The Trickster's Drum (Godsongs Book 1)

by Jax Garren

  Mia bristled. “If Rafael doesn’t want to play, he doesn’t have to. He’s under no obligation to give free concerts.”

  Lyssa cackled. “I like this person. Where’d you find her?”

  “She found me,” Rafael answered.

  Giselle tried to hide her disappointment. They were right. Rafael shouldn’t be begged into playing people’s backyards for free. But damn, wouldn’t that be a night to remember forever?

  “Okay,” Brad said, drawing out the O. “I’ll try to keep the floodgates closed. Sorry to bug you.”

  Rafael’s knee bumped hers. His eyes were dilated from the high, but somehow still clear and earnest as he caught and held her gaze. “You think I should play?”

  It took effort to come up with actual words and not just respond in grunts and broken laughter. Finally she managed, “There’s no should. It’s a party. Do what makes you happy.”

  He took another drag without taking his dark eyes off her. “What would make you happy, sweet Giselle?”

  She was really going to melt into a puddle of absolute goo. There was no helping it. She would be a messy pile of nonhuman joy at his feet. Under his mesmeric gaze, she spoke the truth. “I’m never going to be able to afford one of your concerts. It would make my night—my life, actually, if you played.”

  The soul connection between them faltered as his expression screwed up. “Really? How bad are ticket prices? I don’t set those.”

  Mia huffed. “They’re not that bad.”

  Giselle adjusted her sleeved arm where it still throbbed from the spear wound, and she’d been pressing it against Rafael anyway. “You’re not that poor.”

  The pretty girl pulled back a bit like she wasn’t sure how to handle that.

  Giselle pursed her mouth. How dare anyone disturb the glittering fiction of the rich with a dose of reality? Taking a note from Coyote, she decided to relieve the tension around her with a joke. “Yeah, I snuck in under the fence. I don’t belong here.”

  Mia leaned forward and stared at her like she didn’t realize Giselle was kidding. “Under the fence?”

  Lyssa waved a hand. “She’s joking.” Then she cast a sharp glance at Giselle, who was starting to feel like an animal at the zoo. “You are joking, right? Somebody brought you...”

  Giselle looked back up to find Brad watching the whole thing with his back straight in awkwardness. She directed her response to him. “Rawan Farhadi is my roommate. I didn’t crash. You know her from—”

  He nodded quickly. “Oh, yeah, yeah. Of course. Glad you could make it.”

  Rafael took one more hit and passed the contraption to Giselle like that embarrassing conversation had never happened. “Not in the mood to play a regular show.” But he took the guitar anyway and directed his next question at Giselle. “Think if I played some non-Riot requests people would put up with listening to a work in progress?”

  New material? Giselle gasped and nodded her head so hard she thought she’d get whiplash. “That would be friggin’ amazing.”

  Rafael smiled at her, the expression so genuine and pleased her head got light.

  Brad held his hand out as if to say it was Rafael’s prerogative. “I think if you played Christmas carols on a tuba people would be happy because it’s you.”

  “You’ve never heard me play the tuba,” Rafael joked, then scooted forward on the couch to tune the guitar.

  “You need more room?” Giselle asked. Mia hadn’t scooted over any, crunching her into Rafael’s side in a way that was quite nice, minus the spear wound, but had to be hard to play around.

  He looked at her for a moment, and an amused expression crossed his face that reminded her a little too much of Coyote before he made a dirty joke. But instead of saying whatever off-color thing Coyote would’ve spouted, he stood up. “Nah. You ladies stay there. I’ll...” He trailed off as he picked at the strings, tuning the instrument as he headed for a stool right across from them, giving Giselle a front-row view. Then he strummed once, as if satisfied, and looked right at Giselle. “All right, number one fan, this is for you.”

  Giselle nodded and before she could stop herself said, “This is the best day of my life.”

  He grinned like that amused him and started noodling idly around on the guitar, strumming a few chords from “Kashmir,” a sequence from “November Rain,” and other snatches of guitar melodies, as if getting used to the instrument.

