Chapter One • Portent • Lillith #2
“Metaphysical shop? What’s that?” He tilts his head like some kind of sexy golden retriever.
“Like, uh—crystals and Tarot cards and stuff.” I leave out the bits about my readings and spell work, and the fact that it’s one of the liminal access points to The Buried City. He doesn’t need to know that.
“That sounds so cool, where is it? Me and the guys will come by,” he says.
“Y-you don’t have to,” I say awkwardly.
“What, you don’t want us to?”
“No, I mean, I would love for you to come by, but—I mean if it’s just to be nice—”
“There’s nothing to do in this town, it’s not just to be nice, you’ll be doing us a favor,” he says with a laugh.
A quiet voice comes from beside us. “Dame, what the fuck was the point of you ‘going ahead to set up the instruments’ if you’re not actually doing it?”
I shift my focus to the new arrivals, finding two people approaching. One looks right at Damien. The other seems disinterestedly glued to his phone.
“Come on, I’m talking to a fan. Be nice,” Damien says.
The owner of the quiet voice is one I recognize.
He’s the lead singer. He’s tall, but not as tall as Damien.
His neck is blacked-out with a tattoo that disappears beneath the collar of his loose tank top.
He wears a charcoal gray bomber jacket. His thumbs hooking into the pockets.
His jeans are torn-up, showing swathes of skin on his knees and upper thighs; they bunch at some classic Doc Martins.
“You’re Oren, right?” I say, hating the excited edge to my voice I can’t seem to hide.
He gives me a soft smile and nods. “Yeah. Nice to meet you,” he says. “Is Devastation giving you trouble?”
“I can’t believe you’ve already found your hopeless romance for the month. We just got here, bro,” the disinterested one says, tapping lazily on his phone.
“Don’t be a dickhead,” Oren and Damien say in unison.
The disinterested one finally looks away from his phone and meets my eyes.
He’s tanned. His long black hair is pulled back into a lazy bun.
The lower half of his head is shorn close to the skin with a few lines carved in.
I don’t think we even have barbers who are capable of modern styles like that.
“Why are you even here? Doors don’t open for another six hours. ”
“Satoshi,” Oren says. “Seriously, can it. I’m not interested in our drummer breaking his hand by punching you in the jaw.”
“I’m sorry,” I find myself saying, my stomach twisting.
Maybe it is stupid to be here so early. I recognized Satoshi’s name as the bassist. He’s not on any social media and has a reputation for being rude to fans, but I feel bad all the same.
“I just wanted to make sure I got close to the stage. I thought more people would be here waiting.”
“Don’t apologize to that dick, sweetheart,” Damien says.
“Oh, god, you haven’t even asked for her name?” Satoshi asks.
Damien’s expression sours further, but his face pinkens. “I didn’t get a chance yet,” he grumbles.
“It’s uh—Lillith. Lillith Nightingale,” I say, trying to ease the tension between the band members.
“Mother of the Night. Badass,” Oren says.
I perk up. “Oh, you’re into mythology?”
“Yeah,” Oren says. “Is that your actual given name, or did you choose it?”
“It’s given to me,” I say. “Honestly, by a mother who didn’t like me very much. But my Nan who raised me thought it was pretty, and I learned to love it too.”
Oren’s face falls and I realize I’ve put my foot in my mouth again.
“I… It’s not a big deal, really!” I insist. “Like—I’ve totally reclaimed it. You know? Lillith, whether you’re talking about her more biblical iterations or her Sumerian ones, is a super powerful goddess and a great symbol for modern feminism. I’m really proud to share a name with her.”
Oren’s expression shifts and he looks over at Damien. “I like her, actually,” he says.
“Wait ‘til you hear that she runs a witchy shop in town,” Damien says, beaming proudly.
“Yeah? Where at?” Oren’s amber eyes light up with what seems like genuine interest.
“Corner of Sandbar and Pearl,” I say. “The Odd Bird Apothecary.”
“Cool name,” Oren says.
“Been in the family since the 1800’s,” I tell him. “It’s pretty cool. I’ve never had to worry about finding an affordable apartment in Southern California, either. Some very good forethought on my ninth great-grandmother’s part.. She had an eye for real estate, I guess.”
Oren laughs. “No shit. You’re sitting on a goldmine,” he says. “Well, hey, we do legitimately need to get to work. But come back to the green room once we wrap up the show, yeah? Come on, Devastation: by ‘we’ I do mean you.”
I try not to feel too crestfallen by Oren’s departure and his summoning Damien. It’s hard not to feel the twisting sensation in my gut as my opportunity to get ‘in’ with the band evaporates.
Satoshi knocks a particular rhythm on the old bank doors.
“For sure, I’ll be right in,” Damien says as the door to the venue opens behind me and one of the employees lets Oren and Satoshi in.
“Nice to meet you, Lillith,” Oren says as he vanishes inside with Satoshi.
“N-nice to meet you too!” I call after him.
I let out a puff of an exhale and look at Damien.
“Aww, don’t look so put off to be left with me,” he teases.
“That’s not why I’m put off,” I tell him. “When you walked up to me I thought we were both fans. I was looking forward to not having to stand around by myself. That’s all.”
“I could stay,” he offers.
“I’m pretty certain you can’t,” I say with a laugh. “Satoshi might kill you.”
“Shit, you’re probably right.” He laces his hands behind his neck in such a way that it emphasizes the slope and angle of every well-toned muscle in his arms. I find myself falling in love all over again. He. Is. So. Dreamy. “You should come in with me, then. Hang out in a green room.”
I want to. Gods, do I want to. But...Satoshi was kind of mean. And if I get too excited there’s a genuine possibility I’ll drop to the floor in a grand mal seizure. That wouldn’t be fun for anyone.
“I think Satoshi would kill me if I did that,” I say.
“No way. I’d kick his skinny ass before he got the chance,” Damien says.
“I’m with Oren. I don’t want you breaking your hand right before a show, either,” I say.
“Damn. Rejected, then? Now I really am devastated,” he says, clutching his heart.
I offer him a smile. “Not rejected. I’ll see you when doors open, right?”
Damien huffs and puts his hands in his pockets again. “Yeah. And you should take Oren up on his offer. Come backstage after the show. He rarely offers that to fans. He’s got some weird superstitions and rituals around live shows.”
“I will. I promise,” I say.
“Sweet.” He approaches the venue door and knocks on it with that same distinctive pattern Satoshi used a few moments ago. “I’ll see you in there.”
“Yeah, see you soon,” I say.
The door opens again and Damien goes inside.
I rock back on my heels, my heart feeling light even despite the long, lonesome wait ahead of me.
I am totally going to kiss that drummer.
With tongue.