The Magic’s in the Music
by
Susan Squires
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Susan Squires
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Discover other titles by Susan Squires at www.susansquires.com
Other Books by Susan Squires
Danegeld
Sacrament
Sacrilege (novella)
Body Electric
Danelaw
No More Lies
The Companion (Companion Vampire Series #1)
The Hunger (Companion #2)
The Burning (Companion #3)
One With the Night (Companion #4)
One With the Shadows (Companion #5)
One With the Darkness (Companion #6)
Time for Eternity (DaVinci Time Travel Series #1)
Twist In Time (DaVinci #2)
Mists of Time (DaVinci #3)
Do You Believe In Magic? (Magic Series #1)
He’s A Magic Man (Magic #2)
Your Magic Touch (Magic Novella)
Waiting for Magic (Magic #3)
Night Magic (Magic #4)
Critical Acclaim For New York Times Bestselling Author Susan Squires
“Superb writing, vivid narrative combined with complex plotting, and intricate characterization make each novel by Ms. Squires an absolute winner.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Susan Squires has a fascinating, unique voice:[she] is a rare talent.”
—New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan
“Few writers combine a sensual romance within a supernatural thriller as well as Susan Squires consistently does.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Full of colorful characters, romantic locales and vivid details of 1820’s life [One With The Shadows] has a delicious pace and plenty of thrills…”
—Publisher’s Weekly (A Best Book of the Year)
“Do You Believe In Magic? is an entertaining and exciting paranormal romance that will leave fans desperate for more. This novel features a great couple introduces a charismatic family and sets up what should be a very fascinating series.” (Four Stars)
—The Romance Review
“…action, adventure, magic fighting, loving and more. Since it is the first of a series, there are enough threads left dangling that you know it’s going to continue yet the story gives a satisfying ending. Recommended for anyone who likes paranormal romance…” (Four Stars)
—Night Owl Reviews on Do You Believe In Magic?
“Squires’ deft plotting and full-bodied characters make this whirlwind adventure worthwhile.”
—Publishers’ Weekly on Body Electric
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Other Books by Susan Squires
Critical Acclaim for Susan Squires
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About Susan Squires
Coming Soon: This Magic Moment
The Magic’s In the Music
CHAPTER ONE
‡
“You can’t seriously be considering turning down this role.” Greta’s friend, Jax, had to shout over the din at Club Magma. Though the band was on a break, the noise of a capacity crowd bounced off the high ceiling and cement walls painted in glowing swirls of orange and red. “Any woman in her right mind would kill for it.”
Greta knew that included Jax. She raised her eyebrows at her friend. “Girlfriend of the superhero in a comic book reboot? Not sure that’s what my career needs.” Red lights pulsed and flashed, making the place look like the inside of a volcano. Custom designed to give Greta a headache. Why exactly was this one of the hottest clubs in town? Her gaze was drawn to a big guy leaning against a pillar in the shadows. Rough, good-looking features and a scary scar running down one cheek got her attention. Hard to believe the bouncers at Magma had let him in.
“Hey, what’s wrong with playing at true love with Jimmy DeBrett and starring in a franchise that will still be going when you’re forty?” Jax sipped her red drink. It boiled smoke from a dry ice cube, thus its name, Lava Lamp. Several of its namesakes sat on the bar, boiling away. “Every woman and half the men in Hollywood would kill for that gig.” Jax giggled.
Greta felt bad that what Jax had always dreamed about came so easily to Greta. It must hurt Jax that Greta wasn’t even sure she wanted the acting success her friend craved.
“I didn’t fight so hard for control of my life just to let my agent talk me into a new form of servitude. They’ll want a contract that goes on forever.”
“Uh-oh. Incoming at six o’clock.” Jax gestured with her glass.
Greta sighed. In a place like this, fans weren’t likely to be the sweet, shy ones. She half turned and caught their approach from the corner of her eye. Not sweet and shy. A cluster of swaggering young men moved in on her. Leather jackets, scruffy hair and scuffed boots. The one in the lead had a leer to match his three-day stubble.
“You’re Gretchen Falk,” he accused, hooking his thumbs in his front jeans pockets.
She gave him her sweetest smile. Why the hell had she let Jax talk her into clubbing? “Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”
He looked her up and down. Slowly. “Not what you can do for me, honey, it’s what I can do for you.” He tried for a growl. She’d bet he practiced it, along with the smirk, in front of a mirror.
She sighed and swiveled back on her stool. “Think I’ll pass on that kind offer,” she muttered, pretty sure he couldn’t hear her over the din. She passed her empty glass to a good-looking bartender who was setting drinks down in front of a couple to her right. He raised it to her and nodded. Guess the bartenders in here had to learn sign language.
The hand on her shoulder made her flinch as the smirker swiveled her stool around. He leaned in close enough that she could smell whiskey, but his unfocused eyes told her that whiskey wasn’t all he was on. “You don’t want to miss out on an offer like this, honey.”
