Dead Rockstar (The Dead Rockstar Trilogy Book 1)

Chapter 20

I satin Jason Langley’s kitchen, clutching a cup of tea I’d made for myself. I didn’t want it, but I needed comfort. Nothing had gone as expected. Not just today, either. Nothing had gone as expected this entire time, ever since I’d done the stupid spell and set the whole mess in motion. Shit, if I really admitted it, things were going wrong even before that. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d made a responsible, good decision.

Every time I thought things might be going back to normal, something else happened, and it seemed that no matter how hard I tried to do the right thing, I kept doing the wrong thing instead. Was that the curse, the underside of all the magic? That I became a total idiot?

What had I expected, exactly? For Phillip to fall into my arms with gushing thanks? I kept hearing Lydia”s small voice from behind me on the porch, “I told you he didn”t want it.” She was right. Every fiber of Phillip’s being had made that clear to me. I’d disregarded his choice and brought him back anyway - used more black magic, which of course would have consequences - and now he probably hated me. I’d never forget the awful look he’d given me before turning to stalk off into the evening. I’d never seem him look like that, and never wanted to again: an overwhelming mixture of fury, disappointment, and absolute heartbreak. The way he had loomed over me, his fists clenched, his face dark. There had been no love on that face, not for me.

Maybe releasing Phillip had released the love we”d come to feel for each other. Or maybe he’d done it when he’d taken those scissors…

Or maybe it was just as simple as I’d disregarded his feelings and broken his trust, and that was reason enough.

I sat at the little kitchen table, my fingers working over themselves nervously, waiting. I’d been sitting here long enough to make two cups of tea that had both gone cold. Jason had come in and placed a kind hand on my arm, saying nothing, and had retreated out onto the porch, his usual hang-out place, realizing I didn’t want to talk. At least, not to anybody but Phillip. How long would he make me wait? It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t come back at all.

I heard voices on the porch and turned my head to listen. I heard heavy footsteps, then the unmistakable low, deep voice of Phillip. My heart began to pound, and I stood, walking over to the sink to rinse my cup, needing to do something, anything, with my damned hands, the hands that had taken over and done their magic and made Phillip hate me. I heard the front door open, his boots hitting the welcome mat, and the sounds of him rummaging around behind me. I sat the cup on the drying mat, squared my shoulders, and finally turned around.

Phillip was sitting at the table where I had just been, his head in his hands. I couldn’t see his face because his back was partially to me, but I could tell by the way his broad shoulders shook, the way he kept pushing one hand to his eyes in a furious, boyish gesture, that he was crying.

The silence was unbearable, but I stood by the sink silently, giving him time to collect his thoughts, giving him the space and respect I’d refused him before. I watched him as he sat there and cried, wishing I could see inside his head the way he saw in mine, wishing I could ease some of his pain. Finally, he stood and whirled to face me, and in the harsh light of the old-fashioned kitchen, he seemed even taller. His dark hair, newly shorn, fell over his ears in an unruly mess. It suited him, gave his eyes an even wilder look, framed his chiseled face in just the right way. He was so damned handsome, even trembling the way he was, even with tear-streaks on his rugged cheeks. I began to shake. I’d never seen him so wild, so undone.

“You brought me back,” he said. “Again. Why? Answer.” The way his voice boomed, the clipped intensity of his questioning, made me shake harder, but then I collected myself, raising my chin and eyes to face him head on, a sudden anger rising up in me.

“Don’t talk to me like a fucking child,” I said hotly. “And why do you think?”

“You knew I didn’t want you to,” he said, his gaze unflinching despite his watery eyes.

“Maybe you don”t get to decide everything,” I countered, walking over to him.

“When it”s my life, I do.”

“And my life? Is that of any consequence? Do you think you can just exit stage left and leave me to pick up the pieces?”

Stalemate. We stared at each other, both breathing heavily, as though we’d been in a physical altercation, when in reality, there were yards between us. His eyes were wet with tears, but his mouth turned up in the slightest smirk. He was still angry, oh yes, he was so angry he could spit, he could hit something, break something. Instead, his green eyes bore through me like liquid fire. I stared back at him, defiant, daring him to say one more thing, to question my motives, to question my love for him and the depths to which I’d go to keep him alive.