  There was practically a stampede from inside to the deck as if word was getting around regarding the miracle about to occur. When the backyard was packed, partygoers anticipating the event with phones raised, Rafael said, “I’m high and haven’t practiced anything I’m going to play. This is going to suck.” He took a drink of beer as people laughed, then set the cup down beside him. “So sing with me so I don’t shame myself terribly.” He strummed a few chords. “Oh, and I’m not playing Riot stuff. That’s work. But I’ll take requests for whatever else you want.” He launched into the Black Eyed Peas’ “I Gotta Feeling,” which stopped the general groaning over him not playing his own stuff as people shut up and sang.

  High and unpracticed he might be, but Rafael was amazing. His voice was powerful and moving, while his guitar playing seemed effortless, no matter how fast his fingers flew over the strings. Over and over again, Giselle found herself staring at his hands, fascinated by how anyone could make their fingers move so quickly and precisely. She lost track of time, just reveling in a moment she’d never imagined possible, as people requested song after song and he played a little bit of everything from Beyoncé to the Beatles.

  She’d known he was talented by the beauty of the music he created, but to be able to deftly play just about any song anyone threw at him was next level. Before she realized it, nearly an hour had passed, and everyone was every bit as enthralled as they’d been at the beginning.

  “Okay, last one’s my pick,” he finally said. “I’ve been working on something a little different. Bear with me; it’s not finished.” He started a melody that was deceptively simple, his fingers picking easily across the strings in a tune she could best describe as hopeful.

  Where you from and where you going?

  I’d like to join you for the ride.

  With your brown eyes smiling up at me,

  It’s a lovely place by your side.

  I’ve been hurrying long down a highway of pleasure,

  But it’s empty and bleak in the night.

  Show me grace, slow me down, keep me anchored to faith.

  Together we’ll make the world right.

  He smiled at her as his fingers kept going, then cocked an eyebrow, as if asking for her approval.

  Not that he needed her opinion whatsoever, but her breath caught in her chest as she nodded enthusiastically. Yeah, it was a work in progress, but the essential Rage Riot—the confessional, doubting, hopeful messiness that made her love them—shone through more strongly in eight lines than it had in almost the whole of his last album. Plus the tune was catchy—she was going to be humming this one tonight.

  Joy filled her with so much light she could swear she was shining. It was definitely, bar none, the best night of her life.

  After another verse the song ended, and he stood up to the applause and hooting cheers he deserved.

  “‘Heresy’!” somebody yelled, naming the band’s most popular song to date.

  Mia huffed. “He said no Rage Riot songs, guys.”

  But she was quickly ignored as the crowd started to chant. For some reason, Rafael’s gaze found hers again.

  She should tell him it was okay and he should sit—an hour without a break was generous enough. Instead she said, “Please?” and pressed her hands together in supplication.

  That glorious smile came back. “A’right, a’right, a’right. Seriously, though. No more after this.” He pointed the guitar neck their way. “Or I’ll sick Mia on you.”

  Mia nodded. “And I’m a bitch.”

  Rafael stood up and strummed once down th
e guitar. “Gonna sound a little different on acoustic. Lyss, get up here!”

  “I don’t have a guitar!” she called back. Somehow, one almost immediately appeared. Lyssa good-naturedly groaned and rolled her eyes but took it up to the front to stand with her brother.

  Rafael struck the guitar with the popping rhythm known round the globe, and someone in the backyard screamed. Rafael winked that direction as his posture shifted from laid-back chill to the energetic charisma he had in front of a camera.

  My mama says your love has put the devil in me.

  Bam-bam-bam-bam went guitar chords from both players.

  I’ll never go to heaven ’less I get on my knees.

  Bam-bam.

  But darling that’s just what I do each time you say please.

  Rafael and Lyssa turned to each other, bouncing in time, rocking a couple acoustic guitars as the backyard erupted in everyone singing:

  You’ll always be my-my-my favorite... heresy.

  Giselle threw her hands in the air, singing at the top of her lungs and riding on a sense of belonging in this, of all places. She wasn’t the weirdo, she was one with the crowd, blessed by the music of the man in front of her.

