Enchanted By Fire (Dragons Of The Darkblood Secret Society Book 3)

by Meg Ripley

  “Not for the foreseeable future.”

  Mary sighed. “I can’t…if you’re going to just go back to using again in a couple of weeks, or a month…or even six months…”

  I licked my lips. “I’m not asking you to commit to me for the rest of your life,” I said quickly. “But you’re—fuck, Mary, you’re goddamn amazing, don’t you know that?”

  “You’re not really in the best place to—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I said, my voice absolutely dead level. “I know what I want. I want to stop using for a while and see how it feels. I want to get to know you better. I want to see if what we’ve got going between us is just two broken people or if we can be fucking better than that. Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

  Mary pressed her lips together and I could see the thoughts flicking through her dark eyes as she considered what I was saying. “Okay,” she said after a minute, exhaling slowly. “If I’m honest with myself, yes, I do want to see where we can go with this.” She looked up and met my gaze. “But Alex… I can’t be with you if you’re going to use. You get that, right? And I swear to god if you start using and then lie to me about it because you don’t want to lose me…”

  “Want me to call Nick? He’ll tell you in a heartbeat if I backslide. He’d love to have an excuse to call you up and chat.” Mary frowned in confusion. “He still thinks you’re as hot as a fucking four-alarm fire.”

  “Ugh,” Mary said, rolling her eyes. “I will never in a million years understand how guys in a band can all have the hots for the same girl and not self-destruct over it.”

  “Because we don’t let it interfere. I’ll call Nick right now and have him give you his word that he will call you the minute he ever finds me using, if I haven’t told you first.”

  Mary took another deep breath and stared into my eyes, and I saw that knowing, penetrating look that I loved—but that also intimidated me, even after seeing her at her most vulnerable.

  “We’ll come up with ground rules,” she said finally. “I’m not going to be responsible for your sobriety. Let’s make that clear right off the bat.”

  “That’s fair.”

  “We’ll get you in with another counselor. I can’t be your counselor if I’m seeing you romantically.”

  “Whatever you want,” I said with a little grin.

  Mary frowned sharply. “No. You are going to act like a fucking adult and you are going to name your own terms and we are going to have a mature goddamned relationship, or I’m out right now, even if you are the best lay I’ve ever had.”

  I smirked. “I knew I’d get you to admit it.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A week had passed since the raid on Big J’s house, and as I walked into the rehearsal space the band had taken with help from the label, I felt nervous for the first time in years. It was a weird feeling; even though I was still dealing with odd kinds of numbness as time went by, certain things were way more overwhelming than they used to be. Normally, right up until my stint in rehab and my time with Mary, I’d have already had a buzz going on by the time I went in for rehearsal; as I walked into the building the band had taken, I was clean as a whistle.

  Mary and I had agreed that after I did thirty days of complete sobriety—starting over from the night when we’d both done coke that night of the raids—I would see if I could manage to drink alcohol. I’d never had a problem with managing my intake on that before, and Mary had admitted that most programs insisted on complete sobriety, but that she had seen a lot of users who didn’t seem to have a problem with alcohol. If I showed signs of trying to find a fix, though, I would have two choices: go sober again, completely, and stay that way, or end the relationship.

  “Yo! Looking good, North,” Jules said from a corner of the rehearsal room. Since the record label had put it out and around that we were working on new material for an album, the band and I had agreed that we might as well make the fiction into fact, now that Big J was behind bars. His bail had been set at three million; they’d managed to raid the rest of his houses the same night as they’d busted in on my meeting with him, and they’d rounded up so much of so many kinds of drugs that even at the most optimistic, he wasn’t going to be out this side of my eightieth birthday. If I lived that long.

  “Has Mary got you on a cleanse?”

  “Asshole,” I muttered; then I grinned, “She’s got me on a cleanse all right; I sweat all my toxins out every night under a fucking down blanket.”

