by KT Strange
“Uh, yeah, so it's like, almost noon,” Max said. She glanced at the alarm clock on my desk that I purposefully kept far away from the bed to force myself up and out in the mornings. “I guess you slept in, huh?”
“Oh god,” I whispered. Max pulled out her phone.
“I'll order an Uber, my treat,” she said as she grabbed a pair of jeans out of my side of the wardrobe we shared. “Brush your teeth and put a bra on. Did you wanna wear that red sweater that makes your breasts look bombing?”
“It's an internship, not a nightclub,” I said as I hopped around on one foot, trying to pull socks on and get out of my PJ pants at the same time. The clock kept ticking forward despite my most time-stopping thoughts and, for once, I wished I was one of those witches who could actually halt reality. Never mind that doing that kind of magic was just as likely to stop your heart and kill you as it would stop the world from turning, I figured today was worth the gamble.
“Your driver, Zeke, will be here in five,” Max chirped as she passed me more clothes as I dressed.
“You're the best,” I said as I grabbed my backpack and shoved my laptop in it and looked around for my phone. Max was down at my feet tying my shoes.
“You're damn right,” she said as she held out my jacket and a granola bar. “Go kick ass. Break a wand.”
“Seriously?” I asked her with a flat glare. She opened the door.
“You don’t have time to sass me back. Get going!”
I didn't bother waiting for the elevator and instead bombed down the flights of stairs, getting outside the dorm just as Zeke pulled up. He stared at me as I flung myself into the back of the car and that’s when I realized I hadn't had time to even do my hair.
As he drove and put on what he thought passed for ‘sick club beats’, I dug around in my bag for a hair tie and some mascara. I would have to do with a messy bun and minimal makeup. Whatever. Like I had told Max, this was an internship, not a blind date. Looks didn't matter, right? I tried to keep an eye on the clock but the sinking feeling in my gut told me that no way was I going to be on time. A brief pause at a stop light let me put on a few coats of mascara, before I was flicking through my paperwork to locate any phone number or e-mail for my intern manager.
Her name was Willa North, and no, I did not have her contact. It felt like I was back at home with my family, my mother standing over me as I tried again and again to cast some small, basic spell with a sick pit of dread boiling away in my stomach as I couldn’t. Becoming a mundane had probably been a cop-out in some ways, because the demands of the mundane world weren’t anything compared to how much was expected of me as a young witch of the Llewellyn family. While college hadn’t been easy, at least I hadn’t felt as out of place as I had at home, especially with Max at my side to guide me through the intricacies of daily life.
I sat, as ready as I could be with nothing left to distract me from my nerves, in the back of Zeke’s car and sweated it out as the day ticked from AM to PM and I was officially late.
“You look nervous,” Zeke commented, in a display of shrewd observation. It was probably the way I was gripping my backpack to my chest, or the lack of blood in my face.
“I’m late to my first day at an internship,” I said with a shrug, as if I didn’t care when I totally did. Zeke eyed me in the rear-view.
“I can speed it up . . .” he trailed off and I didn’t encourage him. I’d noticed the way he’d nearly side-swiped another car as we pulled out of the dorm pick-up zone. I wanted to get to my internship in one piece more than I wanted to get there a little less late.
“Nah,” I said with a flap of my hand and sank back down to text Max about the misery of life. She tried to comfort me and apologize because she’d gone out for her early class, but it’s not like it was her job to wake me up. With dread clawing at the back of my throat and my stomach full of angry moths, Zeke pulled up in front of the label headquarters where I was going to meet Willa North, and be assigned my first duties as a new intern.
That was, of course, if she didn’t fire me on the spot for being nearly thirty minutes late.
“Good luck,” Zeke said over the last, gasping pumps of house music coming from his car sound system. Muttering a thank you, I scrambled out of the back of the car, and stared at the red brick building in front of me. It was low, only three stories, and sandwiched between glass-windowed condominium towers, and there wasn’t even a sign on the outside, just a street number, a single black metal door, and an intercom.
