Evolution (13 page)

Didn’t I get any say? “What about my studio?”

“I bought out the end of your lease. The landlord is looking for a new tenant.”

“But why? You don’t even like me. And there’s no way I could afford even half the rent of a place like this.”

He leaned over until I felt pinned against the back of the sofa by his piercing stare. “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you. Best get ready for work. This isn’t the Hotel Petterson. Just because I’m paying the rent doesn’t mean you get an allowance or anything.”

I blinked at him in shock for a few moments before he kissed me on the cheek, then got up to disappear into the kitchen. Had I entered the
Twilight Zone
or what? I retrieved the phone from the bedroom, since there didn’t seem to be any other phones in the place and I couldn’t find my cell, and dialed Rob back. He barely heard where I was before he hung up with a promise to be there in less than an hour. An hour, which meant I was somewhere outside the city. A call to the club and an angry conversation with my boss left me unemployed.
Sigh
.

I found my way to the kitchen, which was just as high-end as his last one, and watched Kerstrande lean against the counter, cigarette in one hand, coffee in the other. I pulled my hair away from the bruise and stepped in close so he couldn’t miss it.

“Why’d you do this again?”

He glared at it as if it offended him. “Temporary lapse of judgment.”

“Why did you trash my place?”

Kerstrande looked away.

“Do you bruise all your lovers like this? Do they pass out when you kiss them?”

“No. Just you. You’re not normal.”

Damn him for never answering a question straight. Damn him for acknowledging he had other lovers. Damn him for being so beautifully messed up that I just couldn’t walk away. “Why can’t you just say you like me? Give me something, anything, to hold on to?”

“This your natural color?” He stared at the dull honey-wheat blond of my hair, then flicked his eyes downward. “It
is
your natural color.”

My world spun in hot circles of red and gold for a few moments. How had I forgotten how good his body felt against mine? The memory made my face burn.

Kerstrande shoved me against the counter, and forced my chin up until my eyes met his. They were so clear, like settled brandy in a glass decanter on some mystery movie set. “I like this color.” Briefly his lips skimmed mine, but it was just in passing before he crossed the kitchen and opened the door.

Rob stood in the hall, hand raised to knock, looking shocked, then angry. He rushed to my side. “You okay?” he demanded. “Did he hurt you?” I knew he saw the bruise when his face went white and his eyes flared wide. He instantly turned to Kerstrande. “What’s wrong with you?”

Kerstrande shrugged. “It’s him who’s not normal. Not my fault he likes it rough.”

Rob’s jaw dropped. I felt like my head would explode in embarrassment. “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing my arm to drag me to the door.

“Genesis?” Kerstrande’s deep voice caressed my name. I turned back to him, willing to become his slave and never leave his side if he asked, but he dangled a key in front of me. “Don’t forget your key. Be home before dark.”

With a hard swallow, I nodded and swiped the key from him. Rob led me out of the condo and down all five flights of stairs to his car. “He’s insane, completely and totally mad. And so are you for staying with him. What were you thinking? You couldn’t have called?”

If I’d been awake I might have, but pointing that out would only make him angrier. Kerstrande and I had taken some sort of step. In which direction, I didn’t know, but I liked that he expected me home and kissed me on the cheek to sooth his snarky words.

“Tokie’s having a fit because you were missing, and Joel’s sick—”

“Joel’s sick?” He never got sick. Ate a lot, dated endless, faceless people, and drank like a fish, but was never sick.

“Tokie said it was the flu or something. We have to keep working while he’s gone. Might be out all week.” Rob and I got in the car. Things were really starting to unravel in my life as I realized I no longer had a paying job.

We got to the studio and no one much seemed to care that we’d arrived, even though I’d been missing for a few days. Guess we weren’t doing any photo shoots today. Making our way to our private practice room, I turned a corner and someone slammed into me. My world came to a painful stop, vision shifting briefly to black then cloudy gray as it began to refocus. I blinked a few times, trying to clear the smoky, rubber duckies that were probably circling my head. Someone sat on top of me.

