Eighth Note (Fire Ballad Book 1) Read online

  “Hey.” His knock on the door made me jump.

  “Go away!”

  “Listen, I got some bars on my phone. I know this is the worst timing possible, but I wanted you to know. I’m going back downstairs.”

  I waited until he left, slowly opening the door.

  The room was old. Plain. Faded paint, chipping windowsill, scuffed hardwood floors. Trying again, I waved my hand in the air, turning the cabin back into the luxurious lodge once more.

  “Nice. Thanks,” Cole called from downstairs, and I ignored him, slamming the bedroom door in response.

  I had no idea how I managed to shower and get dressed. My mind raced, trying to rationalize that nothing had really happened, that it really was just a dream. At that moment, my phone rang, and I snatched it from the bed.

  “Will?”

  A piercing, mechanical whine answered me, and I wrenched the phone away from my ear, ending the call.

  Trying to dial home, I gave up at the words NO NETWORK across the top of my screen.

  Half-way down the stairs, I could smell food. Cole worked at the stove, flipping eggs in a skillet while fumbling with the coffee pot. “I went out this morning and picked up some groceries. I don’t know what you like, so I got a little of everything.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured, taking in the kitchen setting, realizing I’d created an exact replica of my parent’s kitchen in Ohio.

  He turned his brown eyes to mine, and I focused on his mouth, remembering the sensation of his facial hair against my lips.

  “Yeah, I fuckin’ kissed you. Let it go, it was a dream.”

  “I can’t believe you did that. I’m married,” I accused, and he met my offended tone with an eye-roll.

  “A half naked woman clingin’ to me in my bed, in my dream. Really?”

  “I’m not just any woman, I’m your… well, I don’t know what I am. Your business partner, I guess.”

  “You’re not my friend anymore?”

  “You sound like a second grader.”

  “Honey, you can’t blame me for what I did. A dream isn’t real. And besides, it took you long enough to stop me, so shut the fuck up and eat your eggs.”

  He slammed the plate down on the table in front of me, and I dropped my jaw, knocked completely speechless by his rude command. His hand moved to his mouth with a cigarette, and I managed to shoot him a threatening glare. Rolling his eyes again, he shoved the cigarette back into the box.

  “We’ve got to be at the studio by noon. We get one chance to look around. Eva,” he took the seat across from me, sipping his coffee. “Two more people have died. In a newsroom in New York City.”

  “No,” I dropped my fork, covering my mouth. “The recording? It’s leaking into the press?”

  He cleared his throat, taking another long drink. “We need some time to research. With no internet up here, we’ll have to go to the library in town. There first, then the studio, then back to the library-…,”

  “I need to hear it.”

  Chapter Ten

  The abrupt pounding in the walls sent me jerking in my chair, and Cole dropped the white, ceramic coffee mug, cursing.

  “Shit- what the hell is that?” He twisted in his seat for the dishtowel behind him, moving to wipe up the broken mug and coffee.

  “I need to hear the recording, Cole,” I repeated, focused on him. He stopped wiping and lifted his eyes to mine.

  “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Let’s try to find some more answers, and then decide what to do from there.”

  I hated how superior he was when he spoke to me. Will usually let me run the show, interjecting only when I was about to do something foolish.

  Which, admittedly, was often.

  “We don’t even know what we’re looking for, other than the stuff Mr. Fayette talked about last night. I think if I hear the recording, I’ll have a better understanding of what to look for.”

  “You told me that you were scared last night.” He accused, gathering the remains of the mug into the towel and carrying it to the waste basket to shake.

  “There were a gazillion pincher bugs crawling all over me! I was grossed out!”

  “It was before then. When you moved across the room. Something about the window. And the way you walked,” he sat back down, sighing so resolutely that I gathered the conversation was coming to an abrupt end. “Eat, hon. Let’s get in the car, get you some bars on that phone since mine are gone again, and then call your husband.”

