Eddie glanced down at his notes and said in a bored monotone, "And what has been the best part of this competition, for you?"
"Well, I know this sounds cliché, but I promise it's genuine," Kiyo began.
"Of course it is," Eddie said wryly.
"The best part has been the people. The instructors, the coaches, my fellow contestants—and you, the judges. Every one of you has helped me grow, taught me something. And you, all of you—" he motioned to the audience, "Each person who cheered for me, voted for me—thank you."
"Okay, okay, this isn't an acceptance speech. You haven't won yet." Eddie waved him down.
"Sorry." Kiyo grinned, embarrassed.
"You chose an unusual song for today," Amarynth intervened. "Was there a reason for that?"
"Um, yes. I'm singing this for a girl I can't forget. Mel, if you're listening—this says everything I feel."
Nodding once, he backed up to his spot on the stage as the strings began the intro to One Direction's "Gotta Be You," and the audience darkened to a black blur as the lights brightened on him. Movement near the edge of the stage caught his eye—a dark-haired girl maneuvering through the crowd, quickly, quietly, ghostlike. The way she moved, the way her hair fell over her right eye—
His heart rate went supersonic, and he missed his cue. He glanced at the sound guy, who seamlessly lengthened the intro.
He had imagined her sitting somewhere far away, watching him sing the song to her on TV tomorrow night. He never imagined that she would come back, that she'd be here to hear it live.
His starting point was coming around again, and he launched into the lyrics, looking at Mel's upturned face. She let her hair fall back, her face unguarded, her eyes glued to his. He felt every phrase in his bones, every apologetic line—he was begging, pleading for one more chance. The crowd, the judges, the musicians disappeared. He forgot his choreography and his plans to work the crowd with more smiles and hand-touching. Instead, he sang straight to Mel, and at the end of the song he knelt and leaned back, raising the mike, and the purest, highest falsetto he'd ever sung rose from his throat, a shining note just for her.
When it was over he stayed on his knees, right at the brink of the stage, and he held out his hand to her as the music died.
The crowd hovered in silence, breathless, waiting.
She didn't move.
She was going to turn around and disappear into the crowd, leaving his hand empty.
And then her fingers closed around his, and he rose, drawing her up with him. She leaped onto the stage with the grace of a dancer. As he pulled her tight against himself, the audience exploded. Kiyo heard it like a bomb going off in the distance—heard a rush of strings and drums start up again as the grinning sound guy added a little music to the moment.
Amarynth was on her feet, clapping and screaming, and Ferris had jumped onto the judges' table. Slowly Eddie Carver pushed back his chair, and stood, and nodded.
Kiyo couldn't control the grin emblazoned on his face. Never letting go of Mel, he walked back to where he was supposed to be, toward the judges' table.
Mel still hadn't hidden her face, although he noticed she kept her left side toward the cameras. But no one seemed to care about the scars etching her skin; or if they did, their shock was lost in the frenzy of their vicarious joy.
When the screaming died down, and the sound guy had quieted the music, Amarynth sank into her seat. "Well, Kiyo, who is this?"
"This is Mel."
"And you met Mel on the show?"
He winced. "Yes. But we haven't technically dated, and she's no longer employed by the show. So—no rule-breaking."
"Oh, no, honey, I'm not fussin' at you," Amarynth said. "I mean, this is romantic as hell. Don't y'all think so?"
Applause surged again, and Ferris stamped his foot on the judges' table.
"Ferris, sit the heck down," Amarynth ordered. And he did.
"I can't say that I approve of boy-band pablum and drivel," said Eddie Carver. "Your choreography was crap, or nonexistent, and you didn't connect with the audience at all. Other than your apparent audience of one, that is." His next words were drowned by a chorus of boo's from the audience, with the loudest coming from Ferris and Amarynth.
"But—" Eddie held up his hand. "But, but. Your execution of the song was, in a word, incandescent. Well done." The crowd cheered again, but Eddie spoke loudly into the microphone. "I think you've held the spotlight long enough, don't you? Let's let your fellow contestant have a turn."