It took him less than two steps to get to me, and then his arms were around me, crushing me against the counter, my arms splaying out, accidentally knocking over the cup I’d just rinsed. It hit the floor with a clatter but didn’t break, and Phillip picked me up and carried me to the stairs, his mouth already on mine with a fury and a passion I’d never felt before.

I was halfway to swept away, but I managed to pull back, putting my hand on his chest, making him stop. “No,” I said fiercely, pushing at him. “Put me down.”

He deposited me on the step immediately, his expression puzzled. “I’m sorry,” he said, his fury gone, his voice uncertain. “I thought you wanted-”

“I do,” I said, my hand still on his chest, my nails scraping at the skin through his thin black shirt. I let my fingers trail down, finding his nipple, running my nails over it. “But I’m capable of walking myself up the damn stairs, Phillip Deville.”

His mouth curved into a smile, and I knew I was forgiven.

Phillip rolled over in bed,clutching a pillow to his naked chest, and asked softly, “How did you do it?”

“I don”t know,” I answered honestly. I lay in bed beside him, pecking at my phone, sending another text to Sloan. I still hadn’t heard from her. I didn’t know whether to be hurt, pissed off or worried. Either she was ghosting me, which would be truly shitty at a time like this, or something was wrong.

“Surely you must remember what you did, or at least a little bit,” he said, reaching over to push my hair behind my ear. “I just want to know. Lydia was so sure it’d be permanent, and in, like, five minutes, you brought me back. Again.”

I sighed, putting down the phone. “You should have seen the look on her face, Phillip,” I said, loving the feel of his hand in my hair. “She was shocked. She didn’t know I could do it, either.”

“So what’d you do?”

“I just…like…” I positioned my hands to show him what I’d done, and described the ball of golden light, how I’d focused on enveloping him in it. “All I know is it felt different this time. Back home, when I did that spell, I had no sense of it working. I just felt silly afterward. But this time, I could feel the light building up, I could feel it responding to me. It was all unconsciously done. I didn”t recite anything; I wasn”t even thinking clear words. I was so frantic. I just sort of...sent it – the feeling, the magic, whatever... - toward you.” I cleared my throat. “You”re welcome, by the way.”

He chuckled. “I’m still not quite at the point where I’m willing to thank you. It’s just weird…I’m trying to understand.” His eyes fell on me, the intensity of his gaze unnerving. “According to her, the moment I cut my hair, it should’ve been over. Boom, dead, you know? Lydia was very clear on that. And I knew, deep in my being, that it was true.” He ran a large hand through its shortened length and sighed. “Remember how I didn’t want to get a haircut back in Brunswick? I instinctively knew my hair was my protection.”

“When you cut it, you hit the ground like a lead balloon,” I said, shuddering at the memory. “So Lydia was right, in a way.”

“Well, I hit the ground, and I was like, out or something, but I wasn”t gone,” Phillip said, his face thoughtful. “I could hear you, feel you. I felt your magic flowing into me, and it gave me strength. But it didn”t bring me back because I was never gone.”

Suddenly I knew. “It”s because I released you,” I said. “When I released you yesterday the magic left you. It was no longer in you, and therefore no longer in your hair. Remember when you said it felt so heavy? It’s because all the lightness was gone, all the power.” Lydia”s Samson and Delilah comparison had been eerily close to the mark. I bit my lip, remembering. “And then, when I braided it…well, I kind of infused it, infused you…with my love. With warmth. I didn’t exactly know what I was doing, but I…I think I put a protection spell on you.” I remembered the feel of his hair in my hands, the feeling of gold. Light.

“So you cancelled out the old spell and put me under a new one.”

“I think I did, yeah,” I said sheepishly, putting my hands up in mock surrender. “Oops.”

“Fuck,” he said. “That”s the stupidest shit I ever heard. Magic fucking hair. My life”s a fucking joke. It”s a goddamn b-movie straight to VHS.”

I began to laugh.

“What exactly about this fucking situation is funny to you?” he demanded, suddenly angry again. He was still clutching the pillow to him as though his life depended on it.

“Honestly?” I looked at him. “All of it.” I laughed. “The question is, what isn’t funny about this situation? I just had sex with a zombie rock star with epic, magical hair. And I’m imagining you as a goth Charlton Heston in some biblical biopic, dressed in long, flowing robes.”

