Dead Rockstar (The Dead Rockstar Trilogy Book 1)

Chapter 19

“Phillip!”I was by his side in an instant. His skin was clammy under my fingers, his eyes closed. I pressed at his face, pushed him, shoved him, shook him, but he didn”t wake up. Lydia had said his hair was his armor and if he cut it, that was the end. It didn”t seem possible that someone so large and strong and full of life moments ago could now be lying lifeless on a dusty old porch, all from cutting off his hair. But he wouldn”t wake up.

“If he”s dead, I swear I will-” I screeched at the old woman, who had stood up and was peering down at us, her face full of weary concern.

“He”s not,” she said, but her voice was shaking. “He breathes. See?”

I placed my trembling hands under Phillip”s nose, and waited. Sure enough, I could feel a faint, shallow trace of breath on my skin. “Phillip,” I said, tears prickling behind my eyelids. He was as still as a statue, and his skin was growing colder by the minute; too cold. “Phillip, wake up!”

“You must be a stronger witch than I realized,” she said thoughtfully behind me. “Cutting his hair should have ended the spell immediately, but he lives.”

“Then why won”t he wake up?” I moaned. “Oh god, Lydia, is he dying?”

“I don”t know.” Her words chilled me to the bone.

Then I knew. The knowledge just came to me – I could feel myself standing up, looming over him, my hands and fingers extending as if they were apart from myself, full of muscle memory and intention that I could barely control. Only I could wake Phillip, but I couldn”t do it by shaking him or yelling in his ear. I would have to use magic. It didn’t matter if I knew how or not; my body knew. My spirit knew.

I bit my lip and looked down at his silent form. His dark eyelashes were a deep contrast against the paleness of his face. He was fading fast. His skin had taken on an almost gray undertone. I needed to work quickly.

“He wouldn”t want you to,” Lydia said, intuiting my intention, her body stiff and tense beside me. I heard her lighting yet another cigarette. The smoke trailed around my face. “He cut his hair for a reason – to free you. He did it so quickly, without even a thought – it’s what he wanted, to sacrifice. What love he must have felt for you.”

“You”re just saying that because you want the spell for yourself.”

“That doesn”t make it any less true, Fee.”

“No.”

“He didn”t want to live the first time, either,” she said, though her tone wasn”t cruel. “Some people just aren”t meant for this world.”

“Shut up,” I spat. I wasn’t in the mood for her platitudes right now; besides, she had an agenda. One hell of an agenda.

She didn”t reply, only stood there, hovering over me, watching as I thought fervently what I could do to save him. She offered no guidance, but I could feel her quiet presence beside me, could almost hear her wrestle with a thought, then come to a resolute decision. It was unspoken, hanging in the air –an invisible-but-solid reinforcement – Lydia was with me. She might not have much magic, but what little she had, she was pooling it with mine. Even in my frantic and distracted state, I knew this was extraordinary. There must be some hierarchy of magic; surely someone as old and experienced as her was at the top, and I resided somewhere at the lowly bottom – for her to put aside her own desires and cast her lot with me – well, that was something indeed.

But I didn’t have time to think about it now; Phillip needed saving. I placed my hands on his cold skin and tried to infuse warmth into his body, but he was like ice I tried to formulate a spell, a prayer, but words failed me. As I cried in frustration, I heard the crunch of gravel on the driveway and didn”t bother to look up. I knew it was Lee. Whether his mother had called him, or he”d just known, I didn’t know. And for once, I didn”t care. I stared down at Phillip’s nearly lifeless form. Lydia was right, dammit, he wouldn’t want me to do this; he’d said as much many times. If I hadn’t done the spell, if I hadn’t brought him back…He’d been blaming himself for everything pretty much since he’d drawn a fresh breath. I knew that making this sacrifice for me was him trying to even the score, to thank me for what I’d done by giving me a chance to live freely again. If I took that sacrifice away, would he be able to forgive me?

But if I didn’t save him again, would I be able to forgive myself?

I set my mouth in a firm line, stretched my limbs and rolled my head, preparing myself. There was no choice; I had to save him. And it needed to be right away. Phillip’s skin felt so cold; foreign, unnatural. He”d always been so warm. I had to get that warmth back, into his blood, his heart, his body. I wouldn’t allow him to die again; if he hated me for it later, then so be it.

Bracing myself against any attack – physical or spiritual – I focused all my energy, imagining it forming into a bright yellow ball inside my chest, and envisioned propelling it outward, over my shoulders, down my arms and into my fingers, where it would flow forth into Phillip, setting his cool body alight, with golden, shimmering magic, warming him up and reviving his cold, still vessel. He didn’t move. I crouched back down, gingerly putting my hands on his cold form, pulling his dead weight into my arms, murmuring silently. “Wake up. Wake up, Phillip.” I cocooned him in the yellow light in my mind, imagining him blanketed with it, caressing his skin, his hair, letting it seep into his pores, infiltrating his very blood, his muscles, his bones. Reheating him. Reanimating him. Then I bent down and placed my lips to his – they were ice-cold and turning blue – and let my breath mingle with his own. I pictured a perfect storm; a meeting of cold and warmth, icy blue breath and golden, warm life.

