Reflex

by Madelynne Ellis

  “I’ve worked with them,” she snapped defensively. “They’re good guys. The report is probably bollocks.” It had to be. Stories about the band frequently made the rounds on the internet. Most of them were utter tosh. “Attacked in what way?” Her mind kept jolting back to the screams she’d heard, and the sounds of ripping fabric.

  “Well, the write up is totally overblown. As far as I can tell she has some miniscule scratch from a glass that got broke.”

  “One of them glassed a reporter!”

  Surely not.

  No way.

  Ronnie startled her with a laugh. “What is up with you today? Sure, the writer would like us to believe that.” He flashed her a glimpse of the article’s headline on his phone screen. “But all that happened was that a glass got smashed next to her. It sounds like one of them got drunk and threw a wobbly when she wouldn’t get out of his face.”

  “Who was this? Which reporter?” She snatched the phone out of Ronnie’s hand.

  “Hey,” he protested, immediately reaching to reclaim it.

  Alle held on tight and scrolled through the article. It was a really dodgy music blog famous for stirring shit and skirting the edges of acceptability in terms of their reportage. No outright lies, but not a whole lot of truth either.

  “Ava Leigh,” she finally found the reporter’s name. “Might have known.”

  Ronnie reclaimed his phone and squinted at the microscopic text. “Never heard of her. Should I have?”

  “She works for Bang! and she’s a cow.”

  “Ooh!” Ronnie crowed, before folding his long legs up so that his heels were pressed against his butt on the chair cushion. “What’d she do to you?”

  Alle squeezed her lips together, and hoped the rush of blood to her cheeks didn’t show through the layer of foundation she’d caked on this morning to try and even out her sleep-deprived complexion. “Nothing. She’s just got a personal vendetta against them. She does nothing but talk crap about them all the time. I don’t know how she’s still working. The woman’s got no ethics. If there’s a line you shouldn’t cross, Ava Leigh has already pole vaulted it.”

  “So, you’re saying she probably hit on one of them and got told to fuck off.”

  “No. I didn’t say that. Not everything in this world is about securing male attention. I don’t know what her issue is. Maybe she just likes stirring shit. She wouldn’t be the first. Speaking of which, is it time we started mixing some of yours?”

  “Hey. My tunes are rocking.” His grin was almost enough to convince her, except she’d been listening to his version of rock-lite teenaged angst for a fortnight now.

  “Ronnie, you have one or two sparks of brilliance, but most of these are album tracks and you know it.”

  “Good. That’s what they’re supposed to be. And all I need is a couple of strikes to make it stratospheric.”

  “Hm, and then what? What’s sustaining you once you’re up there?”

  He shrugged his narrow shoulders, flowed out of the chair, and grabbing a set of headphones, headed to the recording booth. “My monumentally over large ego.” He winked. “Let’s do this. Then I have a surprise for you.”

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  His grin dwarfed the rest of his features. He winked. “You’ll like this one.”

  -11-

  They worked straight through until three, wired up on numerous rounds of coffee – her – and energy drinks – him. When they finally wrapped, Allegra had to admit they’d turned something that had been seriously mediocre as a demo tape into a fucking rocking track. There’d been an edge in Ronnie’s voice all day that had sliced some of the fuzzy sweetness off the lyrics and left them razor sharp. It was the kind of track Spook would like.

  Working on it had reminded her strongly of the time she’d spent remastering Within You, and the lessons she’d learned that day about emotional honesty. Admittedly, Ronnie’s song didn’t leave you feeling like you’d been through a cheese grater, but it did tickle the emotions in a way that let it slide under your skin and possess you. It also showed the world he was more than an arse and a pretty smile. Here was shown genuine musical talent on piano, guitar, and bass, and he topped it off with his gorgeous reedy, post-punk, indie grunge voice. Fact was; Ronnie was only one decent haircut away from being the icon of a generation. Well, that and a big break.

