Eighth Note (Fire Ballad Book 1) Read online

  “Dr. Haines has been restrained by six leather straps; arms and legs, around his waist, and across his neck. We have ruled out such conditions as Pseudobulbar Palsy, Capgras Syndrome, Tourettes Syndrome, and Allotriophagy.”

  The snapping of what sounded like bone grew louder, and I exhaled slowly, gripping Cole’s elbow to pull the phone down better into my view. Dr. Willoughby must have been angling the camera; she approached the bed, and my first view of Dr. Haines’ face forced a cry from my throat.

  His jaw was obviously dislocated. His right eye was gone, leaving behind a gutted pit. “We believe that Dr. Haines’ body has acted as a vacuum, essentially ingesting his own eye.”

  “What?” My stomach kicked me square in the club sandwich, and I turned away, breathing in through my nose and out my mouth.

  “Dr. Haines and Dr. Len Stone were both exposed to the music this morning at the same time. Dr. Stone broke free of his binds approximately thirty minutes after exposure and swallowed several objects in the room before…,” Dr. Knox cleared his throat, raising his voice above the roaring. “…before forcing his head through the glass window. The blunt trauma killed him instantly.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Cole exhaled his words, his arm sliding around my waist. “You okay?”

  I nodded, my leg bobbing up and down nervously. Come on, Eva. You’re stronger than this. Pay attention!

  “Dr. Haines exhibited no side effects from listening to the track until Dr. Stone’s death. At that time, Dr. Haines then began behaving… differently.”

  “What about the journalists? In the news room? Did they listen at the same time?” I turned to Monroe, and he gave a confirming nod.

  “One threw himself out the window. The other followed.”

  “But there’s no security footage of the… event?”

  “There is, but it’s been fully reviewed. They listen, and follow each other out the window-”

  “I want to see it,” I rushed, resisting the urge to press my palms over my ears at the doctor’s incessant screaming. “And the police officers?”

  “We have no video of the officer’s deaths. They were in an office with no surveillance.”

  The doctor’s screeching took on a new level of shrill, and all the blood ran from my head as he formed a long E sound. The phonic grew from low and strangled to a sinister growl, silenced so suddenly that I almost shrieked. The camera jostled, and I smashed myself against Cole, my breathing doubled.

  I recognized the doctor in the bed. Even with a missing eye, I recognized his face.

  There’s no way-

  “E…va…,”

  I heard it. Cole heard it, and Monroe heard it. My name. My own fucking name.

  I shot to my feet in time to watch Dr. Haines sit straight up on the bed, the leather strap tearing at flesh and bone and cartilage as the man thoroughly decapitated himself.

  I was screaming, and so was the doctor filming on the other end of the camera. I ran through the hallways, depositing flames along the floor as I left the studio. Somehow I made it to the parking lot, skidding to a halt to bend over, panting.

  Out of control. My magic was coursing through my veins, I could feel it, but had no ability to grab the reigns. The overhead lights in the parking lot sizzled and smashed, glass cascading over the stones.

  I couldn’t find the strength to extinguish the fire rising inside the building. Breathing hard, I tried to wave at the studio, but the flames only built, reaching the ceiling, suffocating under windowless walls.

  Cole and Monroe burst through the front entryway, and Cole had me in his arms, gripping me to his chest. “Are you okay? Eva!”

  “Yes!” I shouted through my panic. Monroe was radioing for the fire department, and I was being pushed into Cole’s Chevelle.

  “Go, there are gas lines, just drive! I’ll be behind you!” Monroe shouted, and my back flattened against the seat as Cole tore from the parking lot, sending stones flying behind his tires.

  “Buckle up,” he ordered.

  “I did this! I’m so sorry!” I cried, and he silenced me by reaching across my lap, jerking on the seatbelt.

  “Buckle!” He repeated, and I obeyed, watching the police car’s sirens and lights through the rearview mirror.

  “He looked like Troy! And he said my name, Cole, and I just… kind of… lost it,” I gripped the door, watching him maneuver a curve while barely turning the wheel. The mountain studio was a blaze behind us, and I could see the flames above the treetops now.

