Mrs. Lincoln seethed. “Is that sass? Do you think I want advice on how to cover my own God-given body from a shameless half-dressed harlot like you?”
Rid momentarily considered her thigh-high boots and her halter dress—more than a few bandages shy of a true bandage dress—and waggled one long red nail. “Now, now. No harlot shaming. Haven’t you heard? There’s a Democrat in the White House, ma’am.”
Mrs. Lincoln gasped.
Ridley smiled. Her mood was improving. It felt good to mix it up with the Mortals. Flex the old chainsaw mouth.
Being good Ridley was so dull that sometimes she was tempted to make new friends just so she could lose them later.
“Lay off, Rid.” Link turned to his mom, taking the poster out of her hand. “Rid’s here to say good-bye. You might cut her some slack, seein’ as she’s not comin’ to Georgia Redeemer with me. Especially seein’ as you wrote all those letters to the Board to make sure.”
Mrs. Lincoln forced a smile onto her face. “No, she certainly is not. She would burst into flames if she set one foot on a good Christian campus, and don’t you forget it.”
“Jesus loves everyone, Mom.”
Mrs. Lincoln scowled at Ridley. “That right there is the one child Jesus forgot.”
Link tried to keep a straight face. Nothing made his mom madder than a smile or a sass during a beatdown. “I don’t know about that. They gotta call it Redeemer for a reason.”
“I promise you, she’s not it. Do not so much as dial her number.” Mrs. Lincoln was almost turning purple.
“That’s not really your business,” Link said sulkily.
“Oh, you can bet your sweet corncakes it is. As far as I’m concerned, I’m the CEO a your business, Wesley Lincoln.”
“I’m just here to see you off,” Ridley said, sweet as pie.
First things first.
Ridley was here to get her boyfriend back, and she intended to get the job done.
Link held out his hand to her. She looked at it. “A handshake? What do you want me to do with that?”
“Sayin’ good-bye, I guess. Like you said.” He reached for her hand with a smile and a wink. “See ya around, Rid. Been nice knowin’ you.”
Ridley took his hand. Mrs. Lincoln’s eyes narrowed. Ridley yanked Link toward her, grabbing his face with both hands. She tilted his head and kissed him so hard that his toes curled and his face turned bright red.
Almost as red as his mother’s.
It was the kind of kiss that had made Sirens famous, the kind of kiss that stung worse than a whole army of wasps—the kind that made you forget your own name and your destiny. The kind that could make a sailor steer his ship straight into the rocks.
Until he would be the one wearing the bandages, Rid thought, with more than a little satisfaction. Or at least, pride in workmanship. She didn’t have a tongue long trained by years of cherry lollipops for nothing.
Then, as quickly as Ridley had caught him, she threw him back, breathless and stammering. When she pulled away, Link looked like he was going to pass out.
“Bye, then,” Rid said sweetly.
Link stumbled toward his car. His mother came after him with two open arms, then let them drop, disgusted.
“Well, Wesley Lincoln, are you happy now? What kind a mother could kiss her own son after a sordid display like that?” Mrs. Lincoln snapped. “You’d better go in the house and wash your mouth out or I’ll never be able to kiss you again.”
“Aww now, wouldn’t that be a shame,” Ridley purred.
Five minutes later, Rid stood on the sidewalk and watched as the Beater drove away. The Who—she thought it was “Teenage Wasteland”—drifted through the air in its wake, almost like the sound track to the end of the movie that had been Link’s crappy life in Gatlin.
Mrs. Lincoln sniffed, blotting her eyes with her handkerchief.
Ridley clapped her on the back. “Well, Mamma. I guess I should be off, too.” She ducked to Mrs. Lincoln’s cheek and kissed it loudly, leaving behind a red smear. “You don’t mind if I call you that, do you, Mrs. L? Seein’ as we’re bound to be family, any day now.” She leaned toward the woman who hated her more than all the banned books in the Gatlin County Library combined. “You know he’s saving for a ring, don’t you?”
