Wicked Harmony

Chapter 3 | Sin

Chapter 3

Sin

B ack at my apartment, I perch on my ratty couch and shovel down my burger with one hand, while trying to call Julia Michaels with the other. She doesn’t pick up, but I leave the world’s most awkward voicemail explaining who I am and after a few minutes, she texts me back.

I stare down at the message like it might bite. She’s inviting me to meet her at none other than the Titan Hotel in Shadwell.

Seems like Ally’s info is good.

And at least it doesn’t seem like Julia Michaels, Band Manager, is holding a grudge from earlier.

She asks me to meet on the rooftop of the hotel, so we can discuss some things in private. I hesitate for a moment before agreeing. It sure does sound like I’m gearing up to meet her at a prime murder spot, but I’ve got more than a few tricks up my sleeve—including a pair of bracelets I tweaked to turn them into shock cuffs that can cause a grown man to cry.

Plus, I didn’t get any weird or murdery vibes from her earlier. So, while heading to a city I don’t know, meeting a stranger is reckless and a little impulsive, I’m going to do it anyway.

I shove my legs into skintight, black jeans that are a little too tight around my waist and my thighs, and a blouse that I’m hoping is giving serious businesswoman vibes. It’s high-necked and kind of scratchy, but I spend most of my life in overalls, so I don’t have a big selection of nice clothing.

A couple of hours later, I’m in Ally’s car as she and her friend Lila alternate between giggling and singing along with what seems to be all of Orpheus Underground's back catalog. They seem happy to leave me to myself and I’m good with that. I keep my eyes fixed on the view flashing by as we head closer to the city.

I can’t remember the last time I was this far from Willow Ridge. That’s... worrying.

Then again, I don’t have a car. And the public transit from Willow Ridge is a single bus that comes through at random times, so no one ever knows when it’s going to show up.

“So, Sin, who’s your favorite?” Lila asks, turning in her seat so I can see the full effect of her impressive false lashes and winged eyeliner. She looks hot as hell, just like Ally. They’re both dressed in tiny leather skirts and tops that are showing a whole lot of cleavage, while I feel like I’m counting the minutes until I can slink home and tear off this fucking blouse.

Although, unlike them, I’m not hoping to snag any rock stars tonight. I just want to get some answers.

“My favorite?” Shit. They think I’m a fan, like them. But I don’t think I could pluck any of the band member’s names out of my head, even if I tried.

“I don’t think I have one. How about you?”

Nice, Sin. Stellar job at peopling there.

Thankfully, Lila is about as nice as Ally—either that or she’s giddy enough not to care about my lackluster answer.

She lets out a little giggle. “For me, it’s Dorian. He’s hot as hell and he has that whole cold and moody vibe. I bet I could get him to warm up, though. Plus, he plays his guitar like he’s fingering the hell out of one very lucky woman.”

I blink a few times. That’s... a lot .

Ally shrieks a laugh. “Lila! Sin’s going to think we’re both nasty perverts! But seriously, I’ve seen the guy shred his guitar and there’s no way I’d want that kind of violence anywhere near my pussy.”

Yeesh. Is this the sort of shit people say to each other in normal conversation? My closest friend is probably Elara and we mostly communicate via her sending me memes and GIFs. I mean, sure, we haven’t seen each other in person in about three years, but who’s counting?

“My fave’s definitely Micah,” Ally says. “No one else can look sexy as sin one minute and make me want to tear my heart out and throw it at him the next.” She glances in the rearview mirror, meeting my eyes. “But Cal looks like he can fuck . Maybe the two of them together would be the perfect mix of sexy and sweet.”

Aaand now I’m feeling kind of bad for the rock stars. I feel like a prude and judge-y as hell right now, but they’re talking about these guys like they’re pieces of meat. Not real people with actual feelings, and it’s kind of grossing me out.

