Eighth Note (Fire Ballad Book 1)

by Kimberly Adams

  “I’m going to listen to it,” I agreed.

  “You’ll protect her,” he turned to Cole, and Cole nodded solemnly.

  What was with all this ‘protect her’ bullshit? I felt my nostrils flare to my earlobes. “Mr. Fayette, I am more than capable of taking care of myself. And I won’t die. That, I can promise you-”

  Cole had my arm in his and was dragging me from the studio before I could add, “Because I’m immortal, you asshats” and flick them all off. He deposited me into the overheated Chevelle, and I threw my purse in the back seat. “I hate your car. You need to get paid for this job, Mathison. It’s time to retire good old Mack here to greener pastures.”

  “Mack is fine. He gets me where I need to go.”

  “I see you in more of a pick-up truck.”

  He gave me an impatient glance. “Fayette gave me a check for $200,000.”

  He was already in reverse, and my mouth fell open. “Just for investigating?”

  “If we give him the answers he is looking for, another two-hundred grand.”

  “Holy fucking shit.”

  “Eva,” he warned, flicking his sunglasses down from the crown of his head. “He’s grieving, and he’s acting out of guilt. He wants us to listen to the song, but he’s certain that we’ll die like the rest of them. We can’t take this money.”

  “Maybe we can’t, but I can.” I watched him cruise past the public library, unable to hold back a futile whine. “Cole, come on…,”

  “I need a drink.” He turned off into the parking lot of a bar marked Duffy’s Tavern, and he was out of the car before I could complain. I had to jog to keep up with his long stride.

  “Cole! It’s one-thirty in the afternoon, and we’re supposed to be investigating a murder!”

  “Cole motherfuckin’ Mathison, what are you doing back here?” The man behind the bar called, smiling broadly. He continued lining glasses on a shelf, and I stopped short in the doorway.

  “Is that really your middle name?” I whispered, and Cole grinned.

  “I took a job around here. Staying up at the cabin,” he met the man’s handshake, and I stood awkwardly just inside the bar. “How ya been, Tommy?”

  “Good, good. Job, huh?” Tommy turned to me, his wide girth and several chins shaking beneath his chagrined glance. “Baby-sittin’?”

  Before I could go off on a litany of insults, Cole’s hand dropped over my shoulders again. “My colleague, Eva Reed.”

  I wasn’t sure about the familiarity of his hug or the word colleague, but either way I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  He gave me a firm handshake. “Likewise. What can I get you?”

  Cole ordered himself a beer, and me a cherry Coke. I stared at the cherry, scratching at my palms. “Really? I can drink, you know. I could probably drink you right under the table.”

  “That’s ballsy, lady. Sit down.”

  “You know, I don’t like the way you boss me around. We need to be researching, not sitting here-”

  “Then get on your iScreen and research,” he interrupted with a growl. “Someone set my cigarettes on fire, and my nerves are shot. Ten fuckin’ minutes, Eva.”

  “iPad,” I mumbled, but hopped up to the stool next to him. “Okay, fine.”

  While Cole chatted with Tommy, I pulled up Google on my iPad, trying to decide what I needed to search for first.

  Remembering Fayette’s words at dinner, I focused. Finally, I typed BRAINWAVE ENTRAINMENT.

  I pulled my finger down the list of results, touching one titled Brainwave States.

  Our mental state is determined by four main brainwave frequency ranges.

  Well, I already knew that much. I remembered reading about brainwaves in my dad’s medical books, and how different parts of the brain were used for different activities.

  BETA (14-30 HZ), ALPHA (8-14 HZ), THETA (4-8 HZ) and DELTA (0.5-4 HZ.)

  “Sororities?” Cole suggested, glancing down at my iPad screen. I lifted my eyes and gave him an obligatory smirk.

  “Haha. Brainwaves,” I countered. “Like right now, we are in beta. We’re awake, in an active state of awareness. Alpha is a relaxed state of consciousness- when we’re most creative. Like when you’re playing the guitar.”

  “Theta is the state we dream in,” he went on, reading over my shoulder. “And Delta is deep sleep.”

