The doorman gave a brief laugh. ‘Silver and her band. Same as ever.’ He nodded at the door. ‘Go on in then, if that’s why you’re here. Anything like a weapon on you?’
‘Only my looks.’ Mari’s laugh was bright as a bell, but the doorman didn’t return it. Izzy couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to offer them something so they didn’t go in there unarmed.
‘Walk away. This place is dangerous.’ The shock of the sudden whisper from nowhere sent her stumbling forwards, against her will, through the doorway, the music twisting around her again.
But Dylan had already gone inside. Dylan, Mari and Clodagh.
She could hardly let them go in without her, not when everything in her was certain that this way led to answers. Pushing aside a heavy velvet curtain, she stepped into the heaving noise of the nightclub.
Chapter Six
In Silver’s Hollow
The decor ran from baroque to Goth, and the music filled the air, driving, thrilling, working its way inside Izzy’s body until it married with her heart. She passed by a couple of riotous groups who looked like nothing she’d ever seen. Metal, leather, velvet, brocade – from the sumptuous to the barbaric seethed around her, coupled with laughter and the excited chatter of people celebrating. She couldn’t see the band, though the music was all-encompassing. The rhythm pounded through her, through everyone. It drowned out voices, real and imaginary, which right now was a blessed relief. Chambers spread out like another maze, intimate spaces and huge rooms. She followed Mari’s confident march through the strange club, wondering what sort of fetishist group they’d just stumbled upon. The mark at the back of her neck was tingling again. Not uncomfortable. Just there. Almost as if it too was worried, or at least aware.
‘Bar!’ Mari pointed wildly to the left and mimed knocking back a drink. Izzy just nodded and looked around for Dylan. She caught sight of him on the far side of a knot of women who could have wandered straight out of a music video, heading for the next room. She pointed towards him, looking for Clodagh and Mari, but they’d already gone.
And like that they had separated.
Genius, she told herself. Not only are you here on your own, now they are too. Cursing under her breath, she headed after Dylan, hoping that the girls would find them.
Worst mistake ever. She had to force herself through a heaving crowd on the other side of the inner doorway. Dancing, allegedly, but it was closer to some kind of orgy. All she could see were bodies, writhing, grinding against each other. The music swept over them and they moved with it – eyes closed, faces lifted as if in worship, mesmerised.
It was all screaming guitars and penetrating drums – the type of music that reached inside your cold, still heart, administered electro-shock and dragged you onto the dance floor to writhe and gyrate like a pagan. It was the type of music people got lost in and Dylan was no different. He stood amid the dancers, untouched and untouchable, watching the stage where a woman with impossibly long white-blonde hair dominated the performance. Her voice rose over the music, high and glorious, the sound like magic itself.
The singer reached the end of the verse and a guitar solo kicked in, notes wrung out of the instrument like nothing she had ever heard before. Izzy knew her music, the commercial bands at least and a good amount of alternative stuff too. Up-and-coming, underground, garage, whatever. Nothing compared. Even the classic rock stuff her dad obsessed on about – Clapton, Gallagher, Hendrix … Jesus, only a few of them. The guitar sang as beautifully as the woman. It reached into her heart and made it pulse with a new rhythm.
And then she saw him, Jinx. The guitar resonated for him, his long and elegant hands coaxing out those lush notes. No wonder talk of bands like Denzion had not impressed him. He left them in the dust.
Izzy pushed her way towards the stage, drawn by the music, lured there by the musician creating it. She’d never imagined Jinx could make music like that.
A hand on her shoulder stopped her and the mark on her neck flared so sharply she gave a yelp of pain.
Two figures loomed over her, almost identical mirror images, patched with black and white. Their beady eyes fixed on her and something malicious seeped into their smiles. They wore black leather coats over snow-white shirts and their hair was just as slick and dark. The effect was seamless.
‘Magpies,’ her mind filled in for her, and she couldn’t shake the irrational thought. Or the fear it engendered. Fear of them eclipsed the fear of the voice in her mind. She couldn’t focus on that. Hearing voices was a really bad sign. Listening to them was even worse! She knew magpies, knew their vicious ways and petty cruelty. They haunted the estate where she lived, terrorising cats and dogs, a plague to smaller birds.
