Chapter 13
Thirteen
Sun streamed warm through the windshield of Cadenza’s loaner car, parked downtown.
Foot traffic bustled on the sidewalk, and a stack of flyers stared at her impatiently from the passenger seat, but she didn’t get out of the car.
Taran’s tale from last night of Fates and revenge and curses swirled through her thoughts. Amazing. Unbelievable.
Even if she didn’t have all of that as evidence, who was she—a freaky earthsong-hearing, walking demolition derby—to tell anyone their own story of unbelievable things wasn’t true?
No, she couldn’t not believe the story of Taran’s curse.
But the end of their conversation last night was a different story.
A lump hardened in her throat, and she breathed slowly through her nose to keep the tears at bay.
“For the short time you’re here,” he’d said.
A fling. He wanted a fling?
What did you expect, Cadenza? She scoffed at herself. She’d made no secret of the fact that she was leaving. And hadn’t she warned herself not to get involved with anyone before she left?
Flyers in hand, she shoved out of the car, slammed the door, and stalked across the street, Taran’s face refusing to leave her thoughts. All the incredible, tragic, bizarre things he told you last night, and you’re hung up on the idea that he just wants a fling? Get a grip.
Besides, why should she care if that was all he wanted? Italy was her dream, not a relationship.
Wasn’t it?
She yanked open the door to the music store to check on the flyers she’d hung last week. Three other voice teachers’ flyers hung plastered over hers, and Cadenza cursed under her breath before re-pinning them to the side of the notice board.
“Can I help you with anything today?” an older woman in a store uniform asked.
“Not unless you know how to date a cursed Ferrari,” Cadenza muttered.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Nothing. Just checking my flyers.”
The clerk peered at her. “Oh, aren’t you Cadenza Cavalieri?”
“Um, yes,” she said, surprised. “Have we met?”
“Oh no, I just recognized you from the newspaper. You’re Canon Richards’s girlfriend.
” The clerk beamed at her. “Such a nice boy. You’re lucky to have caught him.
” She pointed at the notice board. “You know, between you and me, I think you’d get more students if you mentioned Canon on the flyer. People just love him around here.”
Cadenza gritted her teeth to keep from screaming.
“Thanks.” She spun on her heel and stormed out of the store.
She’d yanked out her phone and pulled up Canon’s number before she stopped herself.
If she called him about fixing this situation, she’d have to tell him what the clerk said, and he’d use it as evidence of the strength of his proposal.
“Ungh!” She shoved her phone back in her pocket.
The image of Canon’s smug smile at the country club rankled. Her daydream of Taran at the front table instead—Taran in Venice, clapping the loudest—was much better.
No! What are you doing? The tears she’d forced down in the car rushed back. Taran in Venice would never happen. Could never happen. The curse kept him pinned here. But if the curse were removed, what then? Would he still only want a fling?
Cadenza ducked into an alcove between stores and sank onto a stone bench. Breathe. She found her pulse in her neck and timed her breaths to her heartbeat. The lack of drumsong hit her like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t her own heartbeat she wanted.
Thomas’s question came back to slap her in the face. What do you want from the music?
She abandoned the bench and hurried around the corner to her favorite store. It was having a sale, clearance items in the window display—jade necklaces and alpaca wool hats. And a huge Latvian drum that looked deep enough to accompany Taran’s drumsong on sale for one tenth its original price.
What do you want from the music?
She thought of Taran’s bodhran and his pounding ocean, trapped inside the fences of Norroway Automotive.
Forever. Cautiously, she allowed herself to look that idea in the face.
Stuck in one place, always. No hope of movement or progress.
Her mind recoiled, and adrenaline burned through her system as if she could physically flee from the idea she feared most.
Her entire life she’d clung so fiercely to the idea of a stage career as a way to prove to her family she was as worthy as they were, but it had also been a means of escape to Somewhere Else. Was that all she wanted from the music? To show someone else up and to run away?
No. I want to be a part of the music. And I want… She laid her fingers on the window glass, the afternoon sun glowing on the drumhead. I want Taran’s music to be a part of mine.
The earthsong she heard—that she’d always considered half curse before she knew anything of Taran or his world—had allowed her to recognize something of Taran in the Ferrari.