Mrs. Lincoln could barely speak. “Get off my property, you little hussy.”
Ridley wiggled her fingers, the Binding Ring still on her hand. How about this one? She couldn’t resist flexing a little Siren power on Link’s repulsive mother.
Mrs. Lincoln’s face turned purple, but she couldn’t get out whatever hideous thing it was that she wanted to say.
Ridley smiled. “Love you, too, Mamma. Can’t wait to inherit your good china!” She blew Mrs. Lincoln a kiss and walked straight through her best flower bed, kicking up dirt as she went.
Ridley climbed back into her MINI and laughed to herself all the way down Route 9, her pink scarf flapping happily in the wind behind her.
By the time Ridley caught up to the Beater, Link was parked at the BP gas station on the edge of town and leaning on the hood.
Rid honked and rolled down her window, reaching into her ashtray to hold up the torn corner of his old Star Wars poster. “You forgot something.”
Link grinned, taking the scrap of poster from her. “I think you gave my mother a heart attack.”
“Just wanted to give her a little something to remember me by. She’s really starting to warm up to me.” Ridley smiled, pulling down her sun visor to gloss her red lips in its mirror.
“Think you overshot a little? My mom will probably be having nightmares for the next three months.”
“Only three? You sure know how to hurt a girl, Hot Rod.” She pursed her lips. Link just stared.
Bandage dress, two. Wesley Lincoln, zero.
“Speaking of good-bye, you think your mom bought it?” She looked at Link.
“Yeah, she bought it.” Link grinned. “Hook, line, and Redeemer. I’m a free man.” He had been planning his escape for months. Everything, even the fake acceptance letter from the fake church college, had been gone over a thousand times. Link’s practice at forging notes in high school had finally paid off.
Enough. It’s time. Rid snapped her mirror shut. “And what was that handshake about? Did you really think your mom would believe we were just friends?”
“Why not? Aren’t we?” Link leaned back over the edge of the car.
Ridley turned off the motor. “That all depends.” She pushed open her car door, shoving Link backward as it swung away from her. Then she sauntered around the car and untied her scarf, slowly dropping it on the backseat.
It’s like dancing sometimes. Even if only one of you can hear the music.
“Where are you goin’?” Link watched her, suspicious.
Ridley didn’t answer. She just bent over to pop open the trunk of the car, pausing to make sure Link caught the view. Tight dress. Thigh-high boots. Just the way Heaven intended her to look.
One.
Two.
Three.
Now.
Ridley pulled out three identical Louis Vuitton bags and handed them to Link, one after another. From the look on his face, she could tell he’d caught the view, all right.
She’d closed the deal. Now all that was left was to break the news to the boy.
Rid walked up to the gas station attendant and handed him her keys. “My car goes back in the carriage house at Ravenwood Manor. Park it as far away from my Uncle Macon’s hearse as possible. My cousin drives that thing like a maniac.” She grabbed his hand. “And I was never here.”
Rid didn’t even need a lollipop anymore, not for most folks in Gatlin. She had a reputation, which was even more powerful. The attendant swallowed and nodded. He took the keys and disappeared back into the garage.
“Does this mean what I think it means?” Link stared at Rid. “You’re comin’ to New York with me?”
“Well, I’m sure as hell not going to
Georgia Redeemer with you.”
Link tried not to smile. “You’re serious?”
Surprisingly, Ridley found she had to try just as hard. “As the grave.”
He took a deep breath. “You and me?”
“You see another Siren standing here?” She took a steadying breath herself. “Or you got a problem with that?”
Ridley knew there were a lot of things Link could have said at that moment. He could’ve asked Rid about her change of heart. He could’ve pointed out how she had given John hell for following Liv to England. He could’ve cited their endless non-fight, their big breakup.
Breakups.
But Link didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he gave her a smile as wide as the Mississippi River.
“Well,” Link said.
“Yep,” Rid said.
“I guess we should—”
“Right.”
It only took about ten seconds for Link to awkwardly help Rid cram her three monogrammed bags into the back of the Beater.