“He’s pretty, like an angel,” a voice was saying. “Can he sing for me? I heard people say he’s better than me. Make him sing for me, Hane.”

Multiple heads merged into one. Spiky red hair, wide green eyes, and a young, fresh face leaned over me. Why did he look so familiar?

“Michael, get off him. You’ll suffocate the kid.”

The weight didn’t move.

“No one’s better than me. I want to hear it. Sing, kid. Sing pretty. Show me why Kerstrande likes you more than me.”

Michael? Red hair, green eyes? The second I put it together, I felt like I’d been hit in the gut for a second time. Michael Shuon, lead singer of Triple Flight, sat on top of me, demanding I sing.

I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a strangled sound.

“Is he choking? Should I do CPR? Hane, help!”

“If you let him up, I think he’ll be just fine.”

“But he hasn’t sung for me yet.”

“Hard to sing while lying on the floor with someone sitting on you.”

“My voice coach does it to me all the time,” Michael grumbled, then glared at me. “You better sing when I let you up.” Finally, he moved. I lay there a bit longer, sore, shocked, and terrified all at once. Michael Shuon and Hane Lewis towered over me, both wearing concerned expressions. I shouldn’t have been starstruck—I was sleeping with their guitarist—yet here was Triple Flight.

“I think you broke him,” Hane commented. He looked at me curiously with chocolate-brown eyes that matched his spiky brown hair. They both appeared the same as they had in magazine shoots and album covers years ago, like they hadn’t aged at all.

“Nice to meet you, guys,” Rob said from somewhere to my left. “Don’t mind Gene. He’s a big fan.” He yanked me to my feet. Michael beamed at his words, but my jaw felt bound in wire.

Hane gestured toward the hall that led to the stage room. “Shall we?”

I really, truly had to sing for them? My look must have said something to Rob, but he dragged me along, muttering, “You know you’ve dreamt of this.”

Inside the room, Hane took his place behind the keyboard, Rob took the guitar, and Michael stepped up to the mic, motioning me forward.

“Let’s do ‘Red Rose’,” Rob said. “You two can sing together.

Sure, sing with Michael Shuon. If my heart beat any faster it would jump free of my chest and fly across the stage, leaving a bloody, splattered mess everywhere. Hane poured into the rhythm followed by Rob, who knew the song well enough to cover for Kerstrande’s absence. Michael started right on cue. I watched him turn into a total rock god before me. Not until the chorus did I realize I was singing along. I took the second stanza, making it mine, then when the chorus came back in I took the harmony, blending my deep voice to a strong bass against his tenor melody. By the time we finished, stars were glistening in Michael’s eyes as he worked to keep up with me.

The music stopped, and silence reigned. Finally, Hane clapped. “Amazing work. I believe you’ve been outsung, Michael.”

Michael didn’t look angry, more entranced, like the girls had the last time I’d sung that song. “He sings pretty.”

Hane grabbed Michael’s arm. “That he does. Balanced against you like a real pro. Kerstrande does have an ear for talent.”

Rob patted me on the back. “Gene’s an amazing singer. Thanks for playing with us. Great experience. We should get back to practice now. We have to record.” Hane nodded his head to us. I followed Rob back to the Green room, more than a little dizzy.

“That was cool.”

“Michael was using you. You led him around like the pied piper. He kept getting mixed up by your harmony, which made him sound great when he was actually singing the melody. Bet that guy has never had to compete like that before in his life.”

“‘Red Rose’ is his song, though. Maybe he was mad ’cause I was changing it.”

“He just sang it first. Kerstrande wrote that song. He wrote everything for Triple Flight.”

Kerstrande wrote articles for many magazines and newspapers now. All freelance, none about music. Joel had been making a point to cut them out for me. I suppose it wasn’t a stretch that he wrote music too. Maybe that’s why he hated my songs so much.

Rob folded his arms across his chest. “Let’s pump some more rock into this crap they gave us. Have something good ready for when Joel gets back.”