I’m realizing as we get closer and closer to Shadwell that I really know nothing about the band. Grabbing my phone, I do some speed searching, trying to fill my brain with information that goes beyond how sexy they are.

I discover Cal is the Orc drummer, Dorian is their lead guitarist, Micah is the lead singer, and Iri is the Demon bassist.

My stomach twists. I don’t have a clue what I’m walking into tonight. It might be nothing to do with the band at all, and their manager has some work for me doing something entirely different.

I guess I’m about to find out.

Ally parks the car haphazardly on a side street, and we head inside the hotel. Ally and Lila stride straight for the bar, where they plan to stake out the place and hope to stumble across some rock stars .

“I, er, I’m meeting someone up on the roof. I guess I’ll see the two of you back here in like an hour?” I say.

“Sin! You’ve got a secret rendez-vous at a hotel? You’re way more interesting than I thought! Why didn’t you tell us?” Ally cries.

I don’t know how to respond. Partly because this is the most we’ve ever spoken. And... I don’t want to tell either of them the truth about what I’m doing here.

“Get that D, girl,” Lila says.

The two of them have somehow already snagged a tray of shots and are downing them. I guess that makes me the designated driver tonight. Not that I mind, since they were nice enough to give me a lift.

... unless they don’t plan to go home tonight.

Shit. I didn’t plan this through at all. I’ve been out of sorts and stuck in my head ever since Julia first stepped into the shop.

Oh well, too late to second guess things now. I’m here and I might as well see what she wants from me.

“Hey, share your phone’s location with us so we can look for you if you don’t come back,” Lila says.

“I don’t think she’s coming back tonight,” Ally adds with a giggle.

“I’ll be an hour, tops,” I reply, regretting my words when they both giggle even louder. I can’t be bothered to argue that I’m not meeting someone for a hookup, but I wind up sharing my phone’s location with the two of them, just in case.

I can hear their laughter as I make my way across the lobby to the reception, where I explain who I’m meeting on the rooftop. After the receptionist checks my ID, I’m given a key to access the roof and head up in the elevator.

I’m alone until it reaches the third floor where a guy strides inside. He’s dressed entirely in black, including a hoodie that’s pulled up, along with a pair of aviators. He looks like he might have a monster hangover, and he ignores me entirely, talking loudly on his phone.

Which is fine with me.

At least it’s fine until he cancels my selection on the keypad and hits the button for the lobby.

Seriously, he changes the direction of the elevator so we’re no longer heading up and instead we’re going straight back to where I started.

What. The. Fuck?

“Yeah, bud, quit griping at me. I’ll drop your food off before I get my dick wet,” he says into the phone.

Charming. I’m now staring at him, eyes boring into the side of his face at the sheer fucking cheek of him switching the direction of the elevator.

“Probably, anyway,” he continues. “If I find a good distraction, I’ll let one of the guys know where to pick your food up from.”

He turns to the side to focus his attention on me, raising an eyebrow above the top of his shades. Somehow, despite not being able to see his eyes, I can feel that he’s checking me out. My blouse becomes a thousand times itchier and I feel my cheeks heat.

Pulling down his hood, he reveals hair that’s a dark brown and looks disheveled, like he, or someone else, has been busy messing it up.

The way he looks, combined with the way he’s looking at me, is giving me serious fuckboy vibes.

“Eyes to yourself, buddy,” I growl.

I don’t know why I’ve suddenly become a preschool teacher. Next, I’ll be asking him to put his hands on his head to show he’s not fidgeting. He grins and continues to look right at me as the elevator crawls, impossibly slowly, back to the ground floor.

“Just some mouthy blonde,” he says into the phone. “All right, man. I’ll see you in a few. ”

He ends the call as we reach the lobby, his focus still entirely on me even as the doors open.

“I guess this is where I leave you, Ms. Mouth. Unless you feel like joining me?”

I snort at his sheer fucking audacity. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Seriously, I’m interested in seeing what’s underneath that blouse. High necks really do it for me, you know? You look all prim and proper.”