  The rest of the guys were almost done setting up, and I snagged one of Nick’s spare guitars while I waited for them to work out all of the sound. I wasn’t ready to admit it to Mary yet, but I’d already noticed, since I’d been clean for a week—not even any ‘buffering’ drugs in my system—that ideas were starting to flow. Melodies, little dribs and drabs of lyrics. Smiling to myself, I started picking out the meandering, musing melody of Silverchair’s “My Favorite Thing,” playing it to myself. None of the other guys in the band were even paying attention to me. Got my fever down/ and weighed it up/ And I know the sounds remaining/ won’t strain all the silt from my eyes…You’re my favorite thing/ You’re my favorite/ the one that I love, the one so I’d die for your love… I closed my eyes as I played, losing myself in my memory of the bright, shining strings, the darker undercurrent of the piano melody. Open my heart, won’t fall apart/ so don’t fall apart… As cheesy as it was, for the first time in the more than decade since I’d first heard the song, I could understand it completely.

  I couldn’t be sure that I could hold up my end of the relationship with Mary; I didn’t know what the future held. We had told the police what we suspected about her former boss, and even though she had told me that she couldn’t possibly be my full-time counselor, the label had insisted on paying her to be my “life coach” while the band worked on a new album. I hadn’t said it to her directly, but even though we’d only been together for a few weeks, I knew—knew deep down in the pit of my heart and in the depths of my soul—that I loved her.

  After rehearsal, I thought I would make good on the things I’d prayed, the things I’d thought on the night that we’d both been under threat of death; I would buy her flowers, and I would get her the biggest box of chocolate I could find, and I would tell her over and over again how much I loved her. It was the least I could do for the woman who had brought me kicking and screaming into real, true recovery.

  “Yo, North! Where’s your head at? We’re ready to go.” I shook off my thoughts and stood, bringing Nick’s guitar with me as I crossed the room.

  “Before we get started, I want to show you guys a new bit I’m working on.” I grinned to myself; I wouldn’t admit it in a million years, but I knew they’d know anyway.

  The song was about Mary.

  THE END

  Julian

  I’m the lead guitarist in one of the most successful bands in the Miami scene named Molly Riot. Our label is trying to convince us to tour with Juniper Woolf, a rival band that’s fronted by an attention-seeking brat named Fran Chambers.

  When my band mates finally convinced me to sign off on the tour, I thought there was no way that I’d ever get along with Fran…that is, until I started spending time alone with her on the tour bus.

  You know, I’ve gotta say, no woman has ever had such a pull on me. We can’t keep our hands off each other, but the problem is, we can’t let anyone else in either of our bands know about our little tryst. If the press were to get a hold of this, we’d all be in for one hell of a shitstorm.

  Do you have any idea how hard it is to hook up on a tour bus without anyone else knowing about it? I’ll tell you one thing, if the two of us can keep this a secret, we’ll each deserve an Oscar…

  CHAPTER ONE

  I shifted in my chair, looking around at the other members of the band; Ron had just left the room “to give you time to discuss the proposition from the label,” and true to our forms, we’d all stopped talking altogether.

  “It’s
not a bad deal,” Dan said quietly, breaking the silence.

  “Yeah, but fucking Juniper Woolf? Are they even serious with that shit?” Nick shook his head in disgust. I twisted my hips so I could fish a half-finished pack of cigarettes out of my pocket; Alex looked at me as I shook one free of the box and found my lighter.

  “If we can keep Julian from killing Fran, it might work,” Alex suggested.

  “I won’t kill her,” I said, lighting my cigarette and taking as long a drag as I could fill my lungs with. “I’ll leave her alive.”

  “The only reason they think this is a good idea is because of Jules’ rivalry with her,” Mark pointed out. “Maybe if you had a filter, dude…”

  “Maybe if I had a filter I wouldn’t notice how much of an attention whore she is?” I rolled my eyes and blew smoke through my nose. “We can’t do it.”