  Two fire trucks flew past us, followed by two more with their sirens blaring.

  “Troy?” He looked at me, confused. “Just calm down. Take some deep fuckin’ breaths. Don’t blow up my car,” he added, and I scowled.

  “I’m calm. I’m okay now. Where are we going?”

  “The police station.”

  “Cole,” I scratched at my palms, twisted in the seat to look at him. “I think I might have an idea about what’s happening.”

  “Oh, yeah? Does it involve demon fuckin’ possession? Cause what the fuck did we just watch?”

  His voice was breathy, lowered, and I could hear the panic in his tone. Reaching for his arm, I ran my fingers over the back of his hand, evening my voice.

  “Cole,” I repeated, calmly. Quietly. “Don’t go to the police station. Slow down, pull off into the bar again. Okay? Hey,” I moved my hand to the back of his neck, sliding my fingers into his hair. I could feel him relax beneath my touch, and I forced a smile. “Hey, just listen to me, it’ll be okay. Pull off here.”

  He seemed entranced by my words, swinging into the parking lot of Duffy’s Tavern. The place was packed now, and Monroe pulled in behind us, turning off his sirens but not his lights.

  We climbed out of the car, Monroe meeting Cole at his door. “You two okay?”

  “We’re fine,” I assured him, looking up at Cole pointedly. “We both need a drink, though. Would you like to join us?”

  They looked at me like I was insane, but I only widened my smile.

  “Come on, guys,” I urged. “That was some scary shit. But we’re okay. For now. Right?”

  “Kid, you got more balls that half my PD,” Monroe shook his head, backing to his car. “I’m on duty. They’ve got the fire almost out. There’s a lot of damage. Meet me at the station tomorrow morning, eight AM. Got it?”

  “Okay,” Cole agreed. We watched him pull away, and I bent inside the open window of the Chevelle, reaching for his cigarettes.

  “Some-body’s in troub-le,” I sang under my breath, and Cole rolled his eyes at me. “I’m going to jail for arson.”

  “No one can accuse you of arson. Just… fear.”

  “Yeah. Apparently, it’s not just ‘passion’ that makes me lose control. I never knew about the fear part. I don’t think I’ve ever been that afraid,” I admitted, standing on my toes and sticking the cigarette between his lips. Snapping my fingers, I controlled the flame at the end of my thumb. He took a quick drag, lighting the end. “Are you okay, Cole?”

  He leaned against Mack, taking two more long drags while focused on me. “There is no fuckin’ way you are listening to that recording. I want to make that clear right here and now.”

  Normally, being told that I absolutely couldn’t do something only made me want to do it more, but after what I’d just seen, I only looked down at my feet.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A few patrons had come outside to find out what was going on with the police car, but they’d already disappeared back into the bar before Monroe pulled out of the parking lot.

  “So, talk. What do you know?” He asked, calmer now. I rubbed my palms down the sides of my tights, forcing myself not to scratch.

  “Did you see that man? Did he look like Troy?”

  I thought back to the castle, to Will’s father’s face, and the moment I’d rested my hand over his chest and killed him.

  “No. Not at all. You’re seein’ things. The doctor looked nothing like Troy.”


  I gritted my teeth. “What do you know about demonology?”

  He pulled his head back, blowing a puff of smoke away from my direction. “What do you know about demonology?”

  “A little. Did you ever hear the story about Bob Dylan selling his soul to the devil for fame?”

  He scoffed. “Honey, before Dylan made that claim famous, it was Robert Johnson. Do you know who that is?”

  “Guitar player. American blues.”

  “Yes. Now, are you about to tell me that Nina Fayette made a deal with the devil for fame?”

  “No, I don’t think she got that far.”

  He faced me, and I knew I had his full attention. I took a deep breath and went on.

  “I think she was using music to open a realm of subconscious. To invite someone in.”

  “Someone, or something?”

