Page 2 of Bewitched by the Phantom (The Bewitching Hour #6)

Chapter

Two

T hree months later, a little bit homeless, and a whole lot excited, we pull up to the address listed on the invitation.

So yeah, we’d gotten kicked out of the trash apartment we’d been living in.

Claudia’s waitressing job had ended with her sucker punching the manager who groped one of the other waitresses and she’d had a hard time finding another one.

Lidia sells her artwork, but hadn’t had any buyers in the last three months.

Vivian still has her office job she moonlights at, but it hardly pays enough to cover rent.

And fuck, my own job with the catering company fell through.

We’ve been living in our old rickety van for the better part of a month, having to stop at truck stops for showers, and I’m ready to be done with it all.

Luckily, with the invitation comes accommodations. None of us know what to expect, but at least we know we’ll have a shower to ourselves tonight. At least, a girl can hope.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” I ask as I peer through the windshield.

“It’s the address you gave me,” Claudia grumbles, but even her voice sounds uncertain as we stare at the rusty gate.

It’s open at least, which is a good sign, but the trees and bushes obscure anything past what our headlights can see.

Which isn’t a lot. It’s dark out here, darker than it feels like it should be, but I think that’s just because the moon is hidden behind the clouds right now.

We would have gotten here hours ago, but we’d had a flat tire on the way and a radiator leak.

Still, we’d limped this van along until we made it.

To what exactly is the question.

“Just drive in,” Vivian encourages. “Maybe it’s an aesthetic thing.”

“Yeah. Rock n’ roll always hits hard,” Lidia adds. “It’s probably part of the appeal.”

They’re not wrong. This competition is going to be televised nationwide.

Hell, maybe worldwide. It’s one of the first competitions of its kind, where it pits us all against each other and focuses mainly on rock.

Bands from around the world enter this competition.

Think like Eurovision. We’re going to be battling the best of the best, bands that already have cult followings on social media, bands that are prodigies and legends, ones that come from families already famous in the rock scene.

There are current rumors going around that one of the Osbourne kids are here. I don’t know how true that is though.

Claudia eases off the break and pulls past the rusty gate, following the gravel road around the trees. It’s a few minutes before we get an eyeful of where we’re actually going, and when we leave the trees, I think all four of us gasp.

“Wicked,” Lidia breathes.

I agree with a silent nod of my head. Wicked is probably the best explanation for it.

The competition every year is held in different aesthetic places.

One year it was an old asylum, haunted so badly that the bands still talk about the nightmares they had in the place.

Another year, it was an old, dilapidated mansion.

Hell, last year it was an abandoned theme park. This year, they don’t disappoint.

In front of us rises an old power plant, towering like a sleeping giant lit up with spotlights and all sorts of neon additions.

The power plant has been decked out in a gothic lover’s dream, neon running along the metal beams, projectors screening bats and other crazy things onto the large stacks that once upon a time generated power for the small cities around this place.

Cities that are mostly abandoned nowadays.

They’d gone all out with this place, and when we pull up, there’s actually someone waiting for us.

A group of security guards stand in the middle of the road as we pull around, each of their faces dour as they wait for us. Claudia winces as she shoves the driver door open.

“Sorry, the window doesn’t work,” she apologizes. The window has never worked, not since we pooled our money to buy the damn thing. It’s not a problem until the rickety AC does its annual failure. “Are we in the right place?”

The man in front steps forward with a clipboard. “Hell Hath Honey?”

“That’s us,” Claudia nods.

“You’re the last one we were expecting. Thought you were gonna be a no show.”

“We had a flat tire,” I offer. “And . . . this thing’s a piece of shit.”

His eyes flick to me and away, indifferent. “Park over there,” he says, pointing to a line of cars. “Someone will unpack your equipment tomorrow and deliver it to your apartment. Follow the signs for apartment sixteen.”

“Got it,” Claudia says and slams her door closed before following his directions. “Damn. They even have someone unload for us?” she murmurs, glancing at me. “This shit is swanky.”

“I’m here for any reason not to lug that out-of-date amp around,” Lidia grumbles. “Let’s go see what we’re working with.”

There are at least signs everywhere, so no one gets lost. That’s a blessing because I can see this place being a maze once we get on the inside.

I’ve never been inside a power plant before, but this place looks monstrous with the additional lighting and spooky aesthetics.

It almost feels like we’re in a Scooby Doo episode when we pull up with our duffel bags and search for the apartments.

No one comes to show us around, but that’s okay. We’re not helpless and we’re late.

But just because we’re late doesn’t mean the other bands aren’t still milling around.

Once we reach the apartment area, it becomes livelier.

All variety of people are represented here.

From vampire queens to hairband style dudes and even a few normal looking chads, this competition has it all.

Literally. Some of them are lounging around the communal area, talking back and forth as we come in.

A few look over at us with their eyeliner rimmed eyes, but most of them ignore us, either too drunk or stoned to care.

Apparently, they’d built out these apartments from old offices or something.

That’s what it looks like. Each band has their own communal apartment.

We can see inside a few of the rooms we pass where the band leaves their door open and inviting.

I catch sight of a few rival bands making out already.

Some of them are having the best time ahead of the battles, I see.

As we pass circles of people, I catch snippets of their conversations. I try to hone in on their words, but I only manage to get a sentence here and there.

“—hear about the band that disappeared?”

“They haven’t seen ‘em in months?—”

“—not the first time it’s happened. Watch your back.”

I frown, but Claudia tugs me along behind her when I would have stopped to ask what they’re talking about.

I haven’t heard anything about someone disappearing, but then again, we’d lost our internet right around the time we were invited to compete.

We’ve been using coffee shops and their free Wi-Fi to even check our emails.

“Sixteen,” Vivian says. “This is us.”

A bunch of keys hang from the doorknob, waiting for us. Claudia grabs it before pushing the door open and we get our first look at where we’ll be staying.

“Damn. This is some luxurious shit,” Vivian whistles.

“Anything is luxurious after our last apartment and that van,” I grumble. “Look, no cockroach painted to the wall.”

“Hey! Steve was a valuable member of our family,” Lidia teases. “I still miss him.”

“That makes one of us,” I laugh, shaking my head. Yeah. We’d named the mummified cockroach Steve. It’s weird, I know.

Claudia stands in the middle of the shared living room and grins, her duffle bag dropping to the floor with a thud. She opens her arms wide, her eyes bright.

“We made it, bitches,” she says. “We fucking made it!”

“Hell yeah, we did!” I say, laughing, coming in for a hug. Lidia and Vivian do the same. We stand there, for at least five minutes, just soaking it in.

We made it. We fucking made it.

Take that, Steve , I think. You’d be so proud of us right now.