  “They’re promising us an extra half million for the next album if we do,” Dan pointed out. “And a bonus if their first album on the label sells fifty thousand.”

  “We’re never going to see even a cent of that fucking bonus, dude,” I told Dan. “Who the hell’s going to buy the Juniper Woolf album? Fucking nobody, that’s who.” I took another drag of my cigarette and shook my head.

  “Still, just the extra half mil is worth it,” Alex said. “We could make the next album huge with that kind of money.”

  “That’s assuming none of us ends up in prison,” Mark said.

  “Julian is all talk about Fran,” Nick told everyone. “He just doesn’t want to work with her because he’s worried she’ll cut in on his wanking time.”

  “Like he’d even hesitate to jerk off with her in the room,” Alex said.

  “If she walked in on me that’d be her problem,” I pointed out. Nick dug a cigarette out of his gig bag and lit it, and for a moment silence filled the room again.

  “Half a million more for the next album,” Dan said finally. “Guys—that’s not chump change and you all know it.”

  “Neither is two billion,” I said, flicking the ash off the end of my cigarette in the general area of the ashtray. “But working with Juniper Woolf isn’t worth that, either.”

  “Come on, Jules,” Alex said, looking me in the eye. “This could be really good for us.”

  “Besides, apart from getting yourself involved with a drug ring like Mr. Alex North over here, or having sex with the rising music press star like Nick, what else can you do to promote us that would be better than putting aside your stupid fucking feud with Fran Chambers?” asked Mark.

  I glanced at Mark. “I didn’t know it was my fucking job to promote us,” I told him. “I thought we had someone taking fifteen fucking percent from our royalties for that.”

  “What’s your problem with her, anyway?” Dan looked up at me from his position on the floor, an eyebrow raised in query.

  “Jules doesn’t need anything so petty as a reason to hate someone,” Nick said with a smirk. “He can judge someone’s worthiness within thirty seconds of meeting them.”

  “He’s never made a decision that works against the interests of the band, though,” Dan countered. “I want to know where this all started.” I shrugged, leaning over the arm of the chair and reaching for the acoustic guitar I’d put aside when Ron had come in.

  “She’s just an attention-seeking bitch and I can’t stand her,” I said, splaying my fingers over the fret board until I found the chord I wanted and picked at a few of the strings.

  “They met like a year ago,” Nick told Dan. “We were out after one of the shows, and caught the tail end of Juniper Woolf.”

  “So, what happened?” I kept playing, ignoring Alex’s question; it had been around about the time that Alex had been either in rehab—meeting his girlfriend Mary—or on the run from the main dealer in South Florida.

  “She threw glitter at him from the stage,” Nick said with a shrug. “Apparently, she does that a lot.”

  “Like I said,” I cut in, “she’s an attention-seeking bitch.”

  “Did you get glitter in your eye or something?” Dan looked at me, incredulous. “I mean it’s not like we haven’t done some crazy shit to get attention.”

  “You played an entire show in an Elvis costume,” Mark pointed out. “It wasn’t Halloween.”

  “You guys were in costumes, too,” I said. “It’s not like I was the only person on the stage in a fucking costume.”

  “But you still did it,” Alex insisted.

  “Costumes are one thing,” I told him, shaking my head. “Throwing glitter at people? Christ.”

  “Green glitter at that,” Nick said with a smirk. I stubbed out my cigarette and went back to playing.

  “Can’t you put your stupid rivalry with her aside for a few months to get a deal for us?” I looked up at Alex and sighed.

  “I will if she does,” I said, knowing I sounded petty as shit and not even caring. “Besides, she owes me an apology.”

  “I doubt you’re going to get that from her,” Mark said, shaking his head.

  “She’s not that bad,” Dan said. “I met her last week at Respectables up in West Palm.”

  “The hell were you doing in West Palm?” I frowned at Dan.

  “Girl I know works up there,” he said with a shrug. “Her car broke down and she needed a ride.”

