Page 15 of Bewitched By the Phantom
But that night, I dream of a stage made of bones and sixteen bands performing in a circle. Static Saint is there, clear as day, but they’re also the first one to vanish. One by one, each band disappears, swallowed by shadow, until only three remain.
Hell Hath Honey.
The Cadaver Cantata.
And Angels Bleed Mercury.
I wake up with a lyric on my lips.
“The music feeds something. And the silence is always starving . . .”
Chapter
Ten
I’m paying closer attention now. I want to know exactly what is happening, so now, I see every little detail. The way shadows seems to grow abnormally, stretching and moving with a mind of their own. The way the mirrors seem to make my skin crawl now that I notice the half second delay. The blank spot still on the rehearsal schedule. The way a few of the bands known for partying seem to be quieter now, keeping to themselves and not speaking to anyone else. I don’t even think I see them get up for food.
I’m so stressed out, that I find myself the next evening strolling into one of the empty rehearsal rooms with my guitar. Normally, we practice as a band, but I need some solo time. Nothing calms me like the feeling of my fingers dancing over the strings of my guitar.
I tape the electric guitar. “Let’s get you warmed up, Cynthia.”
Yes. I named my guitar Cynthia. Sue me.
I need this solo practice after a long day of weirdness and stress as we wait for the results of the first round. Why does it take so long? Apparently, some of the voting has gone wonky and they’re trying to fix it. Just another weird thing happening apparently. I just need to breathe and make some noise.
I start with a raw, stripped-down version of “Lace and Lighting,” just my voice, Cynthia, and the hint of exhaustion I can hear in the lyrics. It doesn’t make the tension in my chest ease, but it does help me take a few deeper breaths. Just when I start to play another song from our setlist, I feel a pair of eyes on me. I don’t look up, my instincts already telling me who is there.
“Do you haunt every dark corner in this place, or is it just me?” I ask, not looking up.
His warm chuckle washes over me. “Only the corners that sing,” he jokes.
I look up at Erik, at the way his golden mask shines in the low light. Someone hung up half dead Christmas lights in here and it casts a weird glow on Erik’s mask.
“You ever take that thing off?”
He touches his fingers to his mask. “Not often. Leaves everyone with an air of mystery.”
“Guess it’s part of your persona, huh.” I shrug. “It works for you.”
He smiles. “You practicing?”
“Not really. Just . . . needed some time to breathe.”
His eyes flick over to an old dusty keyboard in the corner. I don’t know who’s it is, but they really need to clean the thing up. That amount of dust shouldn’t be on it after a week.
“Do you mind if I play with you?” he asks.
I raise my brows. “Be my guest.”
He grabs the dusty keyboard and despite not plugging it in, it crackles to life the moment he settles it on the stand and takes a seat in front of it. His fingers dance over the keys, testing them, before he looks up at me, his eyes bright. The moment his fingers form a melody, I recognize exactly what it is.
The same melody that’s been haunting me for days now.
“Is this a joke?” I growl, staring at him.
“Why would it be a joke?”
“This feels like some sort of sick game you’re playing,” I point out. “You’re not some sick murderer, are you? Gonna chop me up in little pieces?”