  “Theta the frequency I’m most familiar with,” I added. “I can bend the frequency somehow. And find yours. Or anyone’s. Combine them, make us dream together.”

  “What’s that say?” He pointed to another link, Schumann resonances. I tapped the article, scanning with him. “The Earth… is made of vibrations?”

  “In the electromagnetic field. My dad used to tell me about that, and how he felt that his ability to travel from place to place, through time, had something to do with the Earth’s vibrations. But then I’d usually tune out because it was just so fucking boring.”

  He tried to hold back a grin, rolling his eyes at me.

  “What? Try having a history professor who’s also a surgeon for a dad. His lectures are like tranquilizer darts to the brain.”

  Cole started to laugh, but then narrowed his eyes at the bar. I jumped when he grabbed my wrist. “What’s wrong with your hands? You’re scratching a hole in ‘em,” he chided, pointing at Tommy and asking for ice.

  “They’re itching. I’m having some kind of… allergic reaction or something.”

  He gave me a questioning look, and I realized the stupidity of my own words. I’m immortal. There’s no such thing as allergic reactions- for me.

  He took the iPad from me, setting it on the bar. “Keep the ice pressed on them. We’ll grab some Benadryl on the way back.”

  “No, you’re right, this shouldn’t be happening, it doesn’t make sense.”

  “You carried and gave birth to a baby, honey. That doesn’t make sense either. Magic makes no fuckin’ sense to me.” He gestured to his arm. “I cut myself, I heal. I get ink, it stays. Forever.”

  My eyes drifted over his bicep, over the music lyrics. “My sister has a tattoo. A violet,” I chatted, turning off my iPad and resisting the urge to scratch at my hands. “I always wanted one, too, but my parents said no. So I got my navel pierced, and gave my dad a heart-attack.”

  “Yeah?” He grinned, his eyes inevitably dropping to my stomach before returning to my eyes. “What would you get?” He asked, tipping the bottle to his lips.

  I shrugged, balling the paper towel of ice in my hands. “Something small. A music note.”

  He nodded, as though he’d already guessed as much. “Where?”

  “My pelvis.”

  He gave a low whistle, turning his gaze to the bottle. “Hot.”

  “It’s where Vi’s is. It looks nice in a bikini.”

  “So? Your parents aren’t stopping you anymore. You’re plenty old enough. Why don’t you?” He ordered two beers, and I watched him push one in my direction. He slid a fifty dollar bill across the counter for Tommy, which apparently covered three beers, a cherry Coke, and one underage drinker.

  My lips curved in an inward grin, and I dropped the ice to the counter. “I haven’t had time. Which is weird, because I’ve been bored out of my mind. I mean, I love Perry, and I love spending time with her, but I just… I don’t know.”

  “Will wouldn’t approve.”

  As much as I hated to admit he was right, I nodded. “No, he wouldn’t.”

  We drank in silence for a few moments, and I downed nearly half the Killians before he spoke again. “So, what do you think we’re dealin’ with?”

  I touched the screen of my iPad. “I know we’re not dealing with drugs here. They’re grasping for answers because they don’t want to believe what they already know. It’s like in horror movies, when unexplainable shit keeps happening, and they’re like ‘hmn, let’s get this on film. How odd. Maybe we should dig out the Ouija board and have a séance.’ Really? How about pack your bags and get the fuck out of th
ere?”

  He raised his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side. “Hmn. A séance might not be a bad idea. Maybe Nina can give us some answers.”

  “Jesus. Yeah, like ‘why’d you stab yourself in the brain?’ Come on, Cole. Nina’s dead. As much as the Fayettes want to know why their daughter died, that’s not why we’re here. We’re here to stop more people from dying. I need to hear that song.”

  I stiffened as his hand shot down, between my legs, and his fingers curled beneath the underside of the barstool. He pulled me closer, stool legs scraping against the floor. His brooding eye met mine. “You promised Will you wouldn’t listen.”

  “I don’t keep my promises. I also don’t do well with authority, and give zero fucks about putting myself in danger. In fact, I thrive on it.”

  “And if you try to kill yourself?”