Was I really doing this? I was really doing this. I slipped my arm through one backpack strap and walked up to the door. I pressed the intercom button. I heard static for a moment, and then,
“Hello?”
“Hi, I’m Darcy Llewellyn? I’m the new int—”
Bzzzt!
The door clicked and I grabbed the handle. As soon as I stepped inside I was inundated with cool, air-conditioned air, and the deep scent of incense from the few sticks smoldering away in a bamboo planter right inside the door. Stairs led up, and there was another door to my right.
Before I could wonder which direction to go, a tall, dark-haired young woman only a few years older than me appeared at the top of the steps. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.
“Llewellyn?” she asked and before I could answer, “You’re late. Come on up. I only have a few more minutes before a licensing call with one of our partners in England, so we’ll just have a few minutes to talk about what you’ll be doing here.”
All the air rushed back into my lungs and I felt like I could breathe again. So, not immediately fired then, that was great news. I jogged up the stairs as Willa, or the woman I presumed was Willa, turned on her heel and waved for me to follow her.
“Through this way,” she said as we walked into a room that had a bunch of cubicles scattered across it. More than one person looked up at me as we walked by, and I tried not to stare in awe. Band posters were everywhere, along with gold and platinum record plaques on the walls. For such a small, independent label, XOhX had done amazing for themselves, churning out a steady parade of chart-toppers in the rock, alt-rock, and indie-pop scene. This was where I was working? I knew the label’s reputation from being a fan, but they’d never come up in any of my music industry classes during case-studies. I tried not to make it obvious that I was gawking as I stumbled, zombie-like in Willa’s wake.
One guy, who was sitting next to a quirky girl with thick orange glasses as she worked on what looked like some Facebook promo graphics, saw me staring at a set of triple platinum records on the wall above her desk. He winked at me when he caught my eye, and my cheeks went warm.
He was . . . to say he was hot, was probably an understatement. He radiated rockstar-cool vibes, with his ripped jeans and a white tank under a plaid shirt that snugged around bulging biceps. No thin-armed shoe-gaze guitarist then.
“Those’re mine, you can look but don’t touch,” he said with a jerk of his head toward the triple platinum records.
“Llewellyn,” Willa snapped, and I nearly tripped turning around to follow her. The guy laughed as I left him behind. Willa had opened up a glass french door that led into what looked like an informal meeting space. Low, dark leather couches were arranged for comfortable conversation. I put the laughing rockstar, and my embarrassment, behind me as she nodded to one couch, and collapsed onto the other.
“Look,” she started with a sigh as I sat. “You were late, and nothing pisses me off more than people who are late, but you were recommended by your professor—”
I was? I stared at her, my fingers numb around my backpack as I tried to set it down and look at her at the same time.
“And he happened to be my professor when I went through the program, so you know, it’s fine. Just don’t let it happen again, okay? Especially not when you’re dealing directly with the band. They can be late, they will be late, that’s what musicians do, but if you’re fifteen minutes early, then you’re right on time, you got it?”
“I got i
t,” I repeated, still trying to process the near-museum like walk I’d taken through the room where everyone appeared to work.
“That was the production floor, and you’ll have your own desk there next week,” she said, pointing at the glass doors we’d entered through. “Downstairs is the recording studio, don’t go there unless you’re accompanying the band or I’m bringing you. The equipment is worth more than your life. This is the meeting room.” She gestured around us and I looked up. More records, so many of them, lined the walls, although at the far end a beautiful floral mural covered the entire thing from one side of the room to the other. “This is where we debrief after tours, big shows and media appearances. Also a lot of late-night drinking happens in here when it shouldn’t, but don’t be a part of that if you know what’s good for you.” Willa surveyed me, a tilt of her head indicating she wasn’t sure about me.
“Um . . .” I cleared my throat, “so, what do you want me to start with?”
