Page 7 of The Drummer

“I told you, it’s not a date. She’ll be glad you came.”

“How do you know?”

He shrugs and starts down the hall. “Just do.”

Great. Well, hopefully this person talks more than Luke or we’re in for one hell of an awkward morning.

The elevator attendant, who can’t be more than sixteen, grins when we file inside.

“Morning, Mr. Craven,” he says as he pushes the lobby button.

“Hey, Aiden. How’s your brother doing?”

“Pretty good. He came home from the hospital last night.”

“Really? That’s great.”

Aiden shrugs and makes a face. “Yeah, I guess. Except now he gets to watch TV and play video games all day, while the rest of us have to work.”

I hold back a snort, and even Luke’s lips twitch at the precocious gripe.

“Well, that part sucks, but it’s good he’s going to be okay,” Luke says.

Aiden nods and glances at me. “You Luke’s friend?”

Great question.

“Ithink so. Not sure about him,” I say.

Luke shoots me an irritated look. “Casey’s my best friend… and drummer.”

Aiden’s eyes widen. “So you’re in the band too?”

“He sort ofisthe band right now,” Luke corrects.

Not by choice,I return with my own annoyed glance, but Luke doesn’t look at me to receive it.

Another hotel guest joins us at the second floor, ending further conversation.

Once we reach the lobby, we tip Aiden and head to the exit.

We step into the morning sunlight, but instead of climbing into a car, Luke makes a left toward the cross street.

I follow in surprise. “We walking to this place?”

“It’s not far. Just a few blocks.”

I’d complain if I didn’t suspect this might be the only time he sees the light of day. A piece of me is even more grateful for this stranger named Callie who’s managed to draw my vampire bandmate out into the sun.

We walk the rest of the way in silence. Had I known the exchange with Aiden the Elevator Attendant was going to be the extent of Luke’s interaction during the journey, I would have participated more.

The silence is magnified by everything we’renotsaying. So many unanswered questions and missing pieces to fill, butLuke’s expression makes it clear I won’t get them now. He’s lost in his head, and all I can do is read him for any clues that could help make sense of everything I’ve seen and heard since showing up at his door last night.

By the time we arrive at a quaint diner with a vintage sign that says “Jemma’s Café,” I’ve reached a frightening conclusion:

Luke might still be alive, but he’s stopped living.

For the secondtime in two days, I’m intimidated by a door. Yesterday it was Luke’s suite. Today it’s a glass gateway into a mystery I’m eager—and nervous—to solve.

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