  Keeping his steady gaze, I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll live. I’m immortal.”

  We both knew that wasn’t what he was asking. The unfathomable ways that I could harm myself could be even more gruesome than death.

  Whether or not I was immortal, I could still feel pain.

  He finally blinked. “What would you be listening for?”

  I peeled at the label on the beer bottle to keep from scratching my hands. “I’ll need a computer. The software at the studio. I want to see these binaural beats while I hear them. And then we’ll go from there.”

  Tommy presented us both with lunch, club sandwiches and fries. I toyed with the tiny, colorfully foiled toothpick, barely making it through half of my meal.

  Cole finished the second beer, boxed up my food, and led me to his car. He watched me yawn, holding the door open for me. “Tired?”

  “Yeah.”

  He closed my door and rounded the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Neither of us got good sleep last night.” I felt the uncomfortable silence fall heavily between us, trying to push away the memory of our dream. His phone vibrated, and he glanced at the screen. “Monroe says we can go back tonight. Around seven. He’ll get the recording ready for us.”

  “Not us. Me. You can’t listen, too. If I go crazy, I need you to not be crazy.”

  He gave me a sideways glance. “You’re pretty brave.”

  “Or stupid,” I admitted, scratching at my palms again.

  He noticed, turning into a grocery store. I stayed in the car as he went in, staring at people as they moved back and forth to their vehicles. When he finally came out of the store, I watched him carrying a couple of plastic bags, his broad shoulders and tanned skin drawing the attention of every female in the parking lot. He’s hot, I’ll give him that. He’d obviously been in love with his Rebecca, and I wondered if there had been anyone in his life since then.

  He’d made it his life’s work to stop the prophecy, to find me, and to protect me. When he finally did track me down, he realized that I had more than enough protection.

  And that I could defend myself.

  Cole strode to the car and handed me a bottle of cold water and the package of Benadryl. I opened the box, downing two small pills.

  He proceeded to waive a new pack of Marlboros in my line of vision. “I smoke these, I’m nicer. Are we clear?”

  “Sorry. You pissed me off,” I defended, curling my knees to my chin in the seat. The lulling gait of the car as he pulled onto our dirt road made it nearly impossible to stay awake. I let my eyes close more than once, nearly knocking myself out when my forehead hit the window for the second time.

  “Commere, kid.” Cole’s low voice was barely audible over the open windows, and I turned against his shoulder, resting my face against his arm. “We’ll go to the studio tomorrow. Just get some sleep.”

  “No, I want to go tonight,” I argued, but in the same breath I was closing my eyes again. “Just a nap.”

  When I woke, he was lowering me to the couch by the fireplace. “Are you cold?”

  “No,” I turned away from him, facing the back of the couch and giving in to the overwhelming fatigue.

  My dreams were a jumbled smear of images. Subconsciously I knew that it was too early for Will to be asleep, too, but I was looking for him.

  I was back in the castle, running down the stone corridors, calling Will’s name. Every door was closed but one, all the way at the end of the hall. I knew the room; it was my mother’s chamber.

  Cursed, and filled with her screams.

  Slowing to a walk, I approached the chamber. Candlelight slashed horizontally into the hall. As I neared the threshold, music was playing; a guitar, something acoustic, a slow strumming.

  Before I moved through the doorway, I knew I’d find Will inside. I could feel him waiting.

  He met me at the door, scooping me into his arms and carrying me to the bed. I rested my head against the pillow, the drugging warmth of his worshipping gaze turning me on before he could even touch me.

  “Are you really here?”

  “Hush, love,” he breathed, tugging the tunic over my head. I moaned as his mouth dropped to the swell of my breast, over my bra, tracing a path over my stomach. He stopped to kiss the stud in my belly button, and I gripped the bedspread, writhing.

  “Will, I’ve missed you…,”

  I opened my eyes and looked down.

  Will’s face was gone, and Cole’s mouth moved over my abdomen. I tried to pull away, but he caught me around the waist, raising my hips and dragging my stomach to his mouth. His tongue drew a line from my navel to my hip and back, and I gritted my teeth, groaning.

  “Cole…,”

  “You wanted me here. I’m here.”