“I haven’t figured you out yet, because my instincts are good, but not that good. I hope you’re not a fangirl, because trust me, you’ll burn out pretty fast. They say never meet your heroes and they mean it. Nothing like running into that rockstar that jangled your jimmies when you were fifteen to find out he’s thirty-nine, and still interested in fifteen year olds.” Willa’s cheeks turned pink for a moment, and I wondered which rockstar had earned his place in her repertoire of war-stories.
“No, I mean, I love music—”
“That’s sort of a given,” she said, although there was a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth that made her words less mean than they should have sounded. “Anyway, the professor is never wrong about anyone he sends here. I would know, since I was the first one he sent here, and now I’m the management coordinator for all of the bands on our label,” she said.
My lips parted in surprise. Seriously? She looked like she was maybe twenty-six, if that. Willa smirked a little, her face transforming, vixen-like.
“I don’t want to brag, except I totally do, because I was the youngest intern ever taken on, and I moved up the ranks fast. They promote from within here as much as possible, and if you’re good, not saying you are, there’ll be a job for you at the end of the year,” Willa finished, folding her fingers from one hand over the other, on top of her knees. She looked at me expectantly.
“Wow,” I said, and she smiled, more genuinely this time.
“Before you meet your charges,” she said, “which is, I mean, the new baby-band we just signed that you’re going to manage—”
I coughed and she raised an eyebrow at me, as if daring me to say that I wasn’t anywhere near qualified. Which, you know, I totally wasn’t but it was obvious that admitting that was not a good idea.
“Anyway, before I take you in to the meet the guys, I wanted to give you a few pieces of advice. Never turn off your phone, and I mean never. If you don’t have a smartphone, we’ll give you one, but we expect you to have it on all the time, and answer when it’s label business. And, just to mention, any of the musicians on the label sexting you is not label business, so feel free to ignore that if it happens, because they’re probably drunk and you should ignore them, if it gets serious beyond a few hey-babys’ then let me know,” she paused for a moment, and took a breath, as if she wanted to say something but then cleared her throat instead.
“Cellphone stays on and answer even when I’m in the shower,” I said and she nodded.
“Right. The next rule is that in this industry there are broads, and there are bitches, okay? I’m talking about women. Bitches go out of their way to stab you in the back, take your accomplishments and claim them as their own, and look for any opportunity to cut you down or even get you fired if it makes them look good,” Willa licked her lower lip and I felt a chill descend over me, raising up goosebumps on my skin. She didn’t look happy, and I had to wonder what sort of run-ins she’d had with the bitchy kind of women.
“Then there are broads. They have your back instead of stabbing you in it. They don’t fuck the talent, and if they do, they keep it on the down-low and don’t make it everybody’s problem. They share knowledge with you and don’t hold anything back that could help you. They give you the heads up when a musician is running into trouble with girls or gangs or drugs, although those last two don’t happen as much anymore—”
I gulped. The witching world was far removed from either gangs or drugs, and I’d avoided the seedier side of college campus life as much as possible. It’s not that I was innocent or anything, I knew what went on, I just didn’t know how I’d handle it from a, well, magical perspective. Last thing I needed was to toke up and start exploding people’s laptops and power bars.
“You need to decide which one you are, Darcy,” Willa said, using my name for the first time and dragging me back to the present and away from nightmare-inducing daydreams of being chased off campus by a mob with pitchforks screaming witch!
“Broad,” I said without hesitation, “definitely, uh, not . . . not a bitch.” Willa grinned.
“Well, you need to speak up when the situation calls for it, and stand up for yourself and fight for your band, but that’s different,” Willa replied. “There’s a full welcome package in your desk on the run-down of your duties, but I’ll be available at all times if you need anything. It shouldn’t be too crazy, because these guys just got signed and like I said, they’re still a baby-band and they won’t be going on any world tours in the near future. They just wrapped up their debut album, and even though they aren’t on a 360 deal, we’re still managing their merchandising and a bunch of other things because Troy likes to have everything in-house and it’s not like he needs the money anyway.”