  He’d made her special, for just one night. Was it possible to love Rafael Marquez more? No, it was not. He was perfect.

  Too quickly the song was over.

  “Whose guitar is this?” Rafael called, holding it over his head. About three hands went up, but Brad snatched the instrument before it went home with the wrong person.

  Someone asked for an autograph, which turned into a line of people. Mia frowned and started to get up, but Rafael motioned for her to sit down. Just as she did, he looked at her again. She hopped up, ready to pull him from the teeming masses.

  “Could I get some water?” He smiled as he looked back to his fans.

  Mia shot Giselle the nastiest look she’d ever seen. Why it was directed at her, she had no idea.

  “Rafe!” Lyssa chided. “That isn’t Peter.”

  Rafael looked up. Looked at Mia. Then a mortified look spread across his face. “Sorry.”

  About a dozen people in line volunteered to get him water, beer, food, their firstborn children. Giselle relaxed back into the seat as Lyssa, who’d ended up several feet closer to them than her brother, leaned over as she signed a T-shirt. “Peter’s usually the bouncer and he also does things like get water. You’re really good at herding people—like Peter—and my brother wasn’t thinking.”

  “He best learn the difference between a favor and hired help.” Mia pulled her feet up onto the couch, her heels scratching against Giselle’s thigh. “People just take and take, demanding all sorts of time from him, and he’s so nice he lets them.”

  Giselle was pretty sure she hadn’t imagined the pointed look Mia threw her. She studied the crowd around Rafael. He was going to be there for a long while, a space of her life she didn’t want to spend with Mia. Lyssa seemed okay enough—the way she talked over Giselle to Mia as she signed whatever was presented to her seemed more like she was friends with Mia than intentionally dissing Giselle. But she wasn’t comfortable to be around, either.

  And not to be a bitch, but Lyssa’s skills on the guitar, while adequate, were not up to the standard set by Lance on bass or Jada on drums—or Rafael on the guitar or piano. But she was Rafael’s sister, so...

  Giselle stood up. “It was good to meet you, Lyssa. Mia, see you in English.”

  Lyssa smiled at her, the expression friendly now that Giselle was leaving. “I’ll tell Rafael you said goodbye?”

  “Please tell him thank you; that was amazing.” She smiled back and then headed inside to find Rawan. If Rafael noticed her leaving, he didn’t acknowledge it. But that was all right. She’d had her moment in the sun and had to gird herself for a reality without Rafael for the rest of the evening. Or so she assumed.

  Chapter 23

  “RAW—AAAAH, SO SORRY.” Giselle busted into laughter as she found her roommate leaning against the bookshelves underneath the second staircase with what just might be her hand down her boyfriend’s pants.

  Rawan’s face flamed as she jerked away and gave her boyfriend a quick kiss before running to Giselle and ushering her out of hearing. “How’s it going? I heard part of the concert he gave—I also heard he did it for you! Are you, like, through the moon?”

  Her boyfriend leaned out of the alcove, tucking his shirt back in with one hand and waving the other around like What the hell?

  Rawan motioned him backward. “This is important.” She paused, then leaned back to look at him. “So are you. Just give me a minute.” She blew him a kiss, and he leaned back against the bookshelves looking surly and disheveled. But he caught the kiss and pressed it to his heart, so he couldn’t have been that mad.

  “So...” Rawan prompted.

  “It was amazing. The best thing ever. But he didn’t do it for me, really. I was a brat and said his concerts are too expensive for poor people like me.”

  Rawan laughed. “Oh, girl. He didn’t have to play—and if he did feel guilty, he didn’t feel an hour guilty, come on!” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Any chance you’re not coming back to the room tonight?”

  Giselle laughed at that. “Are you asking for me or because you want the room empty for Malik?”

  Rawan pressed a hand to her chest. “You wrong me! Ninety percent wrong. Most of that was rooting for you.” She nodded, color once again flushing her cheeks a becoming pink-brown. “Though I was planning on heading to Malik’s tonight, despite his roommate. I don’t want to be intimidated by that... jerk.” She grimaced. “I’ll drop you back home first whenever you’re ready to go.”