  “When we had lunch, I had ordered a salad and complained about my ass getting bigger after I had Perry. I said something like ‘I’d sell my soul to fit back into my size four jeans.’”

  He slowly tipped his head to the right, lower, until his neck craned around to my backside. “Ass looks great to me, babe.”

  “Cole,” I kicked at him, and he chuckled, standing upright again. “Anyway, after we ordered, she mentioned to me that she’d met a rapper who claimed that he’d made a deal with a demon. We laughed it off, and went on with the interview.”

  He listened intently. “She wouldn’t tell me who the artist was, but a quick internet search when I got home gave me some answers. The demon was called Murmur, and he was, like, the duke of hell or something.”

  “The duke of hell. So there are titles in hell?” He narrowed his eyes, and I could tell he was trying to keep an open mind. “And he kills people?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, shaking my head. “From what I remember reading, he was a teacher. Of philosophy.”

  “So you think that maybe this song that Nina recorded opened some kind of door for this jackass?”

  I broke into worried laughter, and Cole gave me a tired smile, shaking his head. I reached for his hand. “I’m sorry. Fuck this is all so scary. Let’s go inside and get a drink, okay? Do you think you can get me a drink again?”

  He flicked the cigarette to the ground, resting his hand on the small of my back. “Come on, Tommy will let you in. And since we arrived at the bar with a police escort, I don’t think anyone will care that you’re underage.”

  Nobody cared. Bruce Springsteen crooned Born to Run from the jukebox in the corner. We sat down in a back booth, and Cole ordered two shots without asking me what I wanted. When they arrived in front of us, he pushed mine closer, staring me down.

  I gripped the glass, watching him from the corner of my eye as I threw back the shot. Vodka. He did the same, smacking the empty glass to the table when he was through. “Jesus, kid. You didn’t even flinch.”

  “I’ll need about five more to make it last.” Immortality came with a natural tolerance to alcohol, and any kind of buzz wore off ten times faster than in a human body- without a hangover, though, so that was a plus.

  “I noticed something,” I hurried, taking the second shot right off the server’s tray and downing it. “The… possession, I guess we’ll call it… happens in succession. Never two people at the same time. One dies, and the other becomes the new host. And the batshittery begins.”

  “Batshittery?” He laughed, catching up to my shot count in one gulp.

  “So,” I ignored him, the vodka doing an efficient job of numbing my senses, “I’m thinking this demon is moving from one host to the next when they die, after they’ve listened to the song. Assuming her song opened their subconscious.”

  He stared at me, and I could almost see my words visibly sinking in as he traced a circle around the bottom of the empty shot glass.

  “Shit. That… makes sense.” He leaned forward on his elbows, shoving his fingers along the side of my scalp. He gripped my face, pulling my curls as they threaded through his fingers. “Goddamnit, Eva, I wish I could fuckin’ keep you.”

  Okay, he was slurring now. I tensed, pulling away and putting distance between us again. He dropped his hands to his side, and I shot him a teasing grin. “You wouldn’t know how to handle me, Mathison.”

  He considered me for a moment, lucidity passing over his gaze for a brief second. “I’d have one hell of a fun time tryin’, though,” he came back, raising his eyebrows.

  We sat in silence for a long moment, both realizing our conversation had moved from easy to inappropriate. I sighed as David Bowie’s The Man Who Sold the World began. Drawing a circle over my head, he listened as I changed the version to Nirvana in mid-lyric. A couple of patrons turned to the jukebox for a moment, but seconds later went back to their games of pool, their drinks, and their conversation.

  Supernatural. An unexplainable change right before their eyes, and they chose to ignore it. I found that they always did, and very few actually questioned the illogical, even when it was right in front of their faces… or ears.

  “Better,” Cole agreed, holding his hand out. “You like to dance.”

  It was more of a statement than a question. I nodded. “I do like to dance.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  We stood at the end of the booth. I started toward the jukebox, but he caught me around the waist, slow dancing, incredibly out of rhythm. I winced, laughing at his pathetic attempt to move. “You can’t dance.”