  He was already sitting atop a gargoyle in DeathScythe’s cobblestoned yard, munching his way through a packet of strawberry laces, when she emerged blinking into the sunlight. He looked like one of Satan’s imps come to unleash mischief on the world. Today, he was all in black, tomorrow, he’d just as likely roll up pastel pink or all over paisley. Except, there wouldn’t be a tomorrow. Barring approval from the label, the album was done. To her astonishment, that fact left her eyes brimming. They’d had fun, the two of them. He was easy on the eyes and easy to work with, even if he did spend most of the time high as a kite on sugar. The chances were the next person or group wouldn’t be nearly so easy-going.

  His intensity today had also kept her mind off Spook, and whatever was going on in Italy… France… Monaco, whichever it was that he was in now. Today was a travelling day.

  “Want one?” Ronnie hung a knotted red lace before her face as she took a quick look at her phone. Still no messages, or missed calls.

  “Not really.”

  “So, what’s next for you?”

  She shrugged, and against her better judgement accepted the sweet Ronnie was determinedly swaying before her like he was a hypnotist. Over the last year she’d been up and down the country, most of her jobs contracted on a freelance basis, but recently she’d been laying down a few roots here at DeathScythe. It had a good vibe, and the added benefit of being within a half hour drive of home.

  “You’re not sitting down with my rivals tomorrow, then?”

  She shook her head. The strawberry flavouring was sour enough to ensure the tears already clouding her eyes rolled right down her face. Ronnie watched her closely, his attention unwavering even once she’d un-wrung her expression, and blamed his choice of treats.

  “So, you’re free this evening?”

  “Um…”

  Oh, God, he wasn’t about to ask her out, was he? He was lovely, but her heart was definitely set elsewhere, and she’d feel like she was murdering puppies if she had to let him down. He really was a sweetheart.

  He caught her attention and crossed his eyes. “It’s okay, Allegra, I’m not suggesting you join me for an intimate candlelit dinner, but I did wonder if you fancied joining me at a gig tonight.”

  “You’re doing a show tonight?”

  “Nah, not me. Friend of mine scored me some tickets.”

  Okay, that was a relief. Also, sweet that he’d thought of her.

  “And this friend of yours doesn’t want to go along?”

  “Hell, no. Besides, she’s currently in Vietnam. So?” He pursed his lips and raised both eyebrows. “How about it?”

  A gig would be nice. She didn’t get out to hear live music nearly as often as she liked these days, whereas in the past, she’d have been out every weekend and a couple of week nights. Things with her dad, and then Ewan had really scuppered her routines over the last eight months.

  “Who’s playing?”

  “Black Halo—”

  “What?” she spluttered, knowing she must look like an idiot, but unable to stop herself from turning into a bug-eyed fool. “Ronnie, they’re not even in the UK at the minute. They’re playing—”

  “An intimate gig in Monte Carlo tonight to wrap up the Requiem tour. I know.” He’d never for a moment even let on that he was seriously into them, let alone into them enough to jump at the chance of tickets in a foreign land.

  “Ronnie, is this a joke?” Had she let slip her obsession? “How would we even get there?”

  He glanced at his wristwatch. “Plane. Check-in is in an hour. Flight’s two and a half hours. Then a thirty-minute drive from Nice, and we’ll
be there in plenty of time to get a drink before the doors open.”

  “You’re crazy.” He was, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t smiling from ear to bloody ear.

  “Maybe,” he laughed, amber eyes twinkling with mischief. “Are you joining me, or not? You are, right?”

  “For real?” She had all over body tingles. There’d be no need to sit staring at her phone waiting, hoping, she could see Spook in person and check he was okay. Not just check he was fine, but do other things too, touch him, talk to him, get right up close and personal. Except, it was all too fanciful and demented to be real. “Ronnie I’d love to, but how? I can’t just get on a plane to the south of France. I don’t have my passport or anything, and there’s no time to get them. Also, who would feed my cat?”

  “Ah,” he said, as if those details had completely escaped him. He flicked his black hair out of his eyes. “Well, I did kind of arrange a few things. Had a good long chinwag with your brother. He’s good to see to the moggy, mentioned it was technically his anyway, and he dug out a few bits he thought you might need and had them sent over, passport included.”

