Gold dust is addictive. I started out just using it before an important show, here or there. Then, I couldn’t perform without it. The effects wouldn’t last as long as expected, and I needed to use more to get me through the set. One day, it didn’t work at all, because the amount I took stopped my heart. That’s how I ended up losing our record deal and in a rehab hospital. Once they started my heart again, it took three days for me to come out of my gold-dust-induced coma. Since then, I’ve been unable to access my natural magic. Jeremy says it’s still there, but the trauma of everything has left me blocked.
“I’m so glad to hear it,” Mom says, pulling me back into the moment. “Jeremy will have you back on track in no time, honey. Just trust the process. Now, enough about all this, what did you want to talk to me about?” I picture my mother with the phone to her ear, holding my father’s hand and smiling, relieved that I’m not in any sort of trouble. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t do this. I can’t disappoint them again. I can’t tell her I lost my job, even if it isn’t my fault. I can’t ruin her day and have her up all night agonizing over whether I’ll ever practice magic again. I can’t hand over my adult problems to my parents when I have long since flown the nest and am old enough to be a parent myself. It isn’t fair.
No, I have to handle this situation myself. I owe it to them.
The break in conversation stretches on for a few seconds longer than it should, and things turn awkward. “I…I was just wondering what you knew about dragons?” It’s the first thing to pop into my head.
“Dragons?” Her inflection betrays her surprise. “Not much, honestly. Witches and dragons don’t cross paths very often, and when we do, we stay out of each other’s way.”
“Right. Why is that exactly?” It’s never been something on my radar. More of a truth I simply took for granted.
“Dragons have been fighting a war with a group of humans for generations. Witches have always tried to remain neutral. It’s an ugly bit of business. A group of humans who’ve gotten their hands on some celestial magic have been hunting dragons for centuries.”
“Hunting them? Like animals? That doesn’t sound like a war. It sounds like an unprovoked attack.” I try to imagine a man like Sebastian York being hunted and can’t wrap my head around it. He definitely came across as the hunter last night. My heart skips a beat just thinking about the way he looked at me.
“You might think so, but to the Order, dragons have been undermining their success for centuries. A dragon’s proximity inspires humans. If you’re an entrepreneur, you might desperately want one to work for you, but it would be your undoing if they went to work for your competition. I think the Order feels like dragons are chaos agents whose very existence threatens their wealth and prosperity. Witches have always remained neutral in the matter. We stay out of their business and out of their way, and usually, they leave us alone.”
I’m instantly sickened by that explanation. It sounds like dragons are being punished by this group for existing. Sure, their inherent abilities might cause disruption, but it sounds unintentional. Not something worth killing them over.
“I met one last night,” I say. “I played a little gig at the Barrel Room, just for fun, and one introduced himself to me. He looked human, but he had psychic abilities. Beamed a thought into my head.”
“You’re kidding!” She snorts. “They tend to be extremely secretive about their identities. That dragon must have felt he could trust you to admit what he was. What did he want?”
“He, uh, liked my music. Owns a label. I think he was interested in potentially signing me as a solo artist. Left me his card.”
She sighs into the phone. “Well, if the opportunity is right for you, go for it. Dragons possess healing powers for witches, on top of enhancing creativity. Might be a boon for you. I met a dark witch once in my twenties who claimed to have a dragon scale he used in his rituals. Apparently they are very powerful. Just be careful. The psychic powers you mentioned are formidable. Dragons can influence your mind without you even knowing it. Even slip inside your brain while you’re sleeping.”
“Ugh, that sounds scary. Not interested in being mind-raped, thank you.”
“No…no… I think most dragons are benevolent unless you’re an Order member. But you just have to be careful. As I mentioned, they’re at war. You don’t want to get caught up in the gears of something you never intended to be a part of.”
“Right. Thanks. Well, I’ll keep that all in mind if I decide to pursue it.”
“Any time, sweetheart.”
I end the call and stare at the wall. Shit. Well, that didn’t go as planned.
If moving home isn’t an option, I need to get serious about finding something that is. I have no savings. No nest egg. Regal might have been soul-draining work, but I needed that job. Which means I have to find another like it that pays even more or I’ll lose this apartment.
There’s no way I can risk pursuing one of Regal’s positions in Omaha. Even if I wanted to move, there’s no way I’d get chosen for a position with my experience. And trying means I’d miss out on the severance that just might be the only thing to keep me afloat. I’ll have to live on it while I find another job.
I have to find another job.
My eyes drift over to the urn that rests on my bookshelf. It holds an emergency supply of gold dust. If I snorted just a little, I could probably have a job before the day is over, but then, who knows how my body would react to it. I might not be able to work the job as I recovered from it.
I shake my head. “Not worth it,” I mumble.
What I need is to make a list. Any place I can think of with employment potential. Maybe I could tend bar at one of the venues where I sing. I stand to grab a notepad and a pen, and that’s when I see Seb’s business card flattened on the counter.
Top advance, studio, place to stay, hands-on help… Seb had offered me the world.
All it would cost me is my sanity and possibly my life.
I sigh and start making my list of places to apply. But for some reason, my eyes keep darting to Seb’s card squared on my counter. I’ve got to get out of here and clear my head.
I grab my jacket and keys, and I leave the card and hopefully my worries on the table.
Chapter Eight
