Chapter 16
SLAYER
Istand in the doorway of Sterling’s audition room, curious as to why he wanted to meet me here instead of his office.
The sound I hear floats through the room like spun sugar and smoke. I stop moving.
It’s not even clear at first that it’s a voice. It might be a high-pitched, distorted instrument. But no. The phrasing is too human, too raw.
The sound is mesmerizing. Airy, intimate, alive. Like something from another era, yet completely fresh.
I ease forward, shadowed by one of the room’s support columns.
Spotlights trace slowly across the stage, and I catch her in profile.
Bix.
Two questions flash across my mind, sharp and near simultaneous. What the hell is she doing here? And how did she learn to sing like that?
This isn’t an amateur luck. She’s not reciting lyrics. She’s channeling something.
The phrasing, the smoke-wrapped vowels, the casual rubato—it’s like watching a voodoo priestess raising souls from the dead.
I remember her red notebook—the diary left cracked open. I read enough to feel manipulated.
Like she’d researched my habits, my favorite restaurants, and arranged to meet-cute me at the noodle bar.
Only now... That script doesn’t track.
She’s here singing. And I know I had nothing to do with it.
Sterling must have found her on his own, through his constant scouting for new talent.
Can it be that she didn’t plan any of this?
Bix finishes. The lights snap on, cool and bright overhead.
Sterling turns and spots me. “Ah, the Dark Prince has arrived.”
Bix looks toward the sound of his voice. I watch confusion cross her face as she sees me in full Slayer mode—black jacket, silver chains, dark lenses hiding my eyes.
Her gaze travels over me, my height, my shoulders, the line of my jaw. I see the precise moment she realizes I’m the Sam of last night.
Her breath catches.
Her body stills. Those green eyes widen the same way they did when I opened my wine collection.
“Ms. Bismark,” Sterling says, gesturing between us with something close to a theatrical flourish. “Meet Slayer, an artist who needs no introduction.”
Bix looks at me, frozen.
I shoot Sterling a what-the-hell-is-this-about? look.
But Sterling, either oblivious to the tension or more likely enjoying it, just continues.
“Slayer, I’d like to speak to you in my office. Milo, will you keep Ms. Bismark company?”
Milo nods, barely looking up from his phone. “Of course, Mr. S.”
“Shall we?” Sterling says, already striding for the door.
I follow him out, feeling Bix’s eyes burning into my back with each step.