Page 38 of Bewitched By the Phantom
He does.
Thank fuck.
There are still eight bands right now, but after this, they’re going to cut it down to three, which is a huge deal. If we don’tpull off this second duet as well as the first one, we’ll get cut, and then this was all for nothing. This can’t be for nothing. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after everything I’ve dealt with since I got here.
I keep my headphones firmly in place up until Ted tells us that we’re on in ten minutes. Only then do I remove them and face reality. Right now, reality is Erik standing in front of me with his golden mask firmly in place, his eyes on my face as I straighten and take a deep breath.
“You’ve been avoiding me, angel,” he murmurs when I can hear him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply, looking anywhere but at him. He’s dressed in his full gear, long coat and pristine outfit that’ll drive everyone crazy when they get a good look at him. I’d decided on going a little simpler today, wearing only my leather pants and a black corset. My hair is bright against all the black, the lime green standing out like I’m under neon. I’d made sure to freshen up the color last night so it’ll look good on camera. Especially since it’ll be streamed worldwide today and we’re relying on people’s votes. I gotta look my best for the fans and hope they pull us through to the next round.
Erik smirks at me. “You’re nervous.”
I finally look at him briefly before forcing my gaze away. The longer I look at him, the weaker I get. “Of course, I am. Only three bands make it to the next round.”
He strolls closer and I tense. When his finger tips my chin up, it takes everything inside me not to pull away. “Don’t worry, angel,” he murmurs. “Hell Hath Honey will be one of the three.”
“How do you know?”
His finger strokes along my jaw. “Trust me. I know. They’d be foolish not to pick you.” He leans down and presses his forehead to mine. “I’m looking forward to singing with you again.”
I want to tell him that I’m looking forward to singing with him again, too, but that feels dangerous to say. Instead, I nod and pull away, putting some space between us so I can breathe more clearly. “Just don’t fuck up.”
He smiles. “I would never. It would give Raoul too much pleasure.”
I roll my eyes, but that only makes him laugh under his breath before he grabs his guitar and gives it a strum. It’s perfectly in tune as usual. I’d kept my guitar as close to me as possible this time so no one can fuck with it. I’ve noticed a shift in the other bands when I walk into a room. It went from friendly competition to suddenly feeling as if everyone has it out for me. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone put razor blades in my boots at this point.
“You’re on,” Ted says before gesturing to the curtains.
“Let’s do this!” Claudia grunts before leading the way on stage.
Erik smiles and offers me his hand. “For the cameras.”
I sigh and nod. “For the cameras,” I repeat, slipping my hand in his and letting him lead me out onto the stage.
The lights are bright as we step out onto the concrete and wood stage, the cacophony of new lights and cameras in our faces feeling like they’ve doubled since last time. There’s a small audience today, mostly crew members and a few lucky people they let in who were standing outside. They look like mostly influencers, many of them standing with their cameras and mini mics at the ready. When we walk on stage, they start to clap and whistle, their hungry eyes on the way Erik holds my hand.
Everyone takes their place as I step up to the microphone. There’s only one microphone for the two of us again, but that’s okay. It makes it more intimate to sing into the same mic. We’d already discussed this. We plan to win, and the way we win iscapturing everyone’s hearts. If they need to think that Erik and I are an item, then so be it.
“Good evening, pets and crypt keepers,” Erik says into the mic. “We’re Cadaver Cantata and . . .”
“We’re Hell Hath Honey,” I add, winking at the cameras for the full effect. “This is ‘Graveyard Swing.’”
Erik and I immediately launch into the guitar riff that starts the song. Up in the corner of the stage, there’s a small screen that shows the current viewers and social media mentions. Right now, it’s showing just over two million viewers, low numbers. The mentions have slowly trickled up to the thousands, not crazy, not viral. We need to go viral. That number is important if we’re going to win this entire thing.
We’d written this song together in the last few days, both of our bands working together to finesse it. While it’s more upbeat and quirky than our usual stuff, we figured it would play into our personalities. Erik, with his golden retriever seduction, and me, with my black cat grumpiness—Claudia’s words, not mine. Apparently, everyone ships us online.
I lean forward and start to sing, keeping my eyes on Erik as I do so. “I caught your shadow dancing in the crypt light glow, laughing with the gargoyles like you’ve done this before. You said, “Darlin’, love’s a coffin, you just have to close the door,” but I like my romance cursed, just a little folklore.”
His eyes flash, eating this shit up. His hand curls up around mine where it’s wrapped around the mic, as he leans in and sings his verse. The numbers on the screen start to tick up, slowly at first, and then rapidly.
“You wear your fear like velvet, stitched in midnight thread,” he croons. “A halo made of whispers and the secrets of the dead. But don’t you know, my heart still beats. It’s just a little undead, and I’d haunt a thousand lifetimes just to share your bed.”
Erik’s husky voice echoes in the microphone. His eyes remain focused on me as we sing, his expression full of adoration as I let my voice echo right alongside his for the shared chorus. He leans closer, his eyes haunted as he presses a kiss to my knuckles where they’re wrapped around the mic. The numbers on the screen shoot out of sight.
“So let’s waltz through the tombstones, spin in the dust, raise a toast with the banshees, in ruin and rust,” we sing. “If this love is a monster, then baby don’t run. We’re the ghost and the lame, and the graveyard’s our sun.”
I grab the mic off the stand and dance around Erik as his fingers fly over the strings of his guitar. “You’re danger with dimples, a nightmare in rhyme.” I hold the mic out to Erik.