"Of course. Thank you." Kiyo bowed, waved, and led Mel off the stage, his arm tight around her shoulders.
In the hallway they passed Harley, pristinely reassembled, her scratched legs concealed by a pair of fishnet stockings. She stared at Mel as they passed—not a jealous stare, but a confused, curious one, as if she were trying to figure something out. Kiyo glanced at Mel—and at the same moment she winked at Harley and laid a finger across her lips.
"What was that about?" he said, as Harley moved on.
Mel pulled him aside, against the wall. "We need to talk," she said. "But I want to hear her sing first. Is that okay?"
"Anything you want," he said earnestly.
She interlaced her fingers with his, and they waited.
Kiyo couldn't quite hear the judges' questions, or Harley's answers, but he heard the introduction to Taylor Swift's "Long Live." He almost rolled his eyes—it seemed like an on-the-nose choice for someone who clearly expected to win. But Mel's face was serious, almost sad—so he held back his comment, and listened.
Harley's voice curved over the first lines, smoother than he expected, clearer and brighter than usual. Her notes climbed in intensity, and by the time she reached the chorus, she was singing with such power that his jaw dropped. Mel nodded along fiercely, brows furrowed, her fingers clutching his so tightly it almost hurt.
Harley held notes longer and stronger than Kiyo knew she could, sang with a genuine emotion that rattled his soul, even though he couldn't see her face. The stage crew, the manager, Diwali, Catherine, even Archambeau walked out of rooms and backstage corners and clustered in the hall, drawn like moths to a lamp. Their wide eyes and open mouths told Kiyo he wasn't alone in his astonishment—Harley was singing like never before. Her voice was like magic, wild and free, until the very last note.
Magic.
Of course it was.
Kiyo glanced at Mel. Her eyes were sparkling with tears, her hand covering her mouth.
"Harley has never sung like that before," he said. "She was astonishing. Like a different person, don't you think?"
The furtive look in Mel's eyes told him the truth. "You gave her some of your magic?" he whispered fiercely.
"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing."
"So you—you kissed her? That's how it works, right?"
"Uh-huh. Does that bother you?"
"Yes. And no... and I'm sorry I missed it. But what does that mean? For us?"
"It means we need to have a long talk—after you go out there for the winner announcement."
"Right." But he didn't let go of her hand. He didn't think he ever could. "You'll be here, won't you? When I get back? You're not going to leave."
She ducked her head, her dark hair falling over her face again, and looked up at him from under her lashes. "You're stuck with me, I'm afraid."
"Yes!" He pumped his fist. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
-35-
Best Song Ever
Harley won Voices Rising.
From her old perch above the stage, Mel watched Kiyo clap for her, hug her, congratulate her, doing it all with perfect grace, not a hint of jealousy. But when he came backstage again and she met him in the hallway, she could tell by the weariness in his eyes and the angle of his shoulders that he was disappointed.
"There's a final farewell dinner tonight," he told her quietly. "But I have time until then, if you want to go somewhere and talk. Your attic, maybe?"
"That location may have been compromised," Me
l said. "Just in case, let's go back to our practice room."
She wasn't sure if Harley had actually figured out her identity, or guessed where the temporary confinement had taken place. And if Harley had put two and two together, there was a chance her gratitude for the triumph might be overcome by her desire for revenge—in which case Mel might end up in police custody. A wise person would realize that Mel held the winning hand—the knowledge of Harley's father rigging the competition. But Harley didn't strike her as the type to think too far ahead, and Mel would much rather avoid any legal complications.
Kiyo held onto Mel the entire way to the practice room, as if she might sprout wings and flutter away if he let go. It was endearing, and a little awkward—Mel wasn't used to someone wanting to touch her for that long, or at all. She wondered if he was one of those guys who liked to sleep with his arm around his girl. And then she blushed because she was already thinking about sleeping beside him, and that was definitely premature. Besides which, as far as she knew, he hadn't ever had a girlfriend, so he probably hadn't ever—
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, smiling down at her.
