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

Chapter

Six

T he next morning, we’re met with rumors flying and everyone speaking in hushed whispers around us. At first, it feels like they’re whispering about us, and my anxiety gets the better of me. Claudia, though, is never one to pad feelings.

“What’s going on?” she asks the nearest woman, one of the members from The Medusa Complex.

“You didn’t hear?” the woman asks. “One of the bands left last night, and they brought in another to take their place. Some new alt-rock band named Angels Bleed Mercury.”

I frown. “The band just dropped?”

“Well . . . that’s what everyone is assuming,” the woman continues. “Really, it’s more like they disappeared. No one knows what happened to them.”

“You’re kidding me,” Claudia groans. “If it wasn’t so weird, I’d be doing my best to ignore it.”

“Tell me ‘bout it,” the woman laughs. “You four kill it in your rehearsal today.”

“Same to you,” I shoot back before grabbing Claudia and dragging her away. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s fucking weird,” Claudia agrees. “But we can’t let it throw us off our game. We need more good rehearsals than we do bad, and after yesterday, we really need a good one. Understand?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

“Don’t call me ‘mother,’” Claudia growls. “Those bitches always leave.”

And then she leaves me there with that tidbit that I somehow never knew about her.

Her mother left her? How have we been a band for so long and I still don’t know anything about her.

I shake my head and grab an apple from the buffet before heading to the makeshift stage for rehearsal.

We’re not up for at least four hours, but I figure I can waste time watching the first few bands during their warm ups.

That’s where I am, thirty minutes later, my feet kicked up on a chair as I listen to one of the bands argue over which note sounds better. It’s as I’m standing to go find more food, that I run into someone I haven’t seen at the competition before.

But that doesn’t mean he’s a stranger.

I blink up at the man with long blond hair and eyes as bright green as emeralds. “Raoul?” I gasp.

“Christine!” he gushes, immediately grabbing me and crushing me against his chest.

He’s exactly like I remember him, just all grown up now.

He’s tall, his eyes soft, a warm smile pulling at his plump lips.

He has a vintage guitar strapped to his back like a knight’s sword and it gives me a strange image of him dressed in actual armor.

Raoul has always felt like some sort of battle angel.

“How are you here?” I ask, confused. I haven’t seen Raoul since we were teenagers sneaking out to play guitar together. After school, he got shipped off to some fancy college, and I drove off in a van. I haven’t heard from him since.

“My band got called and asked to fill in for an absence,” he admits.

“You’re from Angels Bleed Mercury?” I grunt, incredulous. Of all the bands, he just . . . shows up here? What are the odds of that?

He grins. “I am. And look at you! Still playing with fire, I see.” He looks around at the atmospheric set up. “Because it looks like we walked into hell itself here.”

“I like it,” I say, trying to see what he sees. I don’t see hell. I see bliss.

Raoul and I were best friends when we were little.

Hell, we used to sit around and write songs in cluttered garages.

We snuck into bars with fake IDs to hear the bands who were playing.

We even shared a drunken kiss once, but when we both left town, we didn’t look back.

Once upon a time, part of me resented him for that.

He never tried to reach out to me. Not once.

When I’d tried to look him up, I hit dead end after dead end, and eventually, it felt too close to stalking.

If he didn’t want to see me, then that was that.

“Well, I’ve been following your band,” he admits. “From afar. Hell Hath Honey has a cool sound.”

I frown. “You never reached out though.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he shrugs. “Regardless, when I saw you were in this battle, I knew I had to join. Even if I missed the deadline.” His grin widens. “Even if I had to fight a banshee to get a slot.”

He laughs like it’s the funniest joke in the world, but that’s Raoul. Even as a kid, he joked about all manner of myths. I couldn’t even get him to leave his house on a full moon back then.

I’m flustered by his admission that he’s been following me, and also that he was desperate to see me here again.

He feels safe. Familiar even, despite my annoyance that he never reached out.

That was ten years ago that he left. Ten years and no call, but he followed me?

I am genuinely happy to see it him, but there’s a crack in the nostalgia that I can’t quite name.

“Well, since we’re here together, I hope we can hang out?—”

“Who’s this?” a voice interrupts, and both of us turn to take in the man standing suddenly at my side. His golden mask somehow looks even shinier right now, and it ticks me off. How is he always so enigmatic?