“Yeah.” I shake my head. “No. I’m not interested, buddy.”

His grin slips and I can bet he’s blinking in disbelief behind the shades. Something tells me this guy doesn’t get turned down very often. Not if the absolute confidence of his movements is anything to go by. I know his type. He’s someone who expects the world to fall at his feet.

And he can go get fucked. Just not by me.

“You’re seriously turning me down? What, are you married? Mated?”

“I’m seriously turning you down,” I reply. “As tempting as your offer is. You’re rude as hell. You know that, right?”

I don’t wait for him to respond, instead letting out the tiniest puff of my magic. A hint of determination to get things done.

I see the exact moment it hits. His smile is nonexistent, and he frowns slightly, rubbing his chest and looking from me to the lobby and back again.

“I need to go,” he says.

“All right then.”

He shakes his head, like he’s trying to dislodge something. “I really need to go. Cal needs his dinner.”

He strides out without a backward glance. A man on a mission.

That was the aim, anyway. It should only last maybe ten minutes, a half hour tops. Long enough for him to get his phone friend’s dinner without contaminating it with his sex juices or whatever .

I let out a long breath as I tap the button to the rooftop again. It’s been a long time since I last used my magic like that, and guilt lays heavily in my gut. Then I remember that I’m now late thanks to this guy’s arrogance and push my feelings down.

He’ll be fine. It’s not like I’ve warped his mind, I’ve just tweaked how he’s feeling for the moment.

The elevator doors open and I take a step out onto the rooftop. This hotel is pretty fancy, and the rooftop is gorgeous. The hotel has it set up as a little garden, complete with pergolas with trailing fairy lights and the thick scent of jasmine in the air.

Kind of romantic for a business meeting, but it’s nice to get out of Willow Ridge. I can see all of Shadwell laid out from up here with lights in every direction. I can also hear murmured voices somewhere up here, but I can’t see who they belong to. Stepping further onto the roof, I slowly make my way closer to the edge where there’s a pergola set up and even more twinkling lights.

“How long have you been up here, man?” A deep male voice asks. It’s the kind of voice that you feel right inside your chest whenever they speak. There’s a rasp to it too, like the person lives a life filled with drinking whisky with barbed wire chasers.

“A couple hours. I needed the quiet.” The responding voice is softer, more melodic, but still male.

“I thought you liked hotels. Figured they were busy enough to drown out all the noise.”

The melodic voice snorts. “I like conference hotels, man. All those people have the same emotions. Boredom, mild interest, loneliness. That’s a lot easier to deal with. This place is just a damn mess.”

I shift on my feet, aware I’m eavesdropping and feeling uncertain about how to make my presence known.

Before I can clear my throat or call out, one of them turns their head and shifts out of the shadows, and I catch sight of them for the first time .

My eyes widen as I take him in. He has long, dirty blonde hair that falls below his shoulders, and eyes that are a deep blue. Looking at him gives me this sensation I’ve never experienced before—like I’m meeting someone who is so distinct in their appearance and their whole vibe that they might as well be from another planet.

He’s incredibly good-looking. Like breathtakingly so.

When he shoots me a shy smile, my stomach flips and I just gape at him, feeling like a mud crab that just came up to the surface in comparison.

“Hi, I’m not sure I’m in the right place,” I tell him, feeling oddly breathless. “I’m looking for Julia?”

“Sinjin,” the other voice says my name before they too step out of the shadows.

Fucking hell, if the voice wasn’t distinctive enough, this guy’s appearance is a whole other ballgame. He’s tall—a few inches over six feet—with skin that’s a dusky red and his eyes are pure black. There’s a long scar that snakes down from his forehead to his cheek and the way he’s looking at me is intense, kind of scary.

I haven’t seen many of his kind before, but I’m pretty sure he’s a demon. I’m also pretty sure he’s Iri Dium, the bassist for Orpheus Underground.