Phantom: A Dark Retelling (Tattered Curtain Series)

Scarlett

“Sol! What’re you—” I squeal as he practically picks me up to whisk me away to God knows where.

Wait, no… I know where.

The stage.

“Sol, stop!” I hiss as we pass through the throng of dancers. He lifts me up by my waist and plops me onto the stage. I lean in to yell at him and stop in my tracks.

The left side of his face, the expressive side, is so happy. He’s excited about this. But…

“I can’t, Sol—”

“If you’re so worried about disappointing people, what about me? I’ll be disappointed if you don’t sing your heart out right now.”

“I can’t, Sol. I can’t do this,” I insist, wringing my hands and barely resisting the urge to swipe the sweat already gathering there onto my new dress.

His hopeful grin makes my heart race even faster than the prospect of singing onstage right now. “Please, Scarlett? Trust me.”

I want to.

I bite my lip and look out at the crowd. Most are hardly paying attention to me, still swaying and dancing to the house music now that the band has stepped off for a much-deserved drink. But a few are looking at me with curiosity, including Sol’s brother, Ben.

Maggie sits beside him, and I catch Jaime just a table over. I give a timid wave to them both, just now realizing that I haven’t even had my phone since my rehearsal yesterday. It’s usually glued to my hand, but I don’t even miss it.

Focus! You’re about to sing solo in front of all these people…

Jaime is swaying in his seat, obviously drunk already, but he seems subdued, and his eyes are tense as he smiles. Maggie is grinning like a supportive big sister, her tight curls bounce as she nods at me and mouths, “go for it.”

I sigh and look back at Sol. Sincerity has replaced the mirth and he grabs my hand before stepping easily onto the high stage. He bends low and whispers in my ear as his fingertips lightly caress my bare lower back, making me shiver.

“I’ll be with you every note of the way, pretty muse.”

I haven’t even agreed yet but I know before his eyes meet mine again that I’m going to give in. With one final squeeze of my hand, he walks stage right to the speakeasy’s upright piano. I tentatively step toward the old-school microphone, trying my best not to let my wobbly knees topple me over on my heels.

It shouldn’t be so different, singing in front of an audience in an opera performance versus now. But in one, I’m dressed up as a character, with a cast and crew to have my back. If something goes wrong, it wasn’t me, it was Juliet, or another member of the cast. All by myself is completely different.

But so is the rush I have right now.

That’s what I’m thinking about when I wrap my hand around the microphone stand and blink to adjust to the brilliant spotlight. I use the blindness to my advantage and just focus on the thrill racing through me as the house music dies down. A quick glance to the right at Sol shows him beaming back at me in encouragement. I shake the nerves from my hands and turn around as he plays the first note. A brief shock of panic jolts through me as I realize I don’t even know what song I’m singing, but it only takes the very next measure for me to realize it.

When Sol, my demon of music, sent me sheet music, there were never any words. I realized quickly that it was a game, and all I had to do was figure out what the song was. I’d sing it back and when I got it right, the far-off piano would join in.

Now that I realize my demon is very real, I can’t believe I let myself freak out for so long. At this point though, I’m glad I didn’t come clean. I might not have been crazy, but the story sure sounds like it.

I wait the few measures until the first note and then I begin to pull from within to belt out the lyrics to “Your Heart is as Black as Night” by Melody Gardot. It was one of the first songs my demon ever sent