Page 48 of Bewitched By the Phantom
Raoul staggers, stunned, but not finished by a long shot. He lashes out again, a wild punch that Erik barely dodges. The cameras swarm around them, capturing everything, televising this moment for all the world to see.
We scatter, Claudia shouting orders to the crew and stagehands as panic erupts around us.
“Everyone get out of the blast zone! Go, go, go!” she orders, as the two men slam against each other, throwing punches, slamming each other into the stage, against the levers, stumbling into the drum set and sending it scattering.
“Stop it!” I scream, not sure what to do. Both men tower over me. If I get in between them, I have no doubt I’ll take a punch to the head I can’t handle. “Erik! Raoul!”
They slam away from the levers and roll off the stage as they wrestle for the upper hand. It’s clear Erik is going easy on Raoul, like he’s still trying not to hurt him as they throw punch after punch. I know that’s for me, not for Raoul’s benefit. Raoul tries to wrap his arm around Erik’s neck, trying to choke him out, but Erik slips away from him and hits him in the ribs.
Something cracks and I frown, looking up for the source of the sound. It’s only then I realize that the massive, garish chandelier someone had hung for dramatic effect is swinging precariously. I follow the rope line that holds it up only to realize the levers are loose, and the rope is slowly creaking as it slides free.
It’s right above Raoul and Erik as they fight, the crowd pressing back to give them more room. I leap off the stage, rushing toward them.
The chandelier shudders, and then gives one final, fatal creak.
“Erik!” I scream.
But Erik is already moving before I can save him. He spins, wrapping me in his arms, before we dive away from thestage. The chandelier crashes behind us in an explosion of gold and glass and thunder. The crowd screams around us as the chandelier crashes against half of the stage and right where we’d all been standing. The stage cracks under the force. Sparks fly as the bulbs explode. Smoke begins to billow through the air like some furious spirit has been summoned, flames licking along the few things that can burn in the room. Security surges forward, trying to gain control of the situation. But by the time they reach the wreckage, we’re already gone.
Only the broken stage and shattered chandelier remain.
And a mask—charred and cracked—lying in the debris like the last remnant of a legend.
Chapter 27
Claudia
Istep off the tour bus into the crisp dawn air, phone in hand, scanning the empty parking lot of the abandoned power plant for a familiar face. The place is eerily quiet now, or as quiet as a post Battle of the Bands ruins could be. They’d wrapped up production and cleared everyone out, but I know they left the shattered chandelier in there for dramatic effect. We’d even had to do a photoshoot with it, Chris in a black shredded ballgown wrapped up in the chandelier, Erik inside the wreckage with her, the rest of our bands draped around the scene. I’m not gonna lie, the photos had been pretty fucking epic.
I spot Raoul pacing by the grand entrance, white coat collar turned up against the wind. With a sigh, I approach him, my hands in the pockets of my black peacoat.
“Raoul?” I call softly when he doesn’t seem to hear my approach.
He whirls, his eyes red-rimmed, chest heaving. “She made a mistake,” he says, the first words he’s spoken to me since the chaos of the competition.
I straighten and look him in the eyes. “She made a choice.”
“She made the wrong one!” he growls. “It should have been me!”
Sighing, I unlock my phone, my thumb hovering over the play button. I hold it up between us. “Listen,” I encourage him.
I tap play. A deep guitar riff roars to life, followed by our new duet’s chorus. Hell Hath Honey featuring The Cadaver Cantata. The label had damn near demanded it, but lucky for them, we were okay with. Somehow, it feels like the two bands belong together. The new song blares from my phone speaker. Erik’s velvet growl weaves through Chris’s raw power, the lyrics practically burning with charisma.
“From ashes we rise. In shadows, we find our light. We wrote our requiem tonight . . .”
The track ends on a triumphant note that my bass remembers like a dream.
“Billboard just posted its number one across every rock chart,” I tell him, making it clear that Chris’s choice is set in stone. “It’s our song.Theirsong.”
Raoul’s shoulders slump, his jaw clenched.
“Try not to search for her, Raoul. She made her choice,” I say again.
His eyes flick up and meet mine with a stab of pain. “Can you tell her . . . Could you tell her I’m sorry? And that I still lover her?”
I nod, my shoulders rising with my sigh. “I’ll tell her.”
He nods once, and without another word, he turns and strides into the morning mist, wounded pride trailing behind him.
