Page 10 of Bewitched By the Phantom
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?
Chapter
Seven
The first round of competition comes up faster than I think any of us are prepared for. The production had already been almost ready during our soundchecks and rehearsals, but even from the beginning to now, so much has changed. As it turns out, the production team is working with some sort of magic. Or at least it feels that way when we walk in on competition day and see the literal atmospheric masterpiece they managed to build.
Cameras are everywhere, hanging from every beam and surface, and I have to remind myself not to scratch my ass in case one of them catches it on camera. That’s not exactly the kind of viral I want to go. The moment I tell myself not to itch anything at all just in case, everything itches. For fuck’s sake.
“Chill,” Claudia tells me as I start to pace.
We’re in the green room, waiting for our turn to take the stage. We’re done up in our best, no sweatpants here. I’m wearing my black leather pants and combat boots, a leather corset, and my hair is perfectly styled around my shoulders so that the green streak is on display. We’ve got this. We’ve got this.
I whirl to Claudia. “We’ve got this, right?”
“Of course we’ve got this,” she replies. “We’re gonna kick ass.”
“Hell yeah we are,” I say, but continue to pace. I can’t stop. There’s so much riding on this performance. We’ve practiced. We’re on our A game. But what if a repeat of the other day happens and I choke? What if I let them all down?
What if that golden-masked bastard of a man throws me off my game again?
“Girl, you gotta chill out,” Lydia says. “You’re gonna stress me out and we all know what happens if I stress out.”
Yeah. We lose our beat. As the drummer, Lydia is our timekeeper. If she fails, we all fail. I need to chill out so Lydia doesn’t choke.
I stop pacing, but it’s an unnatural stop that has me standing there so tense, Claudia raises her brow at me.
“You look like you’ve just taken a dildo up the ass,” she jokes.
I scoff. “I’m trying.”
“Maybe it’s better you pace holes in the floor then,” Vivian says. “At least that’s less stressful than watching you try and lay an egg.”
“You guys are assholes,” I growl, which only makes them laugh. But because we’re a family, I make a chicken wing with my arm and say, “bawk, bawk.” It only makes them laugh harder.
I’m joking back, but my nerves are very real. This is the biggest show we’ve ever played. While there’s no audience in front of us, except for the other bands, the crew, and a few lucky fans, the whole world will see this. This is televised everywhere, and this could be our big break. Even if we don’t win, we have to be on our game just in case another record label is watching. Or better yet, we have to make an impression to the rest of the world. Even if there’s no record deal, in this day and age, just going viral on social media can make or break you.