  “Never said I could.”

  “Will can. But sometimes, I just make him stand very still…,” I turned so that my back was against him, swaying my hips to the music. “And not move. And not touch me. Not at all. Do you think you can do that?” I asked as innocently as possible, unable to resist teasing him, just a little.

  “It’s not as hard as you think it is, darlin’.”

  I paused before smirking up at him. Well, touché.

  Throwing my hands over my head, I let my body glide down along his, until the back of my head rested against his hard abs. He caught me under my arms, picking me up and putting me down several inches away from where he stood.

  “That’s enough of that.”

  I pouted, a little ashamed, slipping back into the booth quickly. What in the fuck is wrong with me? What would you do if some slut was rubbing all up and down on Will?

  I’d cut her, that’s what.

  He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and tossed it to the table as he returned to his own seat, glancing at the time. “I should feed you dinner. I told Will I’d take care of you,” he seemed to sober almost immediately, and I sighed.

  “It’s eight o’clock. I want to call him before we go back.”

  He nodded, and I grabbed my purse, making my way out of the bar to the parking lot while he paid the tab. Will’s phone rang four times and then went to voicemail, and I closed my eyes as I listened to his message.

  “Hey, it’s me,” I began softly. “I’m in town, but going back to the cabin soon, so you might not be able to reach me. I love you. Call you in the morning.”

  His text came though before I could finish leaving my message.

  Rocking Pea to sleep. You are well? I love you, my little queen.

  My heart did a double-pat, swelling to twice its size. His chivalry was something I’d started to take for granted, and now that we were apart for the longest time since I’d known him, I ached for him and his sweet words.

  I love you Will and miss you like crazy. I’ll call in the morning. Kiss my Pea.

  “Come on,” Cole’s voice startled me, and I tucked my phone into my purse, following him to the car.

  “Should you really be driving?”

  “We’re walking until I sober up.”

  “Walking? Where?”

  He reached for something out of the back of his car before locking the doors. “Dinner. Like I said. No more bar food.”

  He already had his shirt pulled over his head, and I could only stare at his bare chest in the dim parki
ng lot light. Wide, muscled, inked with at least five more tattoos across his biceps and back.

  “I’m takin’ you to the fanciest place in town.”

  He shrugged into a dressy, white shirt, and casually rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. Combined with his jeans and boots, he somehow managed to look like he’d jumped off the pages of Country GQ.

  “Nice. But lose the tie,” I managed, grinning at him as he looped the thin, black neck tie over his shoulders.

  “You’re the boss. Now,” he extended his elbow, and I took it graciously. “We are one block away from Walton’s finest dining.”

  “Which is…?”

  “Chili’s, of course.”

  I grinned, steadying him as he swayed on his feet.

  “Dude, hold your liquor,” I chastised, and he smirked, ruffling my hair.

  “I’m just fine,” he promised.

  We were seated right away, and made a pact not to talk about Nina, or jackass demons, or anything that Cole referred to as ‘work related.’ Instead, I filled him in on my family over the past year and a half, and he talked about my brother’s rule in Icepond.

  “He is something else. Like the male version of you. Hotheaded, stubborn, but with a sensitive side that I don’t think you have.”

  “Wow. That’s nice,” I shot him my signature pouty face. He ignored me with an amused grin. Truly, if anyone had referred to me as sensitive, I’d probably reward them with a jab in the throat.

  “He loves that little maid. He’s having a hell of a time waitin’ for her to grow up.”

  “Valerie,” I remembered. She was only fifteen, and Christopher nineteen, and there was a whole mess in-between that would take a novel to explain.

  “It’s good, though. He needs this time to focus on his duties as king.”

  As I twirled my pasta in the tines of my fork, a thought occurred to me. I looked up at Cole, treading lightly. “Can I ask you a question… about Rebecca?”

  He cleared his throat, sitting back in his chair to stretch his long legs out beneath the table. “Shoot.”

  “If she was in her thirties when you moved here… and she died in 2001… she died very young, didn’t she?”