  The eggs were already cold, but I ate them anyway, along with the buttered toast he’d made. The rain had brought on much cooler air, and I changed from shorts to tights and a green, paisley tunic to match my eyes. Twisting my hair into a knot at the back of my neck, I grabbed my bag and met him at the car.

  He was back in jeans and a battered tee-shirt, and I narrowed my eyes. “Do you have any other look besides homeless-and-under-a-bridge?”

  He grinned, slipping on a pair of aviators and shifting the car into reverse. “Is that a store? I need to check that out.”

  I rolled my eyes, waiving my hand in the air without asking for his input. Audioslave’s I Am the Highway began, and I watched his knuckles get tighter around the steering wheel.

  “This song okay?” I prodded as he pulled onto the long, dirt road.

  “Sure.”

  “You gonna tell me about your tattoo?” I urged, pointing at his arm. “About Rebecca?”

  His arms flexed, and I watched the cords of muscle expand beneath his skin. “Rebecca died in 2001.”

  “But… this song came out in 2004.”

  He didn’t respond, and I listened to the lyric about being miles apart, but still feeling too close to someone. “I did something that I regret, and I live with it every day. It’s personal. Drop it,” he snapped. A chill crept over my spine, and I turned away from him, staring out the window. I almost shrieked when the palm of his large hand landed over my knee. “I don’t want to sound like a dick. Just let it go, honey, okay?”

  “Okay,” I answered, and he gave my leg a reassuring squeeze before returning to the wheel.

  “So… library?”

  “We don’t have time. We’ll go on our way back.”

  “Right.” I almost choked on my words as I realized I had network access. Calling home, I waited for half a ring, relief flooding through me as I heard Will’s voice on the line.

  “Eva?”

  “Oh, thank God. Will,” I waved my finger in a circle, turning the music down. Perry was crying in the background, and I heard him hushing her.

  “Where have you been? I thought that I would see you last night, in my dreams, love.”

  “I know, I’m sorry, I’m having trouble controlling my magic. I don’t know what’s going on,” I answered, listening to Perry’s soft whining. “Is she okay?”

  “She is quite finished with lunch, but still insists that she is hungry,” he replied, and I heard the cabinet doors open. “Say hello to Mommy,” he coaxed, and I heard her soft breaths in the phone.

  “Hi Pea,” I called, appalled as tears burned behind my eyes. What in the hell is wrong with me? “Mommy loves you.”

  “She loves you too,” Will promised. “How did the dinner go? Were her parents receptive to your help?”

  “Kind of. We’re going to the studio right now, and then the library to do some research. There’s just no network at the cabin. When you called this morning, I couldn’t even hear you.”

  “I didn’t call this morning, love,” he replied, sighing. “It took all of my restraint to not get on a plane and track you down. I am trying to trust that you are the competent woman that I know that you are. I only wish your father would stop calling every hour.”

  “Oh, Will. I’m sorry. Thank you. I’ll call him,” I promised. “I’m fine, really. I’ll call you this evening before we go back to the cabin.”

  “I would like to talk to Cole, please.”

  I turned to Cole, confused, speaking into the phone.
“Um… okay?” I handing the phone over. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Groaning something unintelligible under his breath, he took my phone. “Will.”

  He was silent for almost two straight minutes, and I closed my eyes, tuning into the frequency and listening into my husband’s words.

  “… my wife. You will protect her, and you will see to it that she does not make rash decisions that will put her in harm’s way. She promised me that she would not listen to the song. See that she keeps her promise.”

  “Got it,” he clipped, shoving the phone back in my direction. I set my jaw, irritated. So much for trusting that I’m a competent woman.

  “Love you,” I mumbled.

  “I love you, Eva.”

  We drove for nearly ten minutes in silence, and finally Cole spoke. “You two are complete opposites. I’m surprised you lasted this long.”

  “Wow.” I scoffed, powering up my iPad. “That’s a shitty thing to say.”

  “What? It’s true. Must be love.”

