Eighth Note (Fire Ballad Book 1) Read online

  “I got your email, Cole. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to write you back. Things have been hectic since we got home.”

  “Hectic-good?” He clarified, and I nodded with a bright smile.

  “Yes, definitely hectic-good. I’m committed to three more articles for Rolling Stone between now and the end of next year, and I just scored an interview with Beyonce.”

  “Beyonce? That’s the girl with all the costumes?”

  “Maybe?” I exhaled a laugh, curling a lock of Perry’s hair in my fingers. “Or are you thinking of Lady Gaga?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he stood again, pushing his aviators up to his forehead. “Good for you, kid. You sound happy. Nothing crazy happening, then?” He urged.

  “If you’re asking about demonic activity, that’s a negative,” I quipped, kneeling into the fall leaves. “Come on Pea, it’s okay.”

  “So, have you thought about my email?” He went on, patting his coat pockets. I watched his eyes drop to Perry, and he stopped fumbling for a cigarette.

  “Murder in an amusement park, Cole?” I scoffed, finally getting Perry to let go of me long enough to stretch my back. “Ruh-roh.”

  He smirked at my Scooby-Doo reference. “Not just amusement parks. Carousels. There have been six postcards sent so far, and six missing women. Each postcard shows a photo of the woman, dead, tied to a carousel horse.”

  “Doesn’t sound paranormal to me. Call the FBI.”

  “She gets the postcard in the mail before she goes missing.”

  Following him, I raised my eyebrows, my interest piqued. “So she walks out to her mailbox, opens it up, and sees a picture of herself, dead. Her own self.”

  “Yes.”

  “Mumm,” Perry tugged on the door of the Cozy Coupe impatiently, and Cole bent over to open the plastic hatch for her.

  “Okay, admittedly, that sounds pretty creepy. How did you get involved?” He swallowed, patting his jacket again. I rolled my eyes. “Oh for Christ’s sake, Cole, smoke. Just do it away from Perry.”

  He nodded, moving closer to the garage. “When I show this to you, you’re going to want to help me. But I need to know that I’m not… disrupting… your family. Your marriage.” He stressed.

  “My marriage is just fine, thank you,” I replied, dropping my hands to my hips. “What, you have a postcard? What does it look like?” I demanded. “Is it gross?”

  He snorted, sticking the cigarette in his mouth. “Only you.”

  “Well, is it?” I pushed, clicking my fingers and cupping the flame in my hand for him.

  He lit the end of the cigarette, taking a long drag before digging into his coat pocket. “Here.”

  The postcard was light, made of cheap stock paper. I narrowed my eyes at the photo on the front.

  A girl hung over the back of a white carousel horse, her long, golden brown hair spilling onto the floor of the ride. A thin blanket of snow layered the ground. Her wide eyes stared forward, unblinking, and her arms fell out at her sides.

  Blood dripped from both of her wrists.

  My hand shot to my mouth, and I stumbled, quickly looking for Perry. She played happily in her Coupe, pressing the horn and giggling at the musical sound that it produced.

  “It’s Wynn,” I whispered, letting my gaze fall back on the horrible postcard. “It’s Logan’s daughter.”

  “I know. She came to me with it, knowing that you and I worked together on Nina’s death. She doesn’t want her dad to know this. She’s so fuckin’ scared, Eva.”

  Closing my eyes tightly, I tried to slow my thudding heart. “When did she receive this?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “And the others? How long between the time they receive the postcard, and their deaths?”

  “It varies. There have been six deaths.”

  “Did she contact the police?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know where this is?” I fired. He shook his head.

  “It’s an old carousel. I’m trying to locate it.”

  “Wynn is immortal,” I managed weakly. “She would live though this.”

  He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Which is why she called me. She wants to try to catch who’s doing this. She’s willing to go to whatever lengths it takes to stop this bastard.”

  I nodded, handing him the postcard. “Where is she?”

  He cleared his throat. “She’s stayin’ with me.”

  “And Logan is okay with that?” I scoffed, thinking about how protective he was over his two daughters. Rose was still in elementary school, but Wynn was nineteen.

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “Fuck.” I groaned, and then cringed when I watched Perry turn her wide, blue eyes in my direction. “Sorry, Pea. Mommy meant fudge.”

  “You’ll help us, then?”