  Thrashing, I fought confusion, feeling warm hands on my face.

  “Eva, honey. Wake up.”

  I sat up sharply, taking in the living room of the cabin, the couch, the blanket covering me. Blinking, I focused, sluggish and confused. “Cole?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.” He was squatting next to me, and rocked back on his heels. “Sorry to wake you up. You were makin’ some noise.”

  “What?” I felt the deep flush burn my cheeks, my eyes watering. “What do you mean? What did I say?” I demanded.

  “Just moaning. Like you were scared. I see you’re fine now,” he hurried, and I realized that he was a terrible liar. “Your hands look better. That’s good. Still want to go to the studio? It’s almost seven.”

  “God, I slept all day,” I tossed the blanket aside, standing and rubbing my hands over my face. “Yes. Give me ten minutes, okay?”

  I watched him nod, trying to push away-

  The dream-

  Fight it!

  Fuuuck. His tongue tracing my hip, his arm arching my hips to his mouth… my mind sent direct signals down to my stomach and between my thighs.

  I was seriously the biggest fucking whore on the face of the Earth, and I felt like calling Will and confessing both of my cheating, slutfest dreams and begging his forgiveness.

  “Eva, wait.”

  His voice stopped me on the bottom step, and I turned. Even with the extra boost from the stair, he was still a foot taller than me. He closed the distance between us, and I gripped the railing.

  His hand came down over my left, his fingers clasping over mine. “Listen to me. Do you see this ring? It means I don’t have any interest in you beyond working together. You are committed to Will. I respect you, and I respect your marriage. Whatever the fuck is going on up here, I don’t want to know, you get me?”

  He tapped my temple, and I only stared at him, wide eyed and mortified. It was not like me to be dumbstruck, and he’d done it to me twice in the last twenty-four hours.

  “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, Eva, you know that. I wouldn’t want your ego to suffer my little speech here. But I work with you, we remain friends, and I get you home to your family. Are we clear?”

  I nodded too fast, realizing I’d been holding my breath. He nodded with me, removing his hand from mine and cupping my chin in his fingers. “If circumstances were different, I’d be first in line for your b
ed. But they aren’t, and I’m not.”

  Words were something I needed my mouth for, and I was sinking my teeth into my cheeks so hard that I tasted blood.

  I needed something to say. I always had something to say. Finally, I gave up, lifting my hand in the air and twirling it slowly above my head.

  Bob Dylan’s It Ain’t Me Babe began. His slow smile spread across his bearded face, and he watched me in impressed amusement. “Nice. Off-key, but vintage.”

  “Off-key!” I protested, trying for appalled and ending up with a lop-sided grin. “I don’t know what to say. But… you’re definitely not an asshole, Cole.”

  He shrugged, but sent a wink my way before I turned for the stairs.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Seated in the studio, I waited while Cole talked to Monroe in the hallway. I was semi-familiar with the buttons and dials, having spent a little time in and out of studios interviewing recording artists and producers. I’d never needed devices to mix or play my music, though, so I attempted to acclimate myself to the various pieces of equipment.

  “Hold on, kid,” Cole called as he passed through the doorway. “A doctor at Bellevue tied himself to a bed and listened to the song through headphones this morning. He’s been observed by two other doctors all day.” He touched the screen of his phone several times, answering the incoming Facetime call.

  “This is disturbing,” Monroe warned me, and I ignored him, staring at the phone in Cole’s hand. The connection was sketchy, but still clear enough to see.

  A man appeared on the screen, speaking nervously. “My name is Dr. Robert Knox. This is Dr. Jessica Willoughby. We have been observing Dr. Gregory Haines since nine AM this morning, eastern time.”

  Neither Cole nor Monroe spoke, and Dr. Knox turned his camera toward the gurney against the wall.

  The lights were turned off in the hospital room, and through the shadows it was hard to make out the person lying on the cot. He was coughing, violently, his entire body convulsing.

  And then I heard the roar.

  The sound reminded me of the zombie apocalypse video games that my brother played; snarling, howling decibels of tortured crying, breaking through the speakers of Cole’s iPhone.