Troy as in Troy Granville. I recognized the name immediately. He was the half-owner of XOhX, and also had been a practicing entertainment lawyer before the label had taken off. There had been a few of his cases mentioned in my lectures since he’d been renowned for fighting for bands that had felt another artist ripped off their songs. No wonder he didn’t need the money, because he’d probably gotten crazy rich off of those lawsuits.
“So who is the band?” I asked, way more timidly than I would have liked to.
“Phoenixcry,” Willa said and grinned when my eyes widened. “You’ve heard of them.”
“They do a lot of house shows,” I said and she nodded.
“That’s why we signed them, even though they don’t have anything serviced to radio yet. Their fanbase is so ready to pop and make them huge, if the band has the right team behind them. Nobody else can be spared right now from our main roster of management since we had that one huge viral hit two months ago with Chelsea Sawyer—”
“Chelsea Sawyer is signed to XOhX?” I stammered out. Chelsea’s single had been a break-away hit from the unknown indie-pop artist, taking over my summer semester, blaring from every car stereo and wireless speaker on campus. “I thought she was with Universal?”
“We upstreamed her there. As soon as they heard her single, they knew it was a hit, but we still take care of her entire career. It’s just distribution and some promotion that runs through Universal, plus they have better reach around the globe, obviously,” she said before looking at her watch. “Shit, okay, enough talk. I need to intro you to the guys, and then get on the phone. They’re downstairs listening to the mastered tracks, but I’ll bring them up here. You just sit tight, okay?” She buzzed out of the room without waiting for an answer from me, and I could hear the soft noises of people talking on the production floor filter in to me.
The weight of responsibility was keeping me glued to the couch. I’d been expecting to assist someone, not manage a whole band, especially not one like Phoenixcry. Maybe Willa saw them as a baby-band, and compared to someone like Chelsea Sawyer, they totally were since she’d gone from nobody to selling out arenas in sixty days. Still, Phoenixcry were a pretty big deal on campus and around town at the house-show level.
Calm thyself, I thought and took a deep
breath of cool air. Willa’d said she’d be there for me if I had any questions, and it wasn’t like I was being totally thrown to the wolves. I’d be fine. Right? Right.
The fidgets took over me after another few minutes, and the back of my neck itched from nerves. I was running hot and cold, so excited at the crazy turn today had taken in terms of where I was working and who I was working with. I was being struck by overwhelming nerves. I was just a senior year student, sure, graduating, but not an experienced music industry professional? The only thing keeping me in my seat (other than the debt I’d accumulated going to school and seeing that all go down the drain wasn’t appealing) was the reminder that Troy Granville was a lawyer, and he probably did all the big negotiations for the band. I’d be doing lower-level, day-to-day stuff. Probably. Most likely.
Footsteps behind me, and low voices that rose in volume, told me the band was there. I felt it before I turned, the subtle hum of power that hit me and set my already crazed nerves further on edge. I got to my feet and turned as the room went from normal, mundane, expected to overwhelmingly supernatural.
I’d never seen Phoenixcry perform before. If I had I would have known to run far, far away from XOhX as soon as Willa’d said their name.
Because it wasn’t five members of a band that entered into the room, five seriously hot men that would have any girl tossing her panties at them, no. I would have been damn lucky if that’s all they had been.
I stood there, my breath caught in my throat, my pulse slamming between my ears, and stared as the band stared back at me. Willa wasn’t with them.
“Witch,” one of them broke the silence with a low mutter. He had dark-brown hair, a scruff of five-o-clock shadow that crawled across his chiseled jaw despite it being just close to one in the afternoon, and piercing blue eyes that pinned me to the spot I was standing in. He crossed his arms over his chest, and for a moment my eyes dragged down the pinch of his shirt sleeves around his biceps. I had to yank my gaze away. He was built, and each of the other guys were all created along similar lines, some slightly more slender than others.