  “You what?”

  “Your brother, the one with the Captain Birdseye beard. He is your brother, right? Not your live-in lover? I haven’t trodden on any toes?” He slurped up another lace, and offered her one. Alle pushed his hand aside.

  “Ewan’s my brother. He knew about this?” She’d kill him. “He’s dropped off my passport?”

  “And some clothes.”

  She shook her head. Un-fucking-believable. “When did you two plan this? And how in hell are you in contact,” –scratch that, it was more like collusion— “with my brother?”

  Ronnie, bless him, steepled his fingers and pressed them to his smile. “Hm…”

  His eyebrows, along with the rest of his elastic face, screwed up into fake thoughtfulness. The hell he couldn’t remember. He’d clearly plotted this meticulously. And at some point, she might even figure out why.

  “I called him. Well, I had someone call him. But only because I knew Flynn was out.”

  Ah, things were finally making fractionally more sense. Ronnie knew Flynn. How? That remained to be established, but it made more sense than him knowing Ewan.

  “You didn’t know I knew him, did you?”

  “And you never mentioned it.”

  His smirk elongated from ear to ear. “We did a dance class at college together. Only two guys. Didn’t immediately realise you were his sister, but then I happened to run into him last weekend, and he happened to mention that your birthday’s coming up and that you haven’t forgiven him for sodding off on a sailboat straight after Ewan inconveniently lost two and a half toes right when you were due to mix Black Halo’s last album.”

  “And they think tickets make up for that?”

  Ronnie unfolded his long legs. “The tickets are my gift. They just covered the flights, or Ewan did, and a hotel that’s hopefully not hideous. However, we have backstage passes, so maybe the hotel thing doesn’t matter.” He sucked his cheeks in, while still grinning like a mad imp. “Not that I’m suggesting you’re the sort to randomly throw yourself at a guy, but having seen the way your eyes light up every time I mention Black Halo, you could be a total groupie if the opportunity arose.”

  “You’re way too much,” she said, battering him around the head. This was all unreal. Lord God, her heart was racing. Monte Carlo… They were heading to Monte Carlo. She would see Spook. Today. This evening. Not on some mythical date in the future. She’d know if everything was all right.

  She ought to call him.

  No. She didn’t want to warn him and give him the opportunity to invent yet another reason why they still couldn’t meet and spend time together. Alle clasped both hands to her mouth and breathed in deeply through her nose. This was surreal. Too crazy. Too awesome to be believable. There had to be a catch, something to throw a spanner in the works. Luck like this didn’t come her way.

  You got picked to work with Black Halo in the first place, didn’t you?

  Besides that.

  “Shall we get going?” Ronnie cannonballed off the gargoyle and somehow landed on his feet barely an inch away from her. He bent so his head was level with hers, and flashed her another of his boyishly charming smiles.

  Downside – she was looking right at it. Based on the reaction she’d got from Spook to the mention of him last night, rocking up with Ronnie wasn’t going to go down particularly well. On the other hand, Ronnie was hard to dislike in person. That and, hell, she had a feeling he was up to something.

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  He burst into a spontaneous high-kicking dance routine that he kept up all the way to the carpark.

  “You’re a total dork,” she said, laughing.

  Ronnie spun to a halt, then slurped up another strawberry lace. “But a loveable one,” he said, while chewing.

  That was annoyingly true.

  “I’m glad I’ve managed to put a smile back on your face.”

  Her too, though there was still a lead weight in her stomach, because God only knew what Spook would make of her just turning up. She had no idea if he’d be pleased to see her, or run a mile at the blessed thought.

  -12-

  Spook woke to the smell of coffee. He cracked an eyelid and found a steaming mug settled on the nightstand between the lamp and the alarm clock. He didn’t need to squint at the numerals to know it was well past morning. The sun and the sea breeze drifting in from the veranda, gently stirring the voile drapes, were clues enough. He was going to have to drag his sorry arse out of bed before long and put himself through whatever sound check they were doing for tonight’s show.