She tried to shrug him off, but he wasn’t having any of it. The guy had her arm. Damn. Bernie was always pestering her about getting protection. At times like these, she wished she’d listened to him. “Look, if you want autographs, show me something I can sign. Otherwise, leave me alone.”
“You don’t want to be alone tonight,” the guy shouted at her.
A shadow loomed behind him and grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t be an asshole, kid.”
Wow. The guy with the scar. Where had he come from? She was pretty sure he didn’t need to practice the gravelly growl or the dangerous look. He had an intriguing accent. French? The punk and his friends, who had been a little frightening just a minute ago, looked suddenly soft
and naïve in comparison to the newcomer.
The punk struggled away. “Look what the cat drug in.” His mouth curled into a sneer. But he seemed a little taken aback at his opponent’s hard eyes. Understandable. As the punk’s attention shifted, Greta wriggled off her stool, pulling the skirt of her tiny, beaded dress discretely down and sidled in next to Jax. The bartender was hovering.
“I think you need to leave,” the guy with the scar said. He gave a hard-eyed stare to the others in the pack. “Take your friends with you.”
They looked like sulky children, but no one stepped up to challenge Greta’s rescuer. Why would a man who looked like that bother to help her out? Her persecutor realized he was on his own. But she could see the stupid punk decide he couldn’t back down without losing face. He took a swing at the guy with the scar. The guy ducked it easily, disgust hardening his face. He put a hand on the kid’s shoulder and stepped into him, getting his hip under an uppercut to the kid’s gut. Jerk dropped to the floor, clutching his belly. Wow. The only punches she’d ever seen thrown were by stunt guys, when Greta could be sure the victims were faking their injuries.
Jax gave a hoot of approval. Several people nearby clapped. Suddenly two club security mountains slid out of the crowd to pick up the punk. “Anybody else want to have privileges revoked?” one asked. He glanced at the pack. The mountains dragged the jerk to the door, and his companions dissolved into the crowd.
So did the guy with the scar. Greta looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen. She hadn’t even had a chance to thank him.
“Sorry about that,” the bartender shouted. “I should have caught that earlier.”
“If I have you to thank for calling in the cavalry, I’m more than grateful.”
“Looks like your rescuer had it under control,” he shouted. “Martini is on the house.” All the bartenders at Magma were lean and cute. No doubt they were all out-of-work actors This one slid a drink in front of her. “Where’d the white knight get to? He’s got a free drink coming, too.”
Funny thing. The bartender didn’t have to shout the last part. The place had gone quiet.
“There he is,” someone said into the silence.
“It’s him.”
From several points in the room, Greta heard a soft hiss. “The Ghost.” Jax swiveled, then froze, her Lava Lamp forgotten.
For Greta, things started to move in slow motion. She felt a tug, almost physical, from behind her. She turned like she was moving through viscous liquid.
The man who strode through the crowd had shaggy dark hair, a long leather duster and stubble of at least three days. That’s where the similarity to the jerk who’d just been tossed out ended. This guy was no poseur. He had more in common with her scarred rescuer. He couldn’t care less about the crowd. He didn’t even spare them a glance. The fierce look in his eyes was all for the red-washed stage. He strode toward it like he was moving through hell toward redemption. A backpack swung carelessly by his side.
Greta peered at his profile. He actually kinda looked like the man with the scar; same dark hair, fair complexion. Greta shook herself. She was just imagining that. This guy was far less rough.
“Get people on the sound board and the lights,” a hefty man hissed to someone in the shadows. Club manager? Several guys in black jeans and tee shirts scurried away.
Greta was having a hard time catching her breath. What was with that? Yeah, the guy was a looker, but she’d been hanging out with beautiful men since she was twelve, and they’d never affected her this way. Cheekbones? Check. Strong jaw? Likewise. But his chin had a dimple, if she wasn’t mistaken. His lips were full, sensual. He felt dangerous, but contradictory. Definitely not like the guy with the scar. That one had been menace through and through—no contradictions or doubts in evidence.
The crowd didn’t yell at the newcomer or jeer. They backed out of his way respectfully.
“It’s him,” Jax whispered. The guy hopped up on the stage and surveyed the instruments abandoned there, his back to the crowd. He dropped his backpack and shed his leather coat. No one challenged him, though Greta could see the band who owned the instruments stick their heads back in from offstage, where they’d been taking their break. The guy some had called Ghost glanced to the keyboards but settled on a guitar, a candy-apple red one that glinted in the dim light. He picked it up, flipped a few switches on the amp and corrected the tuning. Back still to the audience, he strummed a chord.