He didn’t crack a smile.

“Without all the guns,” I added.

Still nothing. His eyes blazed and I shuddered under their intensity.

“You shouldn”t have brought me back, Stormy. I was trying to help you. To save you. From them. To make all this right. You fucked it up.”

“Good.”

“I’m serious.”

He glared at me. “Oh, just shut up,” I said, grabbing the pillow from him and whacking him with it. “Stop pouting. We’ve been over this already. Who are you to decide what”s best for me, anyway? In the scheme of things, you”re a week-old baby. And at the moment, you”re acting like one.”

His mouth fell open and he stared at me in shock. After a moment, he threw back his head and began to laugh. Then he pulled me to him and kissed me roughly on the lips. I started to push him away, still angry, then I caught his scent and lost all composure. On instinct, I put my hands up into his hair, getting a momentary shock at no longer feeling the long, silky strands. I was still so angry with him, and he was still so angry at me, but we couldn’t stop kissing each other, devouring each other.

He pulled me to him, crushing me to his chest. “Do you know why I did it so fast? Why I just cut the fucking braid so quick without even looking at you a second time? Because if I hadn”t, I never would have been able to do it. I couldn”t bear the thought of leaving you, but I had to, to give you a chance at a normal life.” His lips grazed my temple, both rough and soft. “You don”t understand, Stormy. They won”t leave you alone. Lydia might’ve taken a shine to you, but Guthrie…Lee…he won”t ever...”

“He will.” I sniffed, pressing my face against the warm firmness of his chest. “I”ll make him.”

“You can”t,” he said. “He”s tied up in you, obsessed. It has something to do with your magic. It”s like a scent to him, one he finds irresistible. I suspect that his fascination with you stopped being about his parents a long time ago.”

I buried my face in his shirt. He was right. I knew it. I had known since before we left Jekyll Island, though I hadn”t known why. It was a naked hunger, visible and obvious. An attraction that couldn”t be denied. And if I was honest, there was a small glimmer of me that found Lee Courtenay attractive, too, enjoyed flirting with the danger. His pale eyes, the dotting of freckles that made him so impossibly boyish, even the air of self-loathing about him, it was all very attractive and familiar. I didn’t want it to be, but it was like a moth to a flame; no matter how guilty I felt about it, no matter how dangerous I knew he was, I kept flitting by him, just enough to singe.

And now I knew why. I was a necromancer – a witch. The same magic that came alive when Phillip was near me was awakened when Lee was near me, too. Their very bodies spoke to the magic within me. The only difference between Lee and Phillip was that I loved Phillip. The base reaction, though, was the same. The thought gave me a shudder. It was magic, that”s all. My magic mingling with his, trying to find a common ground. The real attraction, the real love, was right here in this room, with Phillip.

Lee meant nothing at all.

“Whatever it is,” I murmured into his chest, “we”ll figure it out. Together. I don”t care about them.” I looked up into his eyes, which were full of concern, but tenderness, too. “I want to be with you. If you want to leave, I will never force you to stay. But if you”re going to leave, do it because you want to, and not because you think it”s what”s best.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his face down to mine.

With a swift movement, he rolled me over and positioned himself on top of me, a small, curious smile on his lips. With the shorter hair, he looked slightly older and impossibly sexy. His green eyes flashed in the dim of the room.

“I hope you mean that,” he said, putting his hands on his angular hips, “since you no longer have an escape route.”

“What?”

“If I piss you off, which I inevitably will, you can”t just take a pair of kitchen shears to my head.” He laughed. “I”m here for good, it looks like. And if I”m here, I want to be with you.”

I pulled him close to me, breathing in his familiar scent and nestling my head in his neck. His skin was so warm, and I could feel his pulse, strong and steady. “I love you, Phillip,” I said again, grazing his skin with my lips.

He was breathing fast. His hands fumbled with my clothes, but he whispered, “Not just because I”m your favorite dead rock star?”

“That”s only the main reason,” I said, fumbling with his belt buckle. “There are so many other great ones to choose from. Like this one, for instance.”

Then our clothes were in a heap on the floor and neither of us said anything else.