  “Of course I will. She’s my family, Cole. She’s my niece. She’s your… soul sister?” I tried, and he rolled his eyes, dropping the cigarette to the ground and twisting his booted foot over the gravel.

  “She’s just a scared little girl, and I’m not letting her do this by herself. She knows computers, I’ll tell you that- she’s already hacked into the police station in Pennsylvania where the last death happened.”

  “She’s always been really smart,” I remembered, sighing. “Okay, I have to talk to Will. I’ll convince him that I have to do this, and it won’t be like… last time. I’m sure he’ll understand, it’s Wynn.”

  “Eva?”

  I lifted my eyes to his. “What?”

  “I don’t need your magic on this one. I’m only asking you because you told me that you wanted to help again. There’s no money involved in this, not like the Fayette case.”

  I cocked my hip to the side and struck a vain little pose, sweeping my hand over my outfit. “Thanks to my partner not keeping a cent of Fayette’s money, I’m $500,000 richer. And there’s no fucking way I’d leave Wynn alone to face… whoever is doing this.”

  “If we’re dealing with an actual serial killer, kid, there’s more than Wynn’s safety at stake. This case is gaining world-wide attention. Wynn is an immortal. We have to protect what we are.”

  I nodded again, looking down at my daughter. Keeping the world from knowing our secret was essential to our family. If we were discovered, there was no telling what would be expected of us.

  What they would do to us.

  “Okay.” I extended my hand, and he accepted my handshake.

  “Okay,” he repeated, amused even in the midst of our serious discussion.

  “When do we start?”

  “Daa!” Perry clapped with glee as Will’s car pulled down the road. Cole bent to pick up the cigarette butt from the ground, dropping it into the pocket of his leather coat.

  The look on Will’s face as he spotted Cole made my blood run cold.

  “You have my number, call me.”

  Cole got into his car and began backing out of the driveway. I couldn’t hear the words that he exchanged with Will through open windows, but I was sure they weren’t good.

  I watched him climb out of our Range Rover, heading straight for me. “Eva, before you tell me why Cole was here, let me enjoy another minute of blissful ignorance and simply kiss you.”

  Smiling, I leaned in, his warm mouth on mine. I loved the way he made my body come alive in every way with only his kiss. “Okay. We’ll talk later.”

  “Also, the answer is no,” he added, nodding toward Cole’s car as he drove away.

  “But, Will, I didn’t ask for permission,” I replied sweetly, scooping Perry into my arms before depositing her into Will’s.

  “Ah, Eva. You never do,” he answered with a defeated grin, wrapping his arm around me and tucking Perry against his chest.

  Fire Ballad Blog Post:

  One Hit, One Soul

  I’m still reeling from having met my favorite singer of all time, Ben E. King. Thank you all for the encouraging messages, and for your donations to the Stand By Me Foun
dation. This week’s topic is a kind of serious, so hang in there with me for a few.

  Today, I’m talking about success, and the price we are willing to pay for realizing our dreams.

  The story of people “selling their soul” in exchange for fame, fortune, and power has dated back as far as the beginning of time. Of course, all of this information is just a bunch of rumored bullshit without actual proof.

  But what proof are we looking for? Who will ever see the end result of this deal with a demon, or with Satan himself? Are we being asked to believe that popes and priests, writers and artists, soldiers and slaves, doctors, lawyers, and- yes, musicians- have traded their eternal soul in the ultimate act of vanity and greed?

  If you scour the internet or even just hit up Google, names that you hear every day are rumored to have made such deals- several of whom I’ve had the personal pleasure of meeting and interviewing with about their music.

  Is there any truth to this? How far are you willing to go to realize your dreams?

  A man that I love very much taught me that we will only feel deserving of the things that we’ve earned, not what is handed to us on a silver platter. Are dreams that are simply handed to us ever really fulfilled? Will guilt ultimately serve as your own personal demon, preventing you from ever truly enjoying your success?

  Ultimately, none of us will ever know the truth to these legendary deals. The afterlife remains a mystery to us all, and only our faith offers answers to what happens beyond the moment of our last breath. If my favorite artist did, in fact, sell herself to the devil for fame and fortune, then she will be the one to answer to the deal that was made.

  Meanwhile, I’ll be tapping my foot to her awesome music, praying for her fucking soul.

  KIMBERLY ADAMS

  www.ADAMSROMANCE.com