Her music had woken him. Her song had reached through impossibility to pull him back from oblivion. Like he said, it shouldn’t have worked.
But it did.
She marched into the store, scooped up the giant drum and plunked it on the checkout counter.
If I can wake an ancient shifter from a cursed sleep, I can find a way to break that curse. And—her stomach fluttered at the scarier task—I can tell that shifter I want more than a fling.
A cacophony of ringing phones and TV chatter blasted Canon as soon as he opened the door. Interns and volunteers waved or clapped as he moved through his campaign headquarters to his office. He gifted them with his unfailing smile and waved back.
Inside he seethed.
Michael from Drostan’s body shop had called just as Canon parked outside headquarters.
“You still want to know the deal with Cadenza’s car?” the mechanic had asked. “Because I don’t think you’ll like it. It sounds nuts.”
“Why? What was wrong with it?”
“It looks like someone messed with it. I found some kind of explosive device hooked up to the engine.”
Still smiling for his team, Canon shut his office door on the noise of the campaign room. As soon as he closed the blinds, he dropped the act.
“I need your people to look into something.” He turned to where Vasilios reclined on the couch, flipping through a book.
“Look into what?” he asked in his usual unflappable manner. “You seem distressed, what’s bothering you?”
“Distressed?” A vein jumped in Canon’s temple. “Someone is trying to kill Cadenza.” He filled Vasilios in on what Michael had told him. “You remember how she got run off the road after the open house? Now I’m thinking that wasn’t just some drunk hick.”
Vasilios sat up. “Why would anyone want to harm Ms. Cavalieri?”
Canon paced, raking a hand through his hair, his immediate thought of his other employer.
He wanted Taran hurt. Hurting Cadenza would do that.
But something about that didn’t sit right with Canon’s gift.
And it was Vasilios that introduced him to the man in the first place.
Vasilios wouldn’t send him to someone that dangerous.
“I don’t know. Maybe to get to me? To make me drop out of the race?
” He pulled a bright blue button-up out of the closet to change for the press conference they needed to get to.
“But whoever it is, I want them found and I want them dealt with. And I want Cadenza protected, Vas. I want security on her until we find out who’s responsible for these attacks. ”
Vasilios ushered him out of a side door to a waiting car after he’d finished changing his shirt. “And how does Ms. Cavalieri feel about having guards?”
“She doesn’t know someone tampered with her car yet,” Canon admitted, climbing into the back seat. “I told Michael I want to tell her.”
“I see.” Vasilios settled in the seat next to him and signaled to the driver to leave. “Has she changed her mind about your proposal yet?”
“No.” Canon worked his jaw back and forth, fingers tapping on the car handle.
“Every evening. Every stupid evening this week she’s spent with Taran.
I don’t understand. I look at her and what she wants is success.
She wants to go places. So why is she spending all her time with a guy who’s going nowhere?
” He brooded out the window, watching the city slip by.
“But I’m working on it. I have an idea.”
“Yes, well, keep working on it. You need her.” Vasilios handed him a folder. “The latest numbers. You’re down five points. Owens is gaining on you.”
Canon leafed through the numbers analysis, frowning. Vasilios made it sound like he couldn’t win without her. Yes, Cadenza boosted his ratings, and he’d rather win with her by his side, but he had a strong campaign on his own. People liked him. He made them feel valued. Wasn’t that enough?
“You did well to come to me with what you overheard last night,” Vasilios continued. “We can use it to convince Ms. Cavalieri that you are more deserving of her attention.”
Canon looked up from the folder. “How?”
“He will want that information. Bargain with him for it. Ask him to gift you more power.”
“I can already see people’s desires. What else could he give me?”
Vasilios spread his hands. “This man has possibility at his fingertips.”
Canon frowned even as his brain went into high gear, trying to imagine what Vasilios meant.
He saw what people wanted, perhaps he could influence what people wanted?
But no. That’d be cheating. Holding office, voting, those were like contracts, like bargains.
And bargains needed to be entered into freely, not forced.
Even if that ability were an option, Canon wouldn’t accept it.
Vasilios leaned closer at Canon’s hesitation. “You have so much potential, Canon—why else do you think I selected you for this campaign? I’m merely saying if we amplify your gifts, it’d help Cadenza, and everyone else, see how extraordinary you are.”