  “Of course it’s love. Why else would I be married to him?”

  “The kingdom? Icepond?” He suggested. “Your marriage was a formality, so that you could be queen.”

  He could have slapped me across the face and I wouldn’t have been more stunned. “Who in the hell told you that?”

  “Your dad.”

  He reached for a cigarette, and I could feel my temper straining. The entire pack of Marlboros burst into flames, and he swore, tossing the flaming box out the open window.

  “Eva!”

  “My dad had a problem with me marrying him in the beginning, but all that changed. And yes, I may have married him to be queen, but I fell in love with him. And he loves me. Don’t talk about my personal life.”

  “Sor-ry.” He mused, grating my nerves.

  He stopped speaking to me for the rest of the drive, which was just as well because I could finally access the internet on my iPad. I hurried to my blog, preparing a quick post about how I would be away for a while, and then jumped over to Facebook.

  When I saw my sister online, I typed her a quick message.

  Vi, please, please, please will you do a quick post about something music related for me tomorrow?

  Her response was almost instantaneous.

  No.

  Come ON.

  No, because you hate my taste in music.

  Ask Logan then.

  This is Logan.

  Jesus, get off my sister’s FB account.

  I said this is Logan, not Jesus.

  LOGAN!!

  “You coulda written your own post by now,” Cole pointed out, and I snapped my eyes to his, exasperated.

  “You’re reading over my shoulder? Just freaking drive.”

  “We’re here,” he replied, pulling uphill into a gravel driveway. I shoved my iPad into my bag, focused on the small, one-story building.

  “Where are the windows?”

  “Good question,” he mumbled, climbing out of the car. I continued staring at the building, replaying the horrible video in my mind as my heartbeat quickened.

  I jolted as the passenger door swung open. Cole swept his hand inelegantly through the air. “Your majesty.”

  “Shut up,” I snapped, stepping out and straightening. After a moment, I rolled my shoulders back, taking a deep breath. “I mean, thank you.”

  “The doors are blocked off,” he noticed. He kept his aviators on, and I followed him, berating myself for remembering the way I’d gripped his broad shoulders last night.

  In my dream. Just a dream.

  “I thought you said we had clearance-…,”

  “Mathison,” a voice to our right drew both of our attentions. A tall, African-American man in a suit and tie approached, and I noticed the badge at his belt immediately. “Nice to see you, man.”

  “Monroe,” Cole acknowledged, his arm falling over my shoulders. I stiffened at his friendly half-hug. “This is Eva Reed. The girl I told you about.”

  He sized me up in one glance, and I shrugged Cole’s arm away. “She’s just a kid. She old enough to handle this?”

  “I’m an old soul,” I mocked haughtily, reaching for my phone. “I assume I can take video here? All confidential, of course.”

  “Officially, no, you can’t, young lady.” He crossed his arms over his chest, staring me down, and I shrugged, slipping my phone into my purse.

  “Then officially I won’t,” I responded, sliding my video app open with one thumb. I could see the red, blinking light from inside my purse. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The words DO NOT CROSS repeated again and again on the yellow tape, draping over the entrance to Studio C. Another man stood talking to an older woman just inside, and I almost cringed as she shot me a disgusted grimace. “Son of a… Monroe, tell me these aren’t the fucking ghost hunters.”

  “Caroline, hear them out. I’ve worked with Cole twice and-…,”

  “Wait, how old are you, kid?” She demanded, glaring at me.

  I knew my nostrils were flaring. I was tempted to just turn the entire studio into a cruise ship or a fucking jungle just to show her what I was capable of. Instead, I smiled politely, removing my driver’s license from my wallet (while also taking that opportunity to palm my iPhone.) “I’m twenty. And I’m kind of a musician. I understand that people are dying, and the cause of their death has to do with Nina’s song. I’m here to try to understand that- and stop it. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine, just say so.”

  “I want her help,” Gerald Fayette appeared in the hallway, waving away two additional investigators. “Mrs. Reed. Mr. Mathison. Thank you for coming today.”