“That’s all you brought?” Link seemed shocked.
“That’s just my underwear. One thing I know about the big city, Shrinky Dink, is where to shop.”
Well, I’ll be shopping. You’ll be doing what I need you to do.
That was the plan, anyway. Even if she couldn’t tell Link about it. Ridley felt a pang of guilt, but she pushed it away as quickly as it came.
Whatever. I’ll think about that later.
By the time they were back in the Beater, the awkwardness had passed, and all they were left with was the scandalous thrill of having pulled it off.
Ridley settled into the seat next to Link.
He turned up the music, pulling her close. “I’ve been waitin’ to do this since last night.” He leaned in for a kiss, and she felt an unexpected burst of happiness.
God. I really did miss him, after all. Him, and this.
“Your wait is over, darlin’.” She kissed him back, climbing halfway onto his lap in the process. It was going to be a long drive, and she figured she might as well get comfortable.
Link couldn’t stop smiling, kissing aside. “You just couldn’t stay away, could you?”
“Couldn’t do it to you.” She kissed him again.
He pulled away for a second, grinning at her. “Church college my ass.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “I’ve been a bad, bad girl, Wesley Lincoln. Think you can redeem me?”
His answer was lost on his tongue.
Or maybe hers.
CHAPTER 6
Welcome to the Jungle
The good-byes were over. By the time John and Liv had boarded their plane for Heathrow and Ethan and Lena were headed for the Massachusetts Turnpike, Link and Ridley were on the way to New York City—the one-and-only setting of Link’s one-and-only dream. It had been a long time coming.
“Remember last time we were in New York City?” Link stole a sideways glance at her.
“You mean the time you pretended to be at church camp?”
“Best band camp ever. Sneakin’ into clubs in the East Village. Crashin’ at youth hostels and YMCAs. Sleepin’ in the Beater.” He patted the dashboard.
“How could I forget.” Ridley smiled. It had been an entirely magical hallucination, laced with powerful Siren mojo.
“Makin’ it in New York, Rid. That’s right up there with signin’ a record label or performin’ at the VMAs.”
“Slow down, Hot Rod. Maybe first you can just try to find a new band.” And I know just where to start looking, Ridley thought.
Link was thinking bigger. “Who knows? This could be the first chapter in my autobiography. Rock On: The Making of a Carolina Icon.” He said it like he hadn’t already told her a thousand times.
Ridley smiled. “And with any luck, maybe you can get your mother to ban your own book from the Stonewall Jackson High School Library.”
Link laughed, settling in behind the wheel. “A guy can dream.” He turned up the music.
Ridley shook her head. At least it wasn’t going to be called Meatstik, the name of his last band. And she had thought the Holy Rollers were bad. The Holy Rollers were the Rolling Stones compared to Meatstik, which was probably the reason that Link hadn’t been able to convince any of the members of his band to come with him to New York. Grable Honeycutt was going full-time at the Summerville Suds-It-Up, and Daryl Homer was just Daryl Homer. He’d probably still be sitting on his mother’s couch this time next year, unless his mother sold it out from under him the way she’d threatened.
“My money’s on Daryl,” Link had said when the band first announced they were breaking up, right before graduation. “Plus, who wants a gold velvet sofa smellin’ like a Homer’s butt?”
It wasn’t like any of them were leaving a great career behind. “(You’re My) Mystery Meat” and “(Feels Like I’m Chewin’ On) Indigestible Gristle,” Meatstik’s two most requested songs at the Summerville Community Center dances, showcased some of the worst lyrics Link had ever written, in Ridley’s opinion. (“Butcher my heart, fillet my soul, and when I bleed, sop it up with your roll.”) Actually, the very worst. And that was saying something, considering that Rid had sat through more Holy Rollers concerts than anyone.
“Now that the band’s broken up, maybe you should try writing about something other than meat,” she’d said.
“But meat’s what I miss the most,” Link had sighed. “Now that I’m not eating. And now that we’re together again.” Then he’d winked at her. “Our love is rare, medium rare.”