That chord seemed to reach right down into your guts and quiver. Greta found it almost shocking. As the echo died away, the man on stage threw his head back and began to play in earnest. It was no song she knew. She’d be willing to bet no one except this Ghost knew that song. The cascading notes were angry, but with a sobbing sound below that vibrated with sadness in your lungs. The notes started to soar only to be dashed to earth again and again by evil riffs. It was as if the man was ripping out his soul with that music. It went on and on. Nobody danced. Nobody fidgeted. Nobody talked. Nobody got up to go to the bathroom. They just listened, mesmerized. Maybe they knew they’d never hear something like this again.
He turned around to the audience, but Greta knew he wasn’t seeing anybody in the room. Emotions flickered across his expression as he pulled out those wild notes and sent them skittering or thundering or sidling slyly into the room.
When the last resounding chord crashed into silence, he stood with head down. The place erupted in applause and shouts. “Ghost!” Greta felt like a linen suit in Arizona in the summertime. She came to herself and grabbed for her martini. Her hand was shaking.
What the hell?
When she turned back, about ten security guards were converging on the stage.
“Wasn’t he wonderful?” Jax was saying from somewhere far away. “I can’t believe we saw him. He could have been at a dozen clubs tonight, but I just had a feeling it’d be Magma.”
“I chose the club,” Greta murmured.
“Well, I agreed. He hasn’t been here in three weeks. It was time.”
The bouncers had almost reached the stage. “They aren’t going to throw him out, are they?” Greta asked, as if Jax would know such a thing.
“Oh, no. He just doesn’t like to be touched. They’ll escort him to the bar, and he’ll drink for free as long as he wants. He doesn’t talk to anybody. And then somehow he slips out without anybody knowing and just… disappears. That’s why they call him the Ghost.”
“Who is he? I mean he’s got a real name, doesn’t he?”
Jax’s eyes were big as she turned toward Greta. “Nobody knows.”
Greta watched as the Ghost set aside the guitar in its stand and jumped down into the circle the bouncers had formed. He seemed to stagger before he righted himself, as though his legs had almost given out. The phalanx made its way over to the bar. People kept shouting his name. Well, to be fair, his name probably wasn’t actually Ghost, Greta decided. Pandemonium had broken out across the club. Greta glanced at her watch. He’d played for nearly an hour. Wait staff fanned out, taking orders. The din was back, in volcanic spades. The usual band peeked out to see if the coast was clear before they took the stage.
“No wonder he drinks for free,” Greta shouted at Jax. “This place is minting money with everyone hoping he’ll show up.”
“He’s been doing this for a couple of months. Business is up all over the club scene.” Jax’s short dark hair flipped as she swung to see where the phalanx would land at the bar. No wonder she’d refused the table they’d been offered. And that explained the drape neckline of the pink dress she was wearing that clearly showed most of her breasts. Jax had pulled out all the stops.
But she wasn’t alone. The pheromones hung heavy in the air. Everyone along the bar, male and female, watched the circle of security guards push through the crowd.. She could catch only glimpses of the Ghost behind the huge bouncers. He didn’t look up, just shuffled along with his striding escort.
Damn it. Greta was not one to fawn over anyo
ne, but the combination of all that talent and torment and that tug she’d felt from the first moment he came in was making her….wet. Didn’t she have a shred of self-control?
Oh, outstanding. They were coming down to this end of the bar. The two front bouncers broke away and politely asked the two guys to her right if they might be provided a seat elsewhere in order to make room for the club’s guest. Drinks would be on the house. To Greta’s surprise, neither complained. They took their drinks and followed the bouncers away, staring at the man now revealed clearly in the center of the circle. The bodyguards were huge, all of them, but the Ghost wasn’t little. He had to be over six feet by several inches with a pair of shoulders on him, as revealed by a dark, Henley-knit shirt. His shaggy, dark hair clung to his head, wet with sweat. He looked…dazed and a little lost.
He took the far bar stool, the one in the corner. A bouncer laid the Ghost’s long leather coat and his pack on the seat next to him almost reverently. Greta felt his presence down in her bones.
“Thanks,” he said his voice sounding as though he was someplace far away.
The bouncers, except for two, melted away into the crowd. Those two turned outward to face the crowd, which kept edging closer to get a look. A woman yelled, “That was really good,” over the noise of the band that had started to play again. The man they all called Ghost didn’t acknowledge her.
“Scotch,” he said. “Old. Neat.”
“Yes, sir,” the bartender yelled. He pulled out a bottle of Lafroig 15yo. “Will this do, sir?”
The Ghost nodded. “Yeah.” The bartender poured a generous shot. The Ghost hunched over the glass and downed it. “Might as well leave the bottle.”
The bartender didn’t blink an eye. He set the bottle on the bar in the empty space between Greta and the guy. “It’s all yours.”
Greta needed about three more martinis to numb the electric reaction her body seemed to be having to the man one barstool away. The regular band’s music sounded tinny and predictable. She’d sure hate to follow this guy’s act.
The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5) Page 1