‘We’re going to take a little break,’ the singer’s compelling voice flowed around the room, ‘but we’ll be with you again shortly. Don’t go anywhere.’ She sounded either amused or bored, or maybe an equal part of both.
Music kicked in on the soundsystem, a pale imitation of music in comparison to what had filled the club before.
The thoughts dawdled through the inner labyrinth of her mind, there, but hardly important, not when facing these two.
‘Maybe we should take a break ourselves, love.’ The right-hand one leaned towards her and Izzy shied away from him.
The left one’s smile thinned out, but didn’t fade for a moment. ‘I don’t think she likes you, brother. I think maybe she’s more my type.’
She tried to take a step backwards and collided with something like a brick wall. Only it was warm. It was a body.
‘I think she has more taste than to choose either of you.’ Jinx’s voice rippled through her and around her. In a moment she felt safe again. Impossibly, perfectly safe. Even though all reason told her she shouldn’t.
The mark on her neck throbbed. Not with pain this time, nor with the cold. Warm and wicked, like a surge of joy repeating and repeating, a lick of flame deep in her abdomen.
The twins’ smiles evaporated.
‘Ah, come on, Jinx boy. That’s no way to play.’
‘Silver’s rules.’ He didn’t touch her, but she could feel him right behind her, as clearly as if his body was pressed against hers. His body heat seemed to reach out and caress her. ‘No one messes with anyone unwilling on the premises. You know the score. Break them and you’re never coming in here again. That is, if you manage to get out.’
The left one shrugged and then nodded to the bar. The right one gave one final leer at Izzy and then they both strode away through the crowd. It seemed to part for them, as if no one wanted to get in their way. Hell, no one wanted to get close enough to get in their way.
‘Magpies,’ Jinx muttered in the same tone as he might use to describe shit. Izzy turned, a smile spreading over her mouth. A smile that froze when she caught sight of the ferocity of his glare. ‘How did you get in here?’
‘I just … I heard the music.’
His eyes narrowed to silver slits and before she knew what was happening he’d caught her arm in a vice-like grip and pulled her over to the side of the dance floor. The alcove was dark and secluded. She suddenly felt very exposed.
‘Heard the music? From where?’
She shook herself free of him. ‘Outside on the street, where the angel was. I wasn’t the only one. Dylan heard it too. Mari and Clo followed us and they got us in past the bouncer, but …’
His handsome face twisted with confusion as the words tumbled out of her mouth. ‘You couldn’t have heard the music, not from out there. Neither could— Where are your friends anyway?’
Good question. Dylan had been right in front of the stage. The girls hadn’t returned from the bar yet. A sudden cold block of fear formed in her stomach and Izzy strained around, trying to catch a glimpse of them through the heaving mass of people. Hadn’t this club ever heard of fire safety regs? Hadn’t they—
‘Hey!’ Jinx snapped his fingers in front of her face and she flinched so hard her head glanced off the wall. ??
?What age are you?’
‘I need to go.’ Her voice came out in a breathy rush. ‘I need to find them.’
‘Get away from him,’ the voice whispered. She closed her eyes, trying to push the errant thought away. ‘He’s dangerous.’
‘You aren’t going anywhere.’
Izzy ducked under his arm and sped across the room, sliding between bodies and twisting out of the way as others bore down on her. She wasn’t even aware how she was doing it, but she moved with the innate ability of a small person in a big crowd to keep the hell out of the way.
And then she saw Dylan. He leaned nonchalantly against a wall, talking to the blonde singer from the band. The pose screamed ‘nothing’s happening here’, but his eyes were locked onto her face and his attention never wavered for a moment.
Izzy skidded to a halt and stared. The mark on her neck was icy cold now, the sensation she was starting to recognise as a warning.
‘Yeah,’ said Clodagh, her voice impassive with suppressed anger. ‘He’s been doing that for ten minutes.’ She handed Izzy a bottle of brightly coloured liquid. Izzy took a mouthful and almost spat it out. It was syrupy like boiled sweets and laced with vodka. She coughed violently and almost dropped it.