His bandmates all stand behind him, trailing after his coattails as if they’re plague doctors at a funeral. They meet my eyes and nod respectfully, but don’t say anything. I don’t think I’ve heard any of them speak of stage at this point, only the singer.

The tension is immediate between Raoul and Mystery Man, and I can’t place why there should be any tension at all. I don’t even know the singer from Cadaver Cantata’s name, and Raoul? Well, Raoul and I have a lot of history to hash out.

“I should ask you the same,” Raoul says, glancing at me. “You know this guy?”

“Well . . .” I begin, intending to say I don’t even know his name, but the mystery man cuts me off.

“Of course she does. I’m Erik.” His eyes flick to me, but he doesn’t reach his hand toward Raoul to shake it. “The singer for Cadaver Cantata.”

Raoul stiffens. “And you know Christine how?”

“I go by Chris now,” I tell Raoul. “Raoul, meet Erik. Erik, meet Raoul. So glad we could get this out of the way,” I say sarcastically, not liking the tension. I suddenly feel like the last apple that everyone is reaching for.

Erik is all charm as he smiles at me with blue-eyed intensity. “So, this is the famous Raoul then,” he hums. “You’ve written about him.”

I stiffen. “Wait, what?” We’ve barely had any sort of conversation, let alone one long enough for me to bring up a childhood friend.

Erik smiles at me. “Your lyrics, angel. Some of them sound . . . remembered.” He hums a tune under his breath, so quiet, I almost don’t catch it.

Raoul shifts, clearly distrusting of Erik.

I don’t blame him. I’ve clocked something being off since the first moment I saw Erik, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I know why.

Maybe it’s the way Erik watches me like I’m a hymn, like he’s starved for my attention.

Maybe it’s the way that shadows stretch near him and fluctuate in a way far from natural.

I don’t know, but I’m stuck between the two of them.

Erik makes my pulse skip as he looks at me. Raoul makes me feel like I can’t breathe. Nostalgia crashes with familiarity and I can’t break out between the two.

“I’m gonna go,” I say suddenly, desperate to get away. I leave them to stare at each other, unsure what just happened.

I can’t go back to the apartment and face questions from the girls so I find myself searching for somewhere, anywhere to escape to.

What I find is an old, abandoned stairwell.

No one seems to trust the rusty metal stairs here, so I’m alone.

The moment I am, I slide down onto the steps and press the heel of my palm to my head.

Raoul was the sun I grew up under. Even now, he’s bright and full of sunshine despite his clear tension over Erik. But Erik . . . Erik who I just now barely know his name; he’s this eclipse I find myself turning toward. I can’t help it. And I feel even more off my game than I did yesterday.

“Fuck my life,” I growl, leaning back to look up at the numerous stories of stairs above me. “I can’t fucking deal with those two idiots right now. Not when so much is at stake.”

My chest tightens and I start to hum the song from my dreams. I make it only a few bars into the melody before I sit up with a start. The song Erik had been humming under his breath! It’s the same fucking song from my dreams. It’s not just in my head.

I’m going insane. That’s the only explanation. That’s it.

Just strap me up and toss me in the looney bin. At least I’d be safe from this strange nightmare I’ve found myself in.

When I return to the apartment later to grab my bag, it’s to find two notes waiting for me. One is from Raoul, the scratchy handwriting just as bad as I remember. I almost can’t even read the chicken scratch.

I don’t know who that guy is, but he’s not safe. Just promise me you’re not falling for his act. -Raoul

My brows shoot up. Raoul took off to college and didn’t look back.

Sure, he said he’s been following my career, but that doesn’t mean anything.

When I needed him most, he wasn’t there.

And I’m not the same Christine he knew when we were kids.

I’m not the girl holding the mic at the Hollow forgetting lyrics and screaming, “I hate vampires” to cover for it.

No. That Christine was still bright and happy.

The new me has been through too much to enjoy his sunshine anymore.

I tear open the second envelope and pull out what looks like a sheet of music. It’s crumpled, as if it’d been balled into trash before being flattened out again. On the top of the page, elegant handwriting scrawls across the top.

He sings what you were. I sing what you are becoming.

It’s not signed, but I know who it’s from anyways. Erik, the masked mystery. What in the world is going on? Why does he seem like he knows me?

And why do I fucking like it?