Chapter 5
Chapter Five
ZOE
“You’re not allowed in here. Turn around and go back to your seat,” I command, but unfortunately, there’s no magic in my voice anymore.
No spell or special influence, just a tremble of fear that makes me sound breathless and the twang of a string as I grip the neck of my guitar.
Shit. I really can’t afford a new guitar right now.
I hope to God I don’t have to break my baby over his head.
He holds up both hands and backs against the door. I hate that. If his back is against the door, he’s not positioning himself to open it and leave. “I was only trying to help. The security in this place is severely lacking.”
I don’t lower the guitar. “Thank you,” I say tersely.
“If you could just show yourself out now, I’d like to be alone for a moment to compose myself.
” Compose myself. Right. Try breathe into a paper bag.
I think I was one strong shove away from being trampled to death or torn to pieces out there.
In one way, I owe this guy. He did get me out of a dangerous situation.
But he’s the size of a fucking bull. He takes up all the space in here.
I don’t feel any safer with him looming over me right now than I did on the stage.
He sticks his hands into the pockets of his designer jeans, pushing a jacket with an expensive-looking drape behind his hips. Who is this guy? Not your average Barrel Room attendee based on the watch he’s sporting. Is that a Vacheron?
A charming smile splays his lips. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk. I’m Seb—”
Shit. Is he hitting on me? “No. Now isn’t a good time. B-but you can send me a message through my website tomorrow.”
“Uh, this can’t wait.” While I attempt to protest, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his card, holding it out to me.
Confused, I lower my guitar and take the card between my fingers.
I read it, then read it again. “Full Throttle Records? I don’t understand.
” I’ve auditioned for Full Throttle before.
They don’t come to you. You go to them, after you’ve grown to a level of popularity they can’t ignore and sent in a demo.
Aimee Oliver hasn’t existed long enough to attract the label’s attention, and they didn’t get a demo from me.
“Sebastian York.” He extends his hand, and I shake it, ignoring the warmth that infuses through my arm from the touch. I’m suddenly aware of him for other reasons than his size. His presence is…intense. “I’d like to talk to you about an opportunity, one that could benefit both of us.”
A flicker of hope moves through me. Could he have simply been visiting the Barrel Room and heard me sing? Could this all be some kind of karmic reward for finally hauling myself out of the gutter? I rest my guitar against the wall and sit on one of the two small chairs in the room. “Mr. York—”
“Please, call me Seb.”
“Seb, you should know I wasn’t expecting to play for a recording exec today. I have a set that could better showcase my range.”
“I thought you were magnificent,” Seb says, and I’m surprised how sincere he sounds. Maybe he genuinely finds me talented. “The connection you had with that audience was pure magic.”
I frown, a tingle of misgiving radiating along my spine.
No active magic was involved in my show today.
I haven’t practiced witchcraft in over a year, the entire time I’ve been sober.
But passive magic remains in my voice. It’s something I can’t control, which is why I hate the way he says it, as if he knows I’m a witch and what he’s after is the magic.
If so, he’s going to be gravely disappointed.
It also worries me for other reasons. If he suspects I’m a witch, then he knows witches exist, which means he has ties to the supernatural community, ties that might mean he knows about my past. “Tell me more,” I say evenly, hoping I’m wrong.
He leans back against the door, taking a moment to find the right words.
“I have an object in my possession with some unusual qualities. I’m looking for someone who can analyze it, tell me how it works.
If someone could do that for me, I’d be incredibly grateful.
I’d definitely open some doors of opportunity to reward that person for their help. ”
“You want me to analyze an object? I am no chemist, Seb. I think you have the wrong person.” I hold his card out to him between two fingers.
He slides his bottom jaw from side to side. “I think you are exactly who I’m looking for, Zoe Willow.”
I tilt my head and feel the blood drain from my face at the sound of my real name. “Who are you, really?” I lower my outstretched hand, frowning down at the card. Is this even real?
“I am the co-owner of Full Throttle, like the card says, but I’m also a dragon.”
“A dragon.” I squint up at him. I’ve heard of dragons.