‘Jeez, way to do stylish, Izzy.’ Marianne grinned at her, and Izzy felt her face heat. ‘Are you okay?’
‘We ought to go,’ she wheezed out when she could speak again.
Marianne laughed. ‘Go? They didn’t check ID, the drink is cheap and hey … hot guy checking you out back there.’
Izzy shuddered, not even risking a glance. She knew he was watching her, could feel it, and the thought frightened her. He wasn’t going to help her. He’d protected her, sure, then and just now, but not through concern for her.
She wasn’t even sure how she knew this, but she did, as surely as she knew her own name.
Jinx was dangerous.
‘More dangerous than you know.’
The voice came out of nowhere, a whisper, as if someone leaned over her shoulder. But, even as she turned around to face this new threat, she knew there was no one there. She’d heard it, clearly and vividly, and yet there was nothing there. She hadn’t imagined it. And yet I couldn’t be real.
Most worrying of all, even unreal it was still talking more sense than anyone else here.
‘Weren’t you going somewhere? Meeting Dylan’s band?’ It was one last desperate plea, but both Mari and Clo barely heard it. Or if they did they chose to ignore her. Nothing strange there. They might be her own age, but they weren’t exactly what you could call friends. It wasn’t like she was suddenly one of the cool kids. She’d got them to the club, but Mari had got them in.
‘I need some air,’ she tried at last. Okay, so she couldn’t leave them here. She’d get her head straight, try to work out what the hell was going on and then … she’d come back in and try to get them to leave.
The problem was the feeling that she would fail.
‘Well, you’re new,’ said the woman, shaking her white-blonde hair back over her shoulders. As Dylan stared at her she did a pirouette. ‘Finished? Or will I do another turn for you? I’m Silver, by the way. And you are?’
‘Dylan.’ To his horror, Dylan felt his face heat. ‘I’m sorry.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Why? I’m not.’
The music changed, a mix of plainchant, chords and a heavy rhythm, and the mood changed with it. Sexy, seductive, mysterious. But it was nothing like the music Silver had been making. It was just mortal, mundane.
‘I heard your music,’ he blurted out. ‘From the street. So we followed it.’
The song on the speakers reached a bridge. The dancers undulated on the dance floor, moving closer, pairing off. Silver leaned in towards him.
‘Did you now? You followed my music?’
‘Izzy and I did.’ Izzy – he felt a small barb of panic. Where was she? Where were the girls? He was meant to be keeping an eye out for them. From the moment he’d stepped into the alley he hadn’t given anyone but Silver and her music another thought. That wasn’t like him.
‘And who’s Izzy?’
Dylan scanned the crowd and then saw her, Silver’s guitarist at her side. Body language said it all. He read the protective stance, the way she leaned into him. Those big eyes that didn’t notice anything else in the room. Izzy was smitten. She’d never let just anyone stand that close. If Dylan tried to act so alpha around her he’d end up with a knee in his balls.
‘Ah,’ Silver sighed. ‘The girl with Jinx.’
After the gig that afternoon she’d mentioned his name. Dylan had barely heard it, he was so concerned about her attack, about the fact she wouldn’t report it, but he should have known by the way she spoke of him. Suddenly it was all clear, why Izzy was here, why she’d been in town when she’d never been a rule-breaker. Not to meet up with them. No change of heart there. Jinx was the one she’d come looking for, the guy who had rescued her earlier. It all suddenly made perfect sense.
‘Yeah. Figures.’ A surge of jealousy took him by surprise. Izzy was a friend, that was all. But she’d been in danger and Jinx had swept to the rescue and all the while Dylan had been playing a lousy afternoon promo gig in a music store for a band that was probably never going anywhere. Brilliant. Marianne had laughed and told him he’d missed his hero moment. Not that he was interested. It would be too weird. Izzy was a friend, a good friend, and more like another little sister. One he was probably closer to than his real sister.
Silver slipped her hand into his. Her touch was very cold, but delicately seductive, the touch of new snowflakes at midnight.