Sleeping with you. "Um—everything that just happened. Cataloguing all the stuff I need to tell you."
"Well, here we are." He held open the practice room door for her. "Back to the place where it all began."
"Not really," she said. "For me, it all began when I heard you audition."
And she told him everything. All the tricks, the texts, and the lies—the harm she had caused when the magic was pounding in her skull and making her crazy. Where she had gone when she left. What she had done to Harley, and what Harley had told her.
Everything. She gave him her soul, stripped bare, in all its ugliness, and waited for him to walk away again. For his sake, she almost wanted him to reject her. Being together would mean weeks, months, years of push and pull, give and take, balancing her needs with his. They would have to figure out their careers, how much magic he could take without losing himself as Shane had. It wouldn't be a happy ending. It would be the beginning of a long, painful journey, shot through with moments of lustrous happiness and shining success.
It would be love.
He hadn't said a word. Maybe she had yielded the whole story too quickly, given him too much to process.
Kiyo twirled on the practice stool, chewing his lip thoughtfully. "When you meet my parents, let's leave most of that out, okay?"
Hope crystallized in her chest. "Any normal boy would be completely freaked out by all that and would be halfway across the state by now."
"I'm pretty sure only the Flash could make it that far, that fast. And we've already established that I'm not normal, right? So now it's just about me processing your unique moral code and accepting you for who you are. I didn't handle that so well the first time, and you left. And while you were gone, I realized that I need you." His eyes darkened, and he caught one of her hands.
"And as for what I am?" she said softly. "What about that?"
"What you are is a living fairytale," he said.
Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Am I Beauty or the Beast?"
"I think you're both. In the best sense, because I always thought Beast was pretty awesome." He tugged her closer, running his hand along her waist to the small of her back, pressing gently there. "And now, we need to talk about kissing."
"What's there to talk about?" she said breathlessly.
"Do you plan to stay bonded to Harley?"
"No."
"Would you like to be bonded to me?"
She hesitated. "That depends. Are you a magic junkie now, using me for a fix? Maybe you're greedy for glory, and you only want me because you know I can make you a star."
He stood, and her heart skipped into prestissimo because he was close now, so very close. "Let me make one thing clear. I don't care about the bond, or the magic. I just want to be able to kiss you every damn day."
The hand at her back pulled her tight against him, suddenly, and she sucked in a quick breath at the contact.
"But you're okay with the magic part, and the bond?" she asked. "Because you know I need to be able to siphon some of it off once in a while."
"It's a little freaky," he said. "But I've had your magic in me before, and it felt awesome. I've had two weeks to reconsider my initial reaction, Mel. So yeah—I'm cool with it." He bent his head, his lips nearing hers.
"Three things," she said, pressing a hand to his chest to fend him off. "One, I'm not giving you all my magic. I won't be the stay-at-home muse who yields all the glory to you. I want a piece of the action—a career of my own."
"Absolutely. Screw the Lianhan Sídhe and their rules. Who needs 'em?"
"Second thing—you're going to be famous now, and you'll need a team. You've already got me as your partner, of course. And Madame Boucher wants to be your agent-slash-manager."
"Interesting. I like her, but is she qualified for something like that?"
"Let's see—she's tough, organized, suspicious, hyper-vigilant—she knows the music business, and she knows about our magic. So yes, you might say she's uniquely qualified for the position."
Kiyo laughed. "I'm convinced."
"Finally, I want to make something clear. Right before I left, you said you'd never been so angry before. You said, 'Look what you've done to me.' " She pressed her lips together, fighting back the tears. Breathe, breathe. Get through this.
He waited.
When Mel could speak without crying, she said, "Your feelings and actions are your own. Don't ever blame me for them again."
"I understand." He spoke into her hair. "And you—don't lie to me again. I want to know everything about who you are, how it works. What you need from me. I can take it."
