She’s just reached the bridge of her latest number when a man near the front storms the stage, reaching for her. She shakes her head at him and steps away from his grabbing hand, never missing a note. But another fan, emboldened by the first, rushes the stage. Zoe backs up again, but the stage is a circle. A young man behind her steps onto the platform and places a hand on her waist.
She jerks away, but things are getting out of hand. Doesn’t this place have bouncers? Security?
As if they’ve read my mind, the guy checking IDs at the door shoves his way through the crowd and starts pulling people off the stage. But there are just too many. Touching her. Grabbing her. She stops singing.
“Stop!” she yells when a hand grips her thigh. My drink hits the nearest table, and then I’m moving.
Dragons like me have a couple of innate powers. We can camouflage ourselves until we are practically invisible. We have incredible strength and speed. We can enter people’s minds under certain conditions. As I stride toward Zoe, I push fear. I push distance. I part a path through the crowd as easily as a hot knife slices butter. And when I reach her, I lift her into my arms, guitar and all, out of range of the crowd’s grasping hands.
Her head whips around, searching for the security guard.
“I won’t hurt you.” I project the thought into her head, and she feels it. She narrows her eyes and scowls. “Where’s the dressing room?”
“Behind the ladies’ room,” she says.
I kick and shove and mentally coax the crowd to part, and I have her out of there before most of the audience knows she’s gone. But when I reach the location she described, it’s actually the door to a broom closet with a vanity set up next to the mop. I scowl as I set her down in the small space.
She’s out of my arms, across the room, and holding the guitar up between us like a weapon before I can even close the door behind us.
Chapter Five
ZOE
“You’re not allowed in here. Turn around and go back to your seat,” I command, but unfortunately, there’s no magic in my voice anymore. No spell or special influence, just a tremble of fear that makes me sound breathless and the twang of a string as I grip the neck of my guitar. Shit. I really can’t afford a new guitar right now. I hope to God I don’t have to break my baby over his head.
He holds up both hands and backs against the door. I hate that. If his back is against the door, he’s not positioning himself to open it and leave. “I was only trying to help. The security in this place is severely lacking.”
I don’t lower the guitar. “Thank you,” I say tersely. “If you could just show yourself out now, I’d like to be alone for a moment to compose myself.” Compose myself. Right. Try breathe into a paper bag. I think I was one strong shove away from being trampled to death or torn to pieces out there. In one way, I owe this guy. He did get me out of a dangerous situation. But he’s the size of a fucking bull. He takes up all the space in here. I don’t feel any safer with him looming over me right now than I did on the stage.
He sticks his hands into the pockets of his designer jeans, pushing a jacket with an expensive-looking drape behind his hips. Who is this guy? Not your average Barrel Room attendee based on the watch he’s sporting. Is that a Vacheron?
A charming smile splays his lips. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk. I’m Seb?—”
Shit. Is he hitting on me? “No. Now isn’t a good time. B-but you can send me a message through my website tomorrow.”
“Uh, this can’t wait.” While I attempt to protest, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his card, holding it out to me.
Confused, I lower my guitar and take the card between my fingers. I read it, then read it again. “Full Throttle Records? I don’t understand.” I’ve auditioned for Full Throttle before. They don’t come to you. You go to them, after you’ve grown to a level of popularity they can’t ignore and sent in a demo. Aimee Oliver hasn’t existed long enough to attract the label’s attention, and they didn’t get a demo from me.
“Sebastian York.” He extends his hand, and I shake it, ignoring the warmth that infuses through my arm from the touch. I’m suddenly aware of him for other reasons than his size. His presence is…intense. “I’d like to talk to you about an opportunity, one that could benefit both of us.”
A flicker of hope moves through me. Could he have simply been visiting the Barrel Room and heard me sing? Could this all be some kind of karmic reward for finally hauling myself out of the gutter? I rest my guitar against the wall and sit on one of the two small chairs in the room. “Mr. York?—”
“Please, call me Seb.”
“Seb, you should know I wasn’t expecting to play for a recording exec today. I have a set that could better showcase my range.”
“I thought you were magnificent,” Seb says, and I’m surprised how sincere he sounds. Maybe he genuinely finds me talented. “The connection you had with that audience was pure magic.”
I frown, a tingle of misgiving radiating along my spine. No active magic was involved in my show today. I haven’t practiced witchcraft in over a year, the entire time I’ve been sober. But passive magic remains in my voice. It’s something I can’t control, which is why I hate the way he says it, as if he knows I’m a witch and what he’s after is the magic. If so, he’s going to be gravely disappointed.
It also worries me for other reasons. If he suspects I’m a witch, then he knows witches exist, which means he has ties to the supernatural community, ties that might mean he knows about my past. “Tell me more,” I say evenly, hoping I’m wrong.
He leans back against the door, taking a moment to find the right words. “I have an object in my possession with some unusual qualities. I’m looking for someone who can analyze it, tell me how it works. If someone could do that for me, I’d be incredibly grateful. I’d definitely open some doors of opportunity to reward that person for their help.”
“You want me to analyze an object? I am no chemist, Seb. I think you have the wrong person.” I hold his card out to him between two fingers.
He slides his bottom jaw from side to side. “I think you are exactly who I’m looking for, Zoe Willow.”