  “I want to go in alone first,” I ignored Gerald, which I knew was probably rude as hell, but a sudden curiosity was grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the booth.

  Caroline frowned. “No. Mr. Fayette, this is a crime scene.”

  Monroe cut her off. “Let her go in, she knows what she’s doing.”

  The group of investigators parted for me in silence. Cole followed me but stopped at the doorway of the booth.

  “I’m right here, honey,” he promised, and I gave him a dismissive nod, pulling away the yellow tape like it was a giant mass of spider webs.

  The bloodstains on the beige indoor-outdoor carpeting drew my attention first. I’d seen blood before. I was familiar with death; I’d killed men, watched the life drain from their eyes as I pressed my fingers over their chests and set their hearts on fire. Those men had helped keep my mother imprisoned and tortured, and they deserved what they’d gotten.

  They’d deserved to die.

  The insides of my palms began to itch, and I scratched them absently, taking in the small recording booth.

  Nina Fayette was young, smart, and talented. She had an amazing future ahead of her, and yet she’d bent herself backwards in half and stabbed her brains out.

  Why?

  My skin on my palm burned, and I scratched harder, swallowing the saliva pooling in the back of my jaws. The smell of old wood, or rotting eggs, or something was so strong, I struggled not to gag. Must be whatever industrial cleanser they used to clean this up.

  The recording booth looked like any other booth I’d been in. The padded walls were a deep purple color, raised like an egg carton. Darkened stains appeared in the corner she’d crawled into, and I knew it was blood on the walls.

  The rectangular window faced the room that Caroline, Monroe, and Cole stood in. Cole’s eyes met mine, and I nodded once, answering his silent question. Yes, I’m fine.

  “She was alone?” I asked, and Monroe bent to speak into the intercom.

  “Yes.”

  “How was she recording her vocals? Was her computer in here? Her keyboard?”

  Caroline had the decency to look impressed with my question, but Monroe was unfazed. “No.”

  “What?” I narrowed my eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense. How was she recording, then?”

&nb
sp; He answered me with a pointed stare, and I realized why I was there.

  They didn’t believe that Nina was alone.

  These people were looking for a murderer, not a supernatural being. I took twenty more seconds of footage with my iPhone before ending the recording and returning to Cole.

  Chapter Twelve

  “So you’re looking for a person?” I began, and Caroline gave me that same shifty-eyed glare that made me want to cunt punt her right across the studio.

  “Nina openly advocated the recreational use of marijuana,” she began, and I exhaled a sarcastic laugh.

  “So? All the joints in the world wouldn’t make someone kill themselves in that way,” I argued, and then immediately wished I’d considered that Mr. Fayette was standing just outside in the hallway.

  Monroe shifted impatiently. “No, we’re talking about K2. It’s known on the streets as spice.”

  “Fake weed. Where a different chemical ingredient is used instead of THC,” Cole added, and I listened intently. I had tried marijuana once in high school, and the effects on an immortal were disappointingly boring. My dad smelled it on me when I got home, though, and grounded me for a month.

  “Ten times stronger than THC. Early toxicology reports found traces in her system.”

  “But if she smoked a lot of pot, the chances of some of it being laced with this other chemical would be pretty high, wouldn’t they? And would traces be enough to…,” I didn’t go into detail, but I was sure that everyone’s minds went straight to the surveillance camera video.

  “No,” Monroe agreed, gesturing between me and Cole. “That’s why I called you.”

  Cole rubbed his hand over my upper arm, reassuring. “You need a little longer?” He asked me, and I shook my head, adjusting the strap of my purse to cross between my breasts.

  “Nope. Now, I need to research.”

  “I’ll call you. Don’t have much reception in the mountains, but I’ll be coming into town tomorrow, too,” Cole told Monroe, shaking his hand.

  “You’re going to listen to the song?” Mr. Fayette interrupted, and I sighed, turning to him.