I find a shadowy spot in the back to stand. No sense in taking one of the few chairs. As a dragon, my feet won’t get tired like a human’s, and there are a surprising number of humans here, given the ambiance—or lack of it. The place is packed. Zoe Willow may have been a washed-up drug addict, but her pseudonym, Aimee Oliver, has amassed a following. People are buzzing with excitement to take in a show by the undiscovered talent. If they only knew.
A server comes around, and I order a bourbon, neat. The woman’s eyes rake over me as she takes my order, and my inner dragon sniffs at her appreciatively. She’s a divine specimen of a human, and given that my mating drive is through the roof, I’m tempted to return her small talk with an invitation. But I’m not the type to be easily distracted. I’m a Taurus after all. We’re known for being stable, work-oriented, and attentive. Tonight, I have a job to do. The Zodiac Brotherhood is counting on me. I need Ms. Willow’s witchy help, which means I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with when it comes to this witch.
On second thought, I grab the server’s arm as she’s walking away and order a second bourbon. They’re both for me. I’m going to need them to take the edge off.
The sound of applause and appreciative whistles moves my attention from the server’s ass back to the center of the room. Zoe Willow is taking the stage, and sweet goddess, she is not the same woman I saw in that picture on Raven Wish’s old website. Gone is the waifish, heroin-chic physique, replaced by a curvy but fit body wearing a short, flowy white dress with puffy sleeves that twinkle under the stage lights. Her hair is a natural shade of dark blond and falls in soft waves around her shoulders. When she smiles, bright-red lipstick frames flawless white teeth.
She arrests me. Even from the back of the room, her ocean-blue eyes seem to draw me in. I can’t look away. My dragon comes to attention and presses against my skin, warming my blood. She is enchanting. A siren. A wanderer of dreams. A passing angel.
The server arrives with my two bourbons, and I barely look at her as I hand her a wad of bills and toss both drinks back, grumbling as I wrangle my dragon into submission. Fucking alignment. Major pain in the ass.
Zoe brings her lips to the microphone. “Thanks for coming, everyone. I’m Aimee Oliver, and I’m so happy to be here tonight.”
Her voice is a caress, and I watch as everyone in the room leans forward in their seats as if they want to get just a bit closer to her. Her gaze travels from one person to the next as her fingers pick out a tune on the acoustic guitar hanging from her shoulder strap. She boosts herself onto a stool behind the microphone and crosses her legs.
“This first one is about when something gets its claws into you. It could be love or drugs or alcohol or something we don’t think about, like anger or fear. But those claws sink in, and sometimes we have to cut a chunk off ourselves to get free. And every time we fall back under the spell of that thing, it takes a bigger chunk, doesn’t it? Takes a chunk and makes us smaller. That’s what I call this one—Smaller.”
Creator, her voice is hypnotic, and she hasn’t even begun to sing yet.
“Promises.
You promised me,
you’d set me free.
Make things easy.
But all I’ve seen
is claws in deep,
slicing off a piece,
of my soul asleep.
* * *
Am I getting smaller?
Am I losing my way?
Is it any better when
you succeed in stopping the pain?
Or are you just a monster,
saving it up for a rainy day?
Who brings it all down heavy in
the most unbearable way?
Forcing me smaller…
Your promises…promises…
Crushing me smaller.”