“Don’t you dare quote Meatstik to me.”
Ridley didn’t push it. Now wasn’t the time to be hurting Link’s feelings, especially not when she knew what was coming. Sooner or later, she’d have to tell him that this trip wasn’t about dreams. Not anymore. It was about TFPs—talents, favors, and powers. In particular, the favors she’d lost in a card game called Liar’s Trade at the club called Suffer. She was still too humiliated to admit the truth to anyone—and too afraid.
She owed a debt to Lennox Gates, who was more than just a powerful Dark Caster club owner. If Link didn’t go to New York, he would be giving up more than his dream. He would be getting Ridley into a mess of trouble even she couldn’t escape. Or, depending on how you looked at it, delivering her into the hot mess of trouble she’d just gotten herself into.
Maybe I should tell him to turn around now. I already gambled Link’s future away, she thought, with a pang of guilt. It’s too late to worry about mine. But she shook it off, as quickly as it came. She couldn’t do what she needed to do if she let stupid feelings get in the way.
I’m doing him a favor. I need to deliver a drummer to Lennox to settle this first marker, and Link is going to New York to be a drummer. Is there anything so wrong with doing us both a favor? And that band, what were they called? Devil’s Horsemen? Hangmen? They weren’t really all that bad, were they?
There have to be worse things in the world than spending a year with a few Caster rockers with a solid in to good gigs.
In fact, Ridley knew there were. It was the other thing she’d lost that night—the one she couldn’t even begin to let herself think about. The part where she owed not just a drummer but a second marker, a house marker, which meant it was up to the house to decide when to cash it in, and for what.
In other words, Lennox Gates owned the house and the club, so he owned her marker. In other words, he owned her until a year from the day she lost the game.
She owed him one favor. Or worse—a talent, maybe even a power.
No limits.
Anything he asked.
He could make her step off the top of the world’s tallest building if he decided to. Drown herself in Lake Moultrie. Shut herself in an Arclight.
In fact, Lennox Gates could make Ridley do anything she’d ever made anyone else do, using her own Power of Persuasion. He could collect whenever he wanted, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Ridley could still see him glo
ating, that night at Suffer.
More like insufferable. That’s what he was.
She put it all out of her mind.
First things first.
She had to settle her gambling debt, and to do that, she had to get Link to New York. One drummer, coming right up.
In Philadelphia, Rid only let Link out of the Beater long enough at the local truck stop to buy a Coke, not that he could drink it.
In East Brunswick, New Jersey, she was relieved to see signs posted everywhere that only an attendant could pump the gas, so getting out of the car wasn’t even an option. “Sorry, Hot Rod. It’s the law.”
Ridley couldn’t help but feel an irrational panic that he might turn around and drive right back home. She could sense his nerves all the way from the other side of the car. Link couldn’t keep his hands on the wheel. He was too busy tapping on every other surface of the Beater.
“I just gotta pull over and breathe for a second.” He exhaled loudly, like a smoker without a cigarette.
“You’re fine.” Ridley reached out her hand. I should pat something, right? Maybe his arm?
She let her hand fall on his leg, awkwardly.
“You don’t know that. What if I suck? What if I never get a new band? What if this was all just a stupid idea?” He said the words like they were new thoughts, and Ridley tried not to smile.
“When has that ever stopped you before?” She gave up on the patting.
After that, Ridley was on standby, ready to implement emergency measures. Link was freaking out at the wheel, and Ridley was stuck in his passenger seat. If she didn’t do something, she was going down with this ship.
Like it or not, they were in this together.
Link shrugged. “I could get a job at the Suds-It-Up, I guess.”
It was the saddest thing she had ever heard. It gave her a thought so un-Ridley it felt like heartburn in her brain.
This must be what it’s really like to be Bound to a person. You can’t just wave it away, turn it magically on or off. Really connecting yourself to another person is infinitely more complicated than that.
She looked at the fire-forged Binding Ring on her finger. Ridley had to do something, for both of them.
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