"So." She tipped her head back to look at him. "Are we doing this?"
"Yeah, we are."
Curling his fingers into her hair, he kissed her.
She let the magic slip over her tongue into his mouth—felt the thrill of pleasure from her lips down to the tip of her spine. It was like a dislodged puzzle piece snapping into place again. He pulled back to smile at her, then kissed her again, open-mouthed, his tongue gliding in circles over hers. Then a soft, warm, tingling kiss, just lips brushing.
"Never stop kissing me," she whispered.
"Okay." He sat down on the stool again and pulled her onto his lap. She cringed when his thumb brushed over her scars. He must have noticed, because he kissed his way across her wretched right cheekbone as if it were as perfectly smooth as the other. She raised her eyes, catching a glimpse of her perfect other self in the enchanted mirror. A twinge of regret marred her happiness.
"What?" Kiyo caught the look and glanced over his shoulder, at her reflection. "So the mirror's magical too, yeah?"
"Yes."
"Valuable?"
She shrugged.
"Okay. Hang on a minute."
He eased her off his lap and moved her a few steps back before approaching the mirror, eyeing her reflection, his head tilted. What was he doing? Did he want her to pretend to be Erin again? That would be—weird. But she would do it, for him. Maybe.
He picked up the stool and smashed it into the mirror, turning his face aside in case of flying shards.
Mel gasped. The glass had spider-webbed, its center a patchwork reflection of them both. Kiyo swung the stool again, and pieces of glass cascaded onto the table and the floor, along with fragments of splintered wood.
"There," he said, setting down the damaged stool. "No more magic mirror. We don't need it."
She stared at the fragments. "That was the only way I could see myself as perfectly whole. There was only one like it in the entire world. And you destroyed it."
His confident smile faltered, faded.
"What will I do?" Mel continued. "I'll never again be able to stand in front of it, gazing at myself while saying, 'Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the most gullible of all?' " And she grinned wickedly at him.
He
caught his chest with his hand. "Oh, thank God you were kidding. I thought I'd really screwed things up there. You know, that was supposed to be a grand gesture of my love."
Her heart tripped over itself. "Your what?"
His cheekbones slowly turned pink. "You heard me."
"I'm not sure I did."
"You're going to make me say it again, aren't you?" He grimaced.
"Well, if it's so very difficult for you, then you'd better sit down. Oh wait—you broke the only seat in the room. I guess you'll have to woman up and do it standing."
He burst into gales of laughter, and she couldn't help giggling—actually giggling. Kiyo wrapped her in both arms, touching his forehead to hers, still laughing. "Damn, I love you," he said.
"There," Mel said. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"
"You're supposed to say it back now," he whispered.
"No thanks. Too cliché." And she darted out of his arms and ran down the hallway.
"You little devil!"
Mel heard his feet pounding behind her, and though she was quick, his legs were longer. Kiyo caught up with her in the stairwell and half-tackled her to the steps, his body braced over hers.
"Say it," he said, his dark eyes sparkling.
She shook her head, challenging him with her eyes. "Make me."
"Say it," he said again, tracing her cheek with his knuckles, trailing his fingers down the side of her neck to her collarbone. Pushing aside her shirt and the strap underneath, he kissed her shoulder, his lips soft and warm. "Say it."
She was mesmerized, paralyzed with wanting.
He slid his hand under the hem of her shirt, fingers moving across her waist, up to her ribs. His mouth hovered over hers. "Say it."
"What will you give me if I do?" she said.
The look Kiyo gave her then was so deliciously wicked, she was shocked that it came from him. Delight shivered through every inch of her, and she spoke the words into the finger's breadth of space between her lips and his. "I love you."
He closed the gap, his lips and chest and hips meeting hers, and she turned into living flame.
And then someone coughed. Loudly.
Kiyo stilled against her, and the noise he made was more like a growl than anything else. Mel slithered out from under him, and they both stood up, straightening their clothing.
The Monsters of Music Page 23