“What’s it like, then, Sugarplum?”
The sound of Link’s pet nickname for her was too much. “Leave Link out of this.”
“Wesley Lincoln? The worst student in the entire fake freshman class of Georgia Redeemer? You know I can’t do that.” Lennox sighed. “But I have to say, I’ve enjoyed getting to know him.”
“You don’t.” She felt a new cold, coiling in her gut. “Know him, I mean.” Or me, for that matter. Otherwise, you wouldn’t dare.
“I keep an eye on all my investments. Your near-Mortal mistake will play in my band and work for my club and do whatever I want him to do, whenever I want it. Like all my employees.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Careful, now. You don’t know how many people would line up for the chance to help you out with that.” He held up his glass. “I, on the other hand, do. And congratulations. I honestly don’t know how you managed to make so many people so angry in such a short time. So angry, and so impatient.” He shook his head. “You’re a gifted girl.”
Ridley faltered no more. She grabbed her drink and splashed it at Lennox’s face.
“What the—” He was spluttering now.
“Screw you, Lennox Gates. Screw your giant Caster ego and your poser Siren club and your loser band. I don’t know what’s really going on here, but I know that none of this is about what happened during that card game.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Little Siren.”
“I’m talking about your rigged game and your creepy markers. I’m talking about you spying on my family and my boyfriend.”
“Spying on you?” His dark eyes shone as he put down his glass. “You know what I see when I look at you, Little Siren? Flames. Smoke and fire. It’s all over your future. I don’t know what it all means, but I can translate some of it for you.”
“Be my guest.” Great. He’s a Seer, too?
“How about, your future’s going up in smoke?” He wasn’t smiling.
“Screw with me and you’re going to get burned.” Ridley’s eyes were deadly.
“You know, there are so many things I want to say to that.” Nox winked.
“Here’s one. You mess with my friends, and I will come for you.” She stood up. “And if you ever speak to my sister again—any of my sisters—you better get yourself one hell of a bigger bouncer. Smoke that, Lennox.”
Lennox held up both hands, including the black envelope—a sign of surrender.
“I think I’m happy to stay out of your future.”
“Believe me. You were never in it.”
“Duly noted. Here, give this back to your sister. She’ll be home the second she touches it.”
Ridley grabbed it out of his hand. She walked away in a huff without so much as a glance back at him, even though she had no idea where they were or where she was going.
“Stairs on your left. Can’t miss them.” She heard a chuckle from the table behind her. He really did seem to be enjoying this, and it only made her more furious.
She had almost made it to the door when she heard the unmistakable sound of music from the club below. The thumping bass. The screeching lead guitar. The drums. God, the drums.
She knew this melody. She’d been listening to him rehearse it last night, when he thought she was sleeping.
“Sweet Meatballs.” That’s “Sweet Meatballs.”
Link is playing with the band.
What did Lennox Gates call them? Sirensong?
All of a sudden she could feel it. Lennox was standing right behind her. His voice was quiet and—if she had to pick a word to describe it—dangerous. “Your boyfriend has bigger problems than just me, Little Siren. But I bet you know that, since we’re both Dark Casters.”
Ridley didn’t answer for a long moment. When she did, she didn’t look at Lennox. “Know what?”
Lennox pulled a matchbook from his pocket, fingering it idly. “That they’ll come for him. That he’s a walking dead man. That there’s no happy ending, not when you’re the idiot who took out Abraham Ravenwood.” He took a step closer to her. “As I said, Casters have long memories. Incubuses, even longer. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”
Ridley could feel his breath on her neck.
He continued. “Look around. Half of them are here. It’s a Dark club. I’m a Dark guy. Who do you think my clients are?”
“Shut up.” She couldn’t look at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? Why do you think we wanted him to play his little drums here? Right here?” Nox shrugged. “And why not? I’m in the business of giving the people what they want. It’s what I do. If someone wants me to deliver a hybrid Incubus, why should I ask why?” Ridley’s heart was pounding, but Nox didn’t stop. “And if they wanted his friends? What then?”
What then?
Ridley didn’t want to think about it. This was a risky conversation, for her and for Link. Risky, and potentially deadly. Lennox Gates could strip her of her powers, or he could exploit them. He could make her life a living hell, or end it.
But he could not—could not—mess with her Shrinky Dink.
Enough.
Ridley turned, slowly, and when she did her eyes were blazing. “Two markers. That’s between you and me. Leave Link out of this.”
“How honorable of you.”
“I’ll pay my debts, and you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
Nox shrugged. “Tell him or not. They’ll come either way.” He tossed her the matchbook. “They always do.”
CHAPTER 18
Metal Gods
“She was so juicy, her name should be Lucy.
She was so tender, I loved her like my Fender.
Even when she had sauce, I knew she was my boss.
When she was in a toasted bun, I knew I’d get my meatball fun.”
Sweet Meatballs” was Link’s magnum opus as a songwriter—a tragic ballad composed for a meatball sub he didn’t get to eat anymore. Which was no different than his singing about a broken heart, Ridley guessed. Or a hamburger Patty.
Love was love.
But it wasn’t everything. The night was ruined for Ridley, and as she made her way back to the main floor of the club, she felt like all she could see were Incubuses moving toward her in the shadows, and Dark Casters staring at her from behind gold eyes.
Ridley and Link—and Ryan, oh god, Ryan—had to get themselves out of Sirene.
But Sirensong was still playing, and the crowd was still listening. The set was going well—better than it should have, in Rid’s opinion. Which only made it take longer. When the chorus hit (“Roll me in bread crumbs, I know you can’t be all thumbs”), th
e crowd even sang along.
That’s a first.
As soon as Ridley spotted Ryan in the crowd—jumping up and down in front of the stage, yelling, “Roll me! Bread crumbs!”—Rid made a beeline in her direction.
But when she got there, Ryan was following Link with her eyes as if she’d never seen him before. As if he was someone from the cover of a teen magazine, rather than just another guy who refused to throw out his old car magazines.
Not you, too.
It was almost hard to watch.
Link was center stage, bending over the mic, dipping it backward on the stand as if they were slow dancing. It was his audition. They were letting him do whatever he wanted. That was clear by the way they were all watching him.
Link as lead singer? Were they setting him up to fail?
Either way, it didn’t seem to matter much to Link. He looked like he was having the greatest night of his life.
“You know I love you, Saucy Bossy Girl,” he crooned to his imaginary meatball. The mic crackled enthusiastically—and the crowd screamed.
That mic will probably make a better girlfriend than I ever will, Ridley thought, feeling guilty.
She sighed.
Downstage, Necro’s blue faux-hawk was flying in every direction over the enormous keyboard, like it had a mind of its own. Sampson stood next to Link, singing into a mic—with the tattooed arms and hypnotic presence she remembered from the night she first met him at Suffer. His hands sped across the strings of an über-modern electric guitar. The body curved into a wide U shape, like a harp. Behind Sampson, Floyd jammed on a bass as big as she was. Ridley couldn’t tell if the guitar was part of her body or not.
A red plaid hipster drum kit sat waiting for Link in the center of the stage. As the crowd screamed, Link threw down the mic and picked up the sticks, sliding back behind the drums. The drums had always been the one instrument you could safely hand him. At best, it was a loud banging. At worst, it was also a loud banging. There was something reassuring about that.
The crowd screamed louder. “Roll me! Bread crumbs!”
Sirensong was rocking the house.
She’d had enough.
“Ryan—”