“Okay. Maybe Hane can play for us until Joel is better.”

“No way. That guy gives me the creeps.”

“Kerstrande gives you the creeps too,” I pointed out.

Rob smacked me in the neck, right on top of the bruise.

I yowled.

“Goes to show you how good a judge of character I am.”

“That hurt, you jerk.”

“I hope so. What the hell is he doing? Is he a vampire? He’s not registered as one. And feeding on someone without written consent is illegal. Don’t let him fuck with your head.” Rob began strumming his guitar.

I blinked at his words, a bunch of things all clicking together at once. Now was not the time for theories. Work now, daydream later. Sure, I could do that. I moved toward the mic.

Chapter 13

I
STOPPED
at Joel’s and slid a note under the door when he didn’t answer. When I’d brought up his absence to Mr. Tokie, the man had paled and put me off. But Tokie telling me flippantly not to worry made me worry all the more that something wasn’t right. When Joel didn’t pick up his phone any of the ten times I called, I’d really began to panic.

“He’s just sick,” Rob assured me. “Probably too much drinking. You know he’s worse than a fish. He’ll be back in a few days.”

I nodded like I agreed but made the effort to stop by his place again after I left the studio. No one came to the door, and everything was eerily quiet, so maybe Joel was sleeping. Hopefully he’d feel better soon.

Rob’s words stuck with me most of the day, and I thought about them the whole cab ride home. Was Kerstrande a vampire? The newspaper had some scary story every day, either about vampires killing people or people killing vampires. If I were a normal guy and a vampire, I’d probably hide what I was too.

Did the shadows make them vampires? Did that mean Devon was one too? And why had Kerstrande gone crazy on Friday? Wasn’t he feeding enough? He couldn’t drink from me all the time if I passed out for days. That wouldn’t be good for my career—or life in general.

The condo was dark when I arrived. Mikka still hadn’t appeared, but I did set out her food bowl and litter box. I called for Kerstrande, knowing he wasn’t home. Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer.

I peeled off my shoes, flicked on the living room light, sunk into the cushy sofa, and clicked on the TV. As comfy as the place felt, something was off. Hairs rose on the back of my neck, and the chill in the air was unwelcoming. Almost like someone watched me.

The phone dinged with a new text: Cris asking for the address, then another asking again if I was okay. I keyed back absently the location of the new place and that I’d been fired from Down Low. He’d helped me get that job. Maybe he could find me another. His short note back read only “Okay.”

A shiver coursed through me. Maybe I could borrow a blanket from the bed. It was crazy cold in here. So far I hadn’t seen any nonliving types, so maybe Kerstrande just had a window open somewhere. I paused in the doorway to the bedroom and flicked on the light, but nothing happened. The brightness from the living room reflected into the bedroom, making the spread look light blue in its place at the end of the bed. I stepped in the room to grab it.

The dark writhing shadow beside the bed made me stop midstep. Crap. That wasn’t something I’d ever seen before. “Hello?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. “KC?” No way was it him. Why did my voice shake? I saw freaky shit all the time.

A breeze poured in from the far window, which stood wide open, the curtain missing from the rod above the sill. The shadow spread across the room, hidden by part of the bed. People didn’t look like that. Not even ghosts became writhing masses of dark ooze when they lingered. They had shape—sometimes a yucky one—but they still had a form. Maybe the light made it look off somehow. It could be a bird. Yeah, probably an injured bird, I tried to convince myself.

It didn’t sound like a bird as I moved toward it. More like a wounded dog, breathing hard, with long nails scraping the wood floor. Oh God, what would I see?

“Hello?”

When I stepped around the bed, a dark, cold mass smashed into me, piercing my skin and drawing blood just as the world dripped to black. My head hit the floor before I even recognized the sense of falling. White pain slammed across my brow. My lungs stopped, air freezing within them. Was this what it was like to die? A sense of pain and falling into nothing? Why could I still think and feel if I were dead?