  “How’s your head?”

  Xane was fresh out of the shower at the foot of the bed, a towel around his waist and his dark hair damp around his shoulders with a few snake-like tendrils clinging to his biceps. That was a whole lot more nakedness than he wanted to deal with right now. Occasionally, it’d be nice to wake to something other than one of his mates’ bottoms waggling before his eyes.

  He reached for the coffee mug for something else to focus on. The heat radiating off the ceramic told him it was way too hot to drink, but he risked a sip anyway.

  “Like Paul’s been beating a dustbin lid against the inside of my skull.” His throat sounded like it was lined with rusty nails. He tried rubbing the outside of it, but that just made him wince when he discovered the bruising there. “I suppose you’ve been up hours.”

  “A while,” Xane replied. He dropped the towel. He possessed zero inhibitions. Although, thankfully, he pulled on a pair of lounge pants before turning around.

  Better. Spook stopped deliberately averting his gaze, no longer afraid of getting an eyeful. Although, the lounge pants were set so low on Xane’s hips, they didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination: happy trail, Adonis belt, semi. “You know there’s no one here to impress,” he remarked.

  Xane shrugged. “They’re comfortable for idling in. I’ll order some breakfast if the concept doesn’t alienate you.”

  Spook pushed up more firmly onto one elbow. Surprisingly, his head didn’t immediately crack in half, nor did his brain slosh about too much. Actually, the notion of breakfast didn’t sound too alarming. “What time is it?”

  “Quarter past four.”

  Fuck. Later than he’d anticipated. Explained why his head was merely foggy rather than home to a thunderstorm. Clearly, he’d slept off the worst of last night’s excesses. “I suppose eating something might be sensible given we’re due at a soundcheck in not very long.”

  “The crew can handle most of it. There’s no immediate rush.” Xane ran the previously discarded towel through his hair. “I’m showered, so bathroom’s yours when you’re ready.”

  “Is that a hint?”

  “I just figured after last night…”

  Eyelids closed, Spook rolled his mind back over the events of the previous night. It was all snapshot perfect up until th
e taxi ride, after which things were hazier. He recalled the gig and the bastard fucker who’d assaulted him all too well. Then, lights on the ocean, a glass box, and pain, followed by being bent double in the long grass, a lengthy darkness, and finally the silence of the suite and the nauseating taste of minty mouthwash. He drank another slurp of coffee to flush out that particular memory. Xane stood staring him as if he was waiting for a penny to drop.

  It did, in a sudden flash of clarity. Tiny fragments of sensory bliss dancing in his memory like dust motes. The physical manifestation of which was dried upon his abdomen.

  “We didn’t?” he asked, toes curling, as he winced in anticipation of the answer.

  Xane, bastard that he was, had the audacity to laugh. “That, you did entirely to yourself. Apparently your drunken unconscious mind doesn’t adhere to the same set of rules as the usual you. But, you know, thanks for the show. Really appreciated that.”

  Xane’s deadpan made it hard to determine if he was being genuine or sarcastic.

  “I suppose it never crossed your perverted little mind to stop me.”

  Xane palmed a hairbrush and began dragging it through his waist-length hair. “Oh, I definitely suggested it. As for physically preventing it, you didn’t exactly put me in a position where that was possible, considering you parked your arse right on top of me and apparently you weigh about forty stone while sleeping. There was no budging you. Whatever fantasy you were living was far too appealing to shake you loose from.”

  Snatches were all that remained. Allegra had been part of it, but not the whole.

  “You know, it’s impressive, really. Most guys that drunk just fall asleep holding it. You, on the other hand, showed single-minded determination in your pursuit of pleasure. If only that translated into the waking world, then you wouldn’t be staring at me like you’re about to leap up and tear me limb from limb.”

  He wasn’t. And they weren’t having this conversation. He didn’t want to discuss his sex life, or rather the lack of it, with Xane or anybody else. Nor did he want to talk about Alle and the emotional rollercoaster ride he endured every time they spoke.