My mother told me about them when I was growing up, but I’ve never actually met one.
Or maybe I have and just wasn’t aware. He looks remarkably human.
Now that I think about it, there was one person, the man who did my calf tattoo.
His mind had pressed against mine, and I’d thought he might be a dragon.
I’d never confirmed as much, though. If you don’t ask personal questions, you rarely have to answer them.
Besides, my understanding is that they are extremely secretive about their identities and blend in seamlessly among humans.
You know what I am. The words run through my head, but they aren’t my thoughts. I hear them in his voice, as if he’s speaking directly into my mind. I raise my mental shields and shove. He starts and blinks a few times. “I don’t have the wrong person. You’re a witch, and I need your help.”
I crumple the business card in my fist. “I can’t help you. I don’t use magic anymore.”
He waves a hand. “You just did when you pushed me out of your mind. And don’t tell me your voice doesn’t ring with it. I practically felt it dance across my skin out there.”
I shake my head. “That’s intrinsic power. I am a witch. Magic lives in me. But I can’t cast spells. I certainly can’t analyze the magic in this object of yours.”
His brow rumples. “Why not?”
My fist squeezes the card tighter, the edges of the cardboard digging into my skin.
I don’t owe this dragon an explanation. The reason I can’t use magic anymore is as humiliating as it is personal.
It would take me hours to explain, hours that I don’t have.
It’s late. I have work in the morning. I raise my chin and look Seb in the eyes.
“Suffice it to say that I overused my magic a year ago and fried my circuits. Actually, auditioning for your label with Raven’s Wish was the low point in that journey. I haven’t used my magic since.”
“You look better now,” he mumbles.
I sigh. I do feel better. Almost normal.
And I won’t jeopardize that. “My healer says I may be able to practice again someday, but honestly, I’m not interested.
” I don’t like the way Seb’s studying me, almost as if he’s sympathetic.
Almost as if he cares deeply. He doesn’t care.
Seb is not my friend. He’s a stranger who wants something from me, just like everyone else.
I hate the way I’m charmed by him. I hate the way I feel like I owe him something for carrying me in here.
Most of all, I hate how my heart still clings to the tiniest bit of hope that my singing career isn’t over, that he could be the key to my redemption in the industry.
But that’s impossible. I can’t do magic, which means I can’t do what he wants, which means he won’t give me what I want.
“There are ways,” he says softly. “Working together, we may be able to revive your magic sooner. Dragons have healing energy—”
“I said no.” I don’t mean for it to sound like a hammer falling, but it does. I am not going to allow this stranger, this species of supernatural whom I don’t even know or trust, to tempt me into using my magic again.
At least the no seems to work. Seb bows his head for a moment. When he looks at me again, he seems resolved. “Okay. But if you change your mind, here is what I’m willing to offer you: a two-album contract with a top-tier advance and a full PR and advertising budget.”
I snort. “I don’t even have enough songs written for one album, let alone two.”
He smiles almost smugly. “You will, once I start working with you. You’ll be given a cottage with a recording studio you can live in and work in around the clock, chef and housekeeping included.
” He smiles a little. “And honestly, after what I saw out there, you don’t need any help with your stage presence.
I’m picturing a tour of twenty or so cities once the album drops.
Something to really maintain the momentum after release. ”
My eyes sting with gathering tears. Goddess, damn it all, what he offers would be a dream come true. But I shake my head. “Sorry. I just can’t.”
He studies me again, shakes his head, then stares at me harder. Takes a step closer. Fuck, his eyes are…glowing, and he’s sweating, like he might be ill.
I raise a hand and almost touch him. When did he move in so close? “Hey, are you okay?”
He shakes his head and turns away from me. “Yes. Just need some air.” Fumbling with his wallet, he throws a fifty on the small counter next to a can of hair spray.
“What’s that for?”
“A drink. Dinner, if you need it. I’m sorry I upset you, Zoe. It truly was an amazing set.” He turns and slips through the door, leaving me staring after him, surrounded by the sandalwood and spice scent of his cologne.