, but despite the sound coming from it, it feels like the line is whispered in my ear.

“Play me eternal,” Erik’s voice whispers. “My velvet guillotine.”

I whirl, confused, only to find the man in question standing right behind me. I shriek and stumble back, panicked that I’ve been caught and also that he’s standing so close to me. His arm snaps out, stopping me from falling with his large hand wrapped around my wrist.

“What the fuck?” I snarl, jerking out of his hold the moment I have my footing. “Why the fuck are you sneaking up on me like that?”

Erik smirks. “You’re in my room, angel.”

This can go one of two ways. Either I can pretend I walked into the wrong apartment —highly unbelievable—or I can just own it. Well . . .here goes nothing.

“Yeah, and?” I say, crossing my arms.

The only part of his upper face I can see are his eyes, and they glitter at my answer. He doesn’t seem mad. He seems . . . pleased.

“And did you find what you were looking for?” he purrs, taking a step closer and forcing me further into the room again.

“Not exactly,” I say, my voice hitching at the way he towers over me. “Shouldn’t you be at rehearsal?”

His lips quirk up. “I needed my guitar.”

He moves closer again and I back up, the backs of my knees hitting the edge of the bed. “What are you doing?” I ask, staring up at him.

He hums under his breath. “There’s a beautiful woman in my bedroom,” he purrs. “I’m admiring the way she looks in it.”

My heart rate kicks up. “You’ve gotta stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he asks.

“Flirting with me,” I breathe. I should be angry.

My attitude should cut like a knife. Instead, as he closes the distance between us and I find myself craning my neck to look up at him, I can’t help but admire how he moves.

Erik doesn’t feel human. Being around him is like watching an old school vampire movie and wondering why no one sees the danger of him.

I’m standing here, feeling the danger just like those inexperienced protagonists, and I still don’t move away.

Suddenly, I understand how those women were bitten.

He reaches up and runs a strand of my green hair over his fingers, his body vibrating with energy. “Where would the fun in that be?” he asks.

“So, it’s a game to you?” My eyes are on his, and the urge to rip his mask off is so strong, my fingers twitch with the temptation.

“A game?” he smiles. “On the contrary, angel, this is the most important thing I’ll ever do.” He leans down and my breath catches. “I’ve thought about the way you’d taste, about how your music stains your lips with the melody. Will I be able to taste your lyrics if I kiss you?”

Oh. Oh, fuck. “Uh . . .” is my very elaborate answer. God, I’m a goner.

My inability to form a coherent sentence seems to please him.

His smile broadens and he reaches up to touch my chin, his rough fingers stroking my skin there before cupping it.

He gives me plenty of time to pull away, to tell him to stop.

My idiot self doesn’t do any of that. Instead, I find myself leaning into his touch, my hands coming up to rest at his sides and clench in his t-shirt. That’s all the permission he needs.

Erik closes the distance between our lips.

It’s a soft meeting at first, just his lips touching to mine, but the moment they touch, I lose all sanity.

My arms wind up around his neck of their own accord, my fingers digging into his soft hair.

His arms wrap around me and jerk me closer just before he deepens the kiss.

His lips move over mine in a way that makes me feel consumed.

I make a soft sound of desperation in the back of my throat and his chest vibrates with a growl that sounds less human than anything I’ve ever heard.

He picks me up for a split second before we both go tumbling onto his mattress, his large body coming over mine a split second after I land.

He overwhelms me, his body undulating against mine as he kisses me.

It’s probably the best kiss I’ve ever had.

His lips move with a grace I’ve never been able to master.

His tongue sweeps inside my mouth to trace my teeth and tangle with my own.

When he breaks the kiss to instead trace his lips down my neck, my body is so high strung, I might as well be connected to an amp.

“I’ve dreamed of tasting you like this,” he purrs against my skin. “You taste better than I remember.”

I freeze. “What?”

He pauses, his breath fanning across my skin before he lifts up enough to look down at me. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes tracing my expression carefully.

“Where did you get that record?” I ask him, the haze over my mind suddenly clear.

He tilts his head. “Do you like it?”

“It’s my voice,” I growl. “Mine.”

“Of course it is,” he muses. “I only borrowed it.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I spit, before pushing at his shoulders. He moves without complaint, standing back to his feet. He offers me a hand, but I don’t take it.

“You’re looking for answers where there are none to be found, angel,” he offers instead.

I poke him in the chest. “I’m tired of your cryptic bullshit! What sort of stalker are you? What the fuck is this? And why do you have a record of my voice that I never recorded? Of a song I never recorded?”

“Angel—”

“Stop calling me that!” I snarl, baring my teeth at him. “You mother—” His hand snaps out and has the back of my neck in his hold before I can stop him. “Let go of me!”

“Shh,” he coos. “Everything will be clear soon.”

I jerk out of his hold and before I think better of it, I swing. No one grabs me like that without my permission. I swing right for that pretty mask, intending to break it. Before my fist connects, his hand is there, catching my fist, stopping me from destroying something so beautiful.

“That wouldn’t be a good idea, angel,” he breathes. “Trust me.”

I try to jerk my hand from his hold but he doesn’t let go. “You’re not just Erik, are you?” I accuse.

He watches me carefully. “What do you mean?”

“You’re him. The Phantom.”

It’s a hunch, one that I’ve grown more certain of the longer I’m here. He doesn’t deny it. He just studies my face. “Would it change anything if I were?”

And therein lies my answer. How would he even know what I’m talking about if he wasn’t my anonymous mentor?

He releases my hand and picks up his guitar. “Unfortunately, I’m late for rehearsal. Feel free to make yourself at home, angel.” His eyes twinkle. “I’d enjoy coming back to find you naked in my bed.”

“In your dreams,” I hiss.

He smiles. “Yes.”

And then he fucking leaves! The audacity!

I don’t stick around to give him the satisfaction of finding me back there. I turn to take the record—it’s mine and I’ll take it if I please—only to find it’s no longer in the record player. I spend five minutes looking for it, but when I can’t find it, I give up. Fucking bastard.

Unfortunately, I still have no answers, and I’m even more confused than I was before coming here.

But the taste of him lingers on my lips . . .