  “A ride or a ride?” In spite of myself, I laughed at Nick’s clarification.

  “She got home safely in the morning,” Dan said, smiling slightly. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Juniper Woolf was playing Respects and I chatted with them a bit afterward.”

  “And what’s your verdict?” Alex looked from Dan to me and I played an off chord just to irritate him.

  “They’re legit,” Dan said, shrugging. “Offstage, Fran’s pretty nice.”

  “Did you give her a ride, too?” I gave Dan a significant look.

  “She had a ride,” Dan told me. “Went home with the rest of her band after closing.”

  “Jules,” Alex said, shifting in his chair and lighting a cig, “You’re the only holdout in the band. Come on, man—it can’t possibly be that bad. We’ll play a few joint shows with them, do a little PR bullshit, act like buddies for a few months, and get a huge fucking paycheck at the end of it all.”

  “I think we should hold out for a full million,” Mark said, picking up his drumsticks and tapping a fast-paced staccato on the arm of his chair.

  “They’re not going to give us a full million on top of our old budget,” Alex said, shaking his head. “A one and a half million dollar album? Are you crazy?”

  “One million altogether is more than we’re worth for an album,” Dan added.

  “If it was, we wouldn’t be getting it,” I pointed out. “They wouldn’t offer us that if they didn’t think we could make it back.”

  “They think we can make it back between our sales and Juniper Woolf’s,” Nick said.

  “Okay—let’s make this at least somewhat official,” Alex said, raising his hands in the air. “All in favor of taking the deal?” Nick, Dan, and Alex raised their hands. “All opposed?” I raised my hand. Alex looked at Mark sharply. “What about you, Marky?”

  “I’m abstaining,” Mark said, grinning. “I don’t want anyone in the band pissed at me for backing the wrong side.”

  “Come on, just fucking vote,” Alex told him. Mark looked at me, at Dan, and then at Alex.

  “Fine,” Mark said finally. “I’m in favor of it, as long as Julian can keep from getting himself arrested for vandalism or something like that.”

  “You’re the only holdout, Jules,” Alex told me.

  “I thought we’d agreed that we either all agree on something or we don’t do it,” I pointed out; it was an old agreement in the band: if any one member of the band disagreed with a deal, or didn’t want to do something that impacted the whole band, we didn’t do it.

  “That shit went out the window when everyone voted me into rehab,” Alex said, shaking his head. “But I
’d appreciate it if you’d at least give it a fair chance.” I sighed and found another cigarette in my pack, lighting it as I considered. Alex was right; there was no point in holding out when everyone else in the band wanted to move forward with what we were doing.

  “Make sure Ron has a lawyer on retainer for us,” I said as I exhaled a plume of smoke. “I have the feeling we’re going to need it. I’m in.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Everyone! Five minutes,” Ron called into the room. I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. It’s just a couple of months. That’s all. I glanced at the rest of my band mates; Alex looked pleased as punch, Nick had his usual too-cool-for-the-world expression, Mark might as well have been glowing, and Dan was scribbling something in a notebook, utterly relaxed. I was the only one in the room that was tense.

  “All right,” I said, stretching against the tightness in my back. “Let’s get this stupid shit over with.”

  As soon as I’d agreed to the arrangement from the record label, they’d put the final package together so fast that I figured they’d already had it planned before they even came to us. We’d announce our promotional tour at a press conference alongside the members of Juniper Woolf, and then there would be three months of dates around the country—New York, Florida, Oregon, Washington, California, and a few scattered across the mid-west. Along with that, we’d do a bunch of press, a bunch of interviews. And at the end of it, we were slated to release an EP with them, with songs recorded at the shows and potentially—if we could work together long enough—a co-written track.

  “Remember, Julian,” Alex said, rising from his seat. “Smile.” I rolled my eyes.

  “I don’t smile anyway,” I pointed out.

  “Sure you do,” Mark countered, grinning at me. “You smiled for that girl in Paris last year.”