“It”s not too late to stop, Stormy,” Lydia cautioned, and I felt a warm hand touch my shoulder. I ignored her. “He doesn”t want this. He didn”t then and he doesn”t now.”

“Then why are you helping me?” I asked.

She sighed. “Because I can’t not help you.”

“What”s going on?” Lee was stepping onto the porch. “Ma, what”s going on?”

“I”ve told them everything. Phillip did the noble thing and took his exit,” she explained in a low voice. “And now poor little Fee is trying to bring him back – again.”

“She can”t do that,” Lee said, stepping over to me. My lips were still pressed to Phillip”s, and I didn’t look up. I barely registered them talking. I was still holding him in the light, afraid to let it go for even a moment. “Can she?”

“Let her try,” she said, stopping him from moving toward me. Her voice had taken on a dreamy quality. “It won”t come to anything but let her try. It”s been so long since I saw another witch at work. Can you see her aura? It”s so golden! Oh, she”s so much more powerful than I-”

I felt a sudden zap in my fingertips, reminding me of the feeling I’d had when I’d touched the electric fence that housed the cows when I was little. A feeling of pure power, traveling through my fingernails with a jolt; not painful, just…big. It flew out of me and seemed to form into a ball, much like the one I was imagining in my head, aimed at Phillip. I watched, transfixed, as the odd ball of light hovered in front of my eyes for a moment, and then suddenly traveled backward, shimmering and quick. The next thing I knew both Lydia and Lee were in a heap against the front door, and the disconcerting smell of sulfur was in the air.

“What did you do?” I heard Lee”s voice rather than saw him. I was still focusing all my energy on Phillip.

“Oh, Goddess.” Lydia”s voice was small and seemed to contain both awe and revulsion.

I laid Phillip”s head down gently on the porch, and stood up, facing them. They were still huddled against the front door. My hands ached. I looked down to discover that the tops of them were bright red, like a bad sunburn.

I looked at Lydia helplessly. Her wide, shocked eyes stared back at me. “What did I do?” My voice was a croak.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice shaky. “Fee…oh Fee…you are a very powerful witch.”

I stared at her in horror.

“Ma,” Lee spoke up, scrambling to his feet, offering her his arm. Had my power actually blown them backward into the door? Could I have really done that? “We need to get you inside. We need to call the police. He, uh…he’s still…”

“Give it a moment, son,” Lydia said, taking hold of his arm and rising on her shaking, weak legs. “See what she’s done.”

I was afraid to turn around. Instead, I stood there, trembling, watching as they looked past me, their eyes wide. I heard him before I saw him.

“Stormy Spooner.” My eyes closed at the sound of his voice, low and measured, but full of gravel. With a deep, shaking breath, I turned to face him.

Phillip was standing behind me, his newly shorn hair a messy halo around his head, his cheeks flushed red with life and vigor, his face absolutely murderous.

Lydia had hobbled back toward the door, pulling her oxygen tank behind her. “Lee, help me inside.” Her voice was a wail. “He’ll blame me for this, and I haven’t the strength…help me inside, son.”

Phillip”s hair was in spikes all around his ears, still black as ink, but with a sheen it hadn”t had before. He ran a hand through it, feeling it, realizing the scope of what had happened, and his eyes turned dark. “Listen to your mother, Lee,” he said, his eyes never leaving my face. “Quick. Before I change my mind.”

The door slammed behind them. I heard the deadbolt turn. The porch was suddenly eerily silent. I rushed to Phillip, gingerly stepping over the shorn braid, my exhausted arms ready to embrace him, but he stopped me with a raised hand. I might be the one with the magic, but his raised hand held all the power and fury of a resurrected god, and I stopped in my tracks, feeling my cheeks burn so hot they might as well have burst into flame. Phillip’s darkened face was full of barely controlled rage. He could pull a bolt of lightning from the sky and smite me with it, and I’d have no trouble believing it at all.

He took one last look at me, his eyes flashing with fury, his other hand clenched by his side, and wordlessly turned and walked down the steps, his heavy boots thundering on the old, rotting wood underneath. He walked past the pickup, his newly short hair whipping around his ears from the force of his movement.

I rose my shaking voice and called to him, feeling tears starting in my eyes. “Phillip, where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. He’d already reached the front gate and turned to walk out into the street. Fuck, he wasn’t going to take the truck?

Without turning, he reached into the pocket of his black jeans, pulled out a wad of metal keys, and tossed them backward onto the grass.

I stared open-mouthed behind him as he walked down the road, his black combat boots thudding against the concrete, hands jammed in his pockets. The brilliant, golden sunny sky of an hour earlier had gone; the horizon behind him had turned a cold, defeated gray, and a low, rumbling thunder had begun far off in the distance. Another storm was coming, right on time. Phillip disappeared down the sidewalk, fading into the trees as I stood there, still watching, seeing nothing but the gray sky. I turned toward Lydia’s front door, wishing stupidly that she’d come out and tell me what to do, offer me some comfort, anything. The curtain in the window moved ever so slightly.

“I told you he didn”t want it, Fee.” Her weary, haggard face appeared in the dusty window, full of a million different expressions. “May the goddess have mercy on you. And me.” I took one last look at her, stepped off her porch with a sigh, and walked to my truck, alone, wondering if Phillip Deville would ever, ever forgive me.