Page 75 of Never Say Die
He shook his head. “I’ve got rehearsal. What about breakfast tomorrow?”
This time, she shook her head. “Got an early morning social with first time attendees. New blood, you know? Potential buyers.” She narrowed her eyes, staring at his neck. “What’s that?”
“What?”
Camila flicked the bandage covering the freshly unstitched knife-mark on his throat. “That.”
“It’s nothing.” Thankfully, the new fang-prints were hidden by his choker. He batted her away.
“What is it? Tell me,” she said, and reached out to flick him again.
“A hickey! It’s a hickey. Christ, Cami.Enough.”
“Oh, right,” she murmured, and switched her gaze to Shay, who took his time at the bar. “How could I forget. You have two braincells, you know that? He’s dangerous, Aiden. You’ve got your water, yeah? I’ll give you more while I’m here?—”
“Ease up about it, all right? And I’ve got three braincells, at least.”
“Take this.” She dug into her purse and dropped a black paperback—Defiéndase Con El Diablo: Magia Negra—onto the table between them. “We’ll be carrying this volume and two others by the same author next month. It’s good. Informative.Take it.”
Aiden rolled his eyes but snared the book with two fingers and dragged it toward him. “Gracias,” he said, sarcastically.
She snorted. “I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re bein’ good, yeah? Stayin’ out of trouble? Mama’ll kill you, hermano. I’m not kidding.” She kissed him on the cheek, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Love you, see you tomorrow.”
“Read that book,” Camila said, and thumbed lipstick off his face.I don’t believe you,her eyes said, and he remembered how difficult it was to lie to her. She scrubbed her palm over his buzzed head before she walked away, black lace flowing behind her, woven by their mother.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Pastel splattered the horizon, sent upward by the sinking sun, and cast a golden glow across Decatur Street. Aiden stood on the sidewalk outside the House of Blues and watched the sun reach for the moon. Black bled into navy, pressing on bronze streaks and orange-bellied clouds. Thin light chased a shadow down a nearby alley, stretched away from ankles he couldn’t see. Pink hugged the space between buildings and disappeared beneath the concrete. He lifted a cigarette to his lips, sucked, exhaled pale plumes, and flicked the butt into a slimy gutter.
“Hey, everything’s ready,” Pru said. She leaned around the front door, snapping her fingers to get his attention. Sherlock perched on her shoulder, buckled into a blue harness and clipped to a leash. “Don’t let Georgia see that. She’ll grab you by the ear, auntie style.”
He nodded, laughing under his breath. “Any chance I can get a beer on my way in?”
“Already got a pitcher backstage.”
“Bless,” Aiden said. He scratched Sherlock’s head andfollowed Pru inside, dipping left through a door labeled Stage Crew beside the bar.
House of Blues had requested Knight’s Blood after the larger, more prestigious arena pulled out post-David Crystal-meltdown. Yeah, the paycheck might’ve been skinnier, but Aiden still loved gigs at homey theaters rich with weird history. The walls were teal, orange, and canary yellow, decorated with stained reclaimed wood and eclectic artwork. Neon flames surrounded the doorframes, overlayed with glowing handprints and names scrawled in permanent ink. He ran his hand along Claudio Sanchez’s signature, and thought,you’ve come so far from innocence.
Meeting with Kelly had turned him skittish, dwelling onwhatandifandwho. Drowning. Shay coated in blood. Laura staring at him through their shared reflection. Clumsy fear filled his throat, shaped like the rock Thomas had shoved into his mouth all those weeks ago. He reached for the scar on his throat, the place Cit’s knife had nicked him, and remembered cacti and desolate desert. How similar they’d been, in the end. Except Aiden had lived. Bled and fought and survived after standing on a cliff, begging for a stolen future. Now he wondered whatfuturemeant. Dying, living. Becoming unstoppable.
If Laura could be created, she could be destroyed, and if those ass-backward witches could fill her with power, then Aiden could fucking steal it.
“Stage entrance is to the right. I’ll be in the green room, just holler if you need me,” Pru said, and waved with Sherlock’s paw as she walked through the open doorway at the end of the hall.
Aiden ducked past a curtain and grabbed his guitar off the instrument stand.
Dylan greeted him with a nod and gestured to the pre-poured beer seated on the taped X where Aiden was meant tostand. “Jacob wants to talk once we’re done with rehearsal,” he said.
“Great. Any chance we’re gettin’ out of that hotel?” Aiden asked.
Shay frowned, shaking his head. “Everyone had the same idea we did. The manager gave us a partial refund, at least.”
“At least,” Georgia scoffed.
“We’re only here for two more nights. They had the pool drained and the media wrangled before we left, so.” Shay tipped the microphone stand with his foot. “It sucks, but we’ll deal.”