  “I can get a ride—”

  “Don’t be crazy! I’m not leaving you alone at a party to fend for yourself.” She tapped Giselle’s chest. “Unless you’re getting a ride from you-know-who, come find me or text or something when you’re ready, okay?”

  Giselle closed her eyes, happy with life. “College is so much better than high school.”

  “I know, right?”

  Malik slunk over to them, then grabbed Rawan’s hand to tug her away with an enticing smile. “Come on...” He winked at Giselle. “No offense, but she gets to see you all the time.”

  Giselle pretended to pout. “But I never get her hand down my pants.”

  Malik froze with his mouth open as Rawan howled in laughter. “Great, now he has ideas. Thanks, roomie!” She shoved Giselle’s shoulder, and Giselle headed back toward the party, leaving them to their fun.

  The main room’s music was a little too pounding bass after the revelation on the back porch. She glanced out a window, hoping to catch sight of Rafael—because stalker, thy name was Giselle—but he wasn’t back on the bench with Lyssa and Mia, despite the autograph frenzy being over.

  Feeling restless, she wandered out the front door and curled up on the porch swing to enjoy the relative quiet and solitude. The house was a little ways out of the city, near the road Coyote-as-Rafael had driven her down. She smiled at the memory of laughing and hanging on to the oh-shit handle as he zigzagged around curves.

  Speak of the devil... her phone meowed, the signal that something had been forwarded from her Batphone. She grinned as she read Coyote’s message.

  Got bored-mad, fell off the wagon. Tell me one of us is being good.

  Im always good.

  Of course you are, mi diosita.

  She could picture him, his sardonic smile under his mask making it impossible to tell if he was kidding. Y u mad? Ur always happy.

  Nah. Just act that way. Meet up tomorrow, search for your cape? I want to see you fly.

  She bit her lip, surprised that he’d admit to being unhappy. He sure seemed to have everything a human could want... but that didn’t guarantee anything, now did it? Got ritual n the morning. Wont have much Freyja time after.

  Ritual? Church on Sundays, pagan goddess Mon-Sat?

  She laughed. No silly. Freyjas a witch. Sund
ay is for oracle and planning.

  Oracle??? You predict the future? Can I see? I want to ritual with you.

  She stared at the screen for a moment, wondering if that was a good idea. Sunday ritual had been a part of her life on and off for as long as she could remember. Some foster placements wouldn’t let her do it. Other times in her life she’d just been too... depressed was probably the right word. But Bryn had been Pagan, and they’d practiced together when she was a child, lighting candles to the spirits of their ancestors and throwing rune stones to try to find sense and order in the world. Sunday ritual gave her a sense of peace.

  That sounded dirtier than I meant. Or did it...? A winking emoji followed.

  At that she laughed out loud. Only if u can b QUIET and RESPECTFUL. Not sure u can handle it.

  I’ll be a perfect puppy. You’ll see. Best behavior. Pleading hands emoji.

  She considered it for a moment. One screwed-up Sunday wouldn’t ruin her life or anything, but keeping up with her rituals and planning sessions was part of her sanity. On the other hand, it would be nice to not be alone. Rituals should be for sharing. And with that pile of godstones in her backpack of holding, they had a lot to plan and work out. 9AM the lair. I will kick your ass out if u misbehave.

  I’ll be so good, pinky swear. Don’t tell my abuela I’m pagan now, or I’ll be in daily mass for the rest of my mortal existence. Tongue-out emoji. Off to bed... Good night, mi diosita. Have fun at your party—but not too much fun without me.

  She could practically hear him saying the words in the tantalizingly low voice he used when he was teasing her, and she swallowed, surprised at how excited she was at the thought of seeing him again tomorrow.

  Ur secrets safe with me. I dont know who ur abuela is. G’night. She tucked her phone away.

  Coyote was nuts—disconcerting but weirdly refreshing, with a devil-may-care sort of attitude that she’d never been able to have. It was fun but not safe. He didn’t seem to understand what a harsh place the world could be. If anyone found out who he was or, gods forbid, what they’d discovered in Freyja’s pouch...