“Yes.” I kiss him lightly, but he’s never satisfied with that. He pulls me close to his body and seals his mouth over mine with a sigh of decadent satisfaction.
“You sang like an angel tonight, my darling,” he murmurs against my lips.
“It might have been my best performance since we took this show on the road.”
“Such humility. So charming.”
I poke him in the ribs, and he laughs. He laughs so much more now, and though I enjoy his darker moods, I’m delighted by the fact that he’s happy—thatthis lifemakes him happy.
By the timeSidewinderended its run at the New Orpheum Theatre, it had garnered such accolades that theaters across the country were begging for us to come and perform. At the time, Nashville was coping with the mysterious disappearance of multiple prominent citizens, including Philippa de Chagny and Gil Leveque, all of whom vanished overnight without a trace. Neither Raoul nor I were considered suspects, and Erik kept a low profile, making himself invisible except for performances.
But within a week, Carlotta Vanetti and her followers stirred up rumors online, questioning why Raoul would choose to keep the musical running in light of his sister’s and his manager’s disappearance.
With Marj’s coaching, Raoul made a public statement praising his sister for her support of his dream and dedicating the remainingperformances to her. After his emotional speech, the rumors and reporters only fed the hype surrounding our musical. The mystery associated withSidewinderwas nothing less than publicity gold.
But those same rumors and reporters also made it difficult for the three of us to enjoy life in Nashville, so the idea of taking the show on the road could not have come at a better time. Besides, none of us were comfortable with the idea that a pervert like Firmin Richards might get rich off our work. So Raoul sold his family home, liquidated the assets, and tookSidewinderon tour. It was the true severance we all needed from the city that brought us together.
The day after we left, Erik leaked what he had on Firmin Richards. From what I’ve heard, he’s divorced now, and he sold the New Orpheum to none other than Carlotta Vanetti herself, whose voice—and ego—have returned with a vengeance.
Manannan agreed to watch over the lair for Erik. He grumbled about how inconvenient it was for him, but he also paid very close attention when Erik taught him how to use the technology in the lair. Judging by Erik’s mental check-ins with Manannan, the sea god is adapting well to modern conveniences—just as Erik, Raoul, and I are adapting well to a life of travel, music, fine cuisine, and indulgent sex in luxurious hotels. We’re headed back to one such hotel tonight.
Erik has become an expert at guiding me through clusters of people, whether it’s our friends in the cast and crew, fans eager for autographs, critics looking to ruin our day, or reporters in the guise of show enthusiasts. He’s quite skilled at deploying a bit of mist here, a few shadows there, or a ghostly distraction at just the right moment so we can slip away for some much-needed privacy.
A handful of the Nashville ghosts came along for the tour—the ones whose loyalty to the former death god outweighed their postmortem connection to the city. The cast and crew are all comfortablewith the idea of the ghosts now, whether they’ve actually seen one or not. If a prop falls or a glass breaks, it’s always “theSidewinderghost” who’s to blame. Sometimes theSidewinderghost is to blame when people arrive late to rehearsal, run into traffic, or forget their lines. It irritates Marj, who maintains that ghosts are not real and should not be used as excuses.
As Erik ushers me through the backstage hallways toward the rear exit, I glance into one of the dressing rooms. Meg is there, accepting a bouquet from Gabriella. I whistle at them, and they both look my way, faces flushed with happiness. Gabriella, as it turns out, is not only a talented violinist but also an excellent social media manager. I’m determined to make them a part of our success for as long as it lasts. I will never forget how they tried to look after me when I was being smuggled out of the theater by that shifter in disguise.
“Where are you off to, Christine?” calls Meg.
“Back to the hotel. Hey, is your mom still coming next week?”
Her face falls a little. Ever since she found out about her mom’s affair with the student, they haven’t been on good terms.
“Yeah,” she says without enthusiasm.
“We’ll be sure to get her a good seat for the show,” I say. “Gotta run. I’m starving.”
“Same. We’re going out to dinner.” Meg brightens.
From just behind her, Gabriella waggles an eyebrow and touches the third finger of her left hand. Which means it’s proposal night, and Meg is about to be sporting a gorgeous diamond during rehearsals.
I almost squeal, but I manage to keep a straight face so as not to reveal the surprise. “Call me tomorrow?”
“You know it. Bye, Erik.” Meg nods politely. She still has question marks in her mind about him, and I don’t blame her. It’s not likeI can fully explain his quirks, likeOh yeah, well, he used to be the god of the dead, so that’s why he talks the way he does and has weird knowledge gaps and seems to enjoy morbid topics far too much.
“Raoul is waiting,” Erik says with just enough dark desire in his tone to make me hurry down the hall with him.
Raoul didn’t come to the show tonight. He was struck by inspiration this morning and plunged into a creative rabbit hole, so we let his inspiration flow uninterrupted while we went to the venue to perform.
Every time he finishes writing a new song, he’s hyper, hungry, and horny, and tonight is no exception. He’s naked when Erik and I walk into the suite, and he’s had room service delivered already—steak and salad for Erik, shrimp carbonara for me, a quarter chicken with a side of roasted corn for himself.
I kick off my heels with an eager groan, pulling off my blouse as I race for the huge bed. I take a seat on the edge of the mattress to strip off the leggings, then fling myself onto the sheets in my underwear.
“There is nothing like having bare feet after dancing all night,” I mumble against the mattress.
Raoul smacks my ass lightly, then squeezes it. “Want a foot massage?”
“I want all the kinds of massage.”