‘So you’re a musician as well?’ She stepped into his line of vision, blocking Izzy and Jinx from view. All thought of them fell away. His mind fumbled after them for a moment, and then gave up as the music in Silver’s voice wrapped itself around him. She smiled and all he could think was that he wanted to see that smile every day. Every minute of every day.
‘Guitar,’ he told her. The smile broadened. Her teeth were astonishingly white and a little too sharp. ‘I mean, I play the guitar.’ He didn’t tell her about Denzion. The band seemed a paltry thing next to her.
‘And you heard my music,’ she said, twining her fingers with his and then she pulled him after her as she set off across the room towards a VIP section, heedless of the crowd. Indeed the crowd just seemed to melt out of her way. ‘That makes you special right from the start. You’re what, seventeen, eighteen?’
He bristled, just as anyone would when faced with that sort of question. ‘Eighteen.’
‘Just left school? At a loose end? Watching it all change right in front of you?’ She laughed, turning back to look at him with a gleam of delight in her eye. It was one of the most dangerous things he’d ever seen.
‘Something like that,’ he admitted. Because she seemed to be peering into his head and reading his thoughts. All his parents talked about were exam results, college applications and courses. ‘They want me to study law. I mean how many guitar-playing lawyers do you know?’
‘One or two,’ she replied with a smile. ‘But I see what you mean. Come and play for me, Dylan. Let me hear you. Maybe I can offer you something special in return. A little deal?’
‘A … a deal?’ He stumbled as he followed her, but when she glanced back he forgot his confusion. It felt like magic. Like being in the right place at the right time for once. Like he’d just walked into a dream.
‘Yes. I’m Leanán Sídhe. Do you know what that means?’ He shook his head. He recognised the words as Irish, but he didn’t know them. Silver gave a wriggle of something like excitement. ‘So innocent. Come on.’
Innocent? Great. That was what she thought? Before he had a chance to protest, she pushed the heavy velvet curtain aside and he was drawn into her lair.
The room beyond was deserted, luxurious and dominated by a white tree. Like some kind of willow made of marble, the branches trailed down to the ground. But this was no thing carved from
stone. Vitality and power radiated from it. It was slim, like Silver, full of grace and beauty, just like her. And so very alive.
The curtain fell behind him with a heavy sigh and he forgot his fears. Thoughts of the future, law and everything else fell away.
Dylan stared. It couldn’t be real and yet he knew it was. The gap between knowing what he was seeing and knowing what reality said he could see lurched even wider. Sídhe, Silver had said. Like Banshees? Like fairies?
Before he could argue, or accuse her of winding him up, Silver spoke again and his protests were forgotten.
‘Great musicians aren’t born,’ Silver said. She settled herself on the edge of a divan and drew him closer. ‘They’re made. You can practise all night and day, have all the natural talent you could want and be born under the luckiest star imaginable, but that won’t make you great. It won’t make you a legend.’
She leaned forward, her lips parting in a sensual smile.
‘But I can.’
Dylan slid to his knees in front of her, lifted his face so he could look into her wondrous eyes. If he was that good, if there was any way he could get that good, he wouldn’t have to set his music aside like his parents insisted was inevitable. ‘How?’
‘I’m Leanán Sídhe, just like I told you. Some people would call me … a muse. And I can offer you a deal.’
He knew she wasn’t lying, knew it in his beating heart. Knew that somehow he had stumbled into a dream. One where he could choose his own path in life for once. In the same way he had known to follow the music. It scared him. But he couldn’t back away from it.
‘What kind of deal?’ He leaned in closer.
‘Will you give me anything?’ she asked, her eyes filled with laughter, with promises. ‘Even if I ask for a piece of your soul? Even if you know I’d drink down your essence like sweet lilac wine?’
‘Maybe. But what sort of deal?’ He wasn’t sure why he was asking all these stupid questions when all he wanted to do was kiss her. He’d never wanted anyone this way. He couldn’t think of anyone or anything that had ever seemed so important to him in his life, except for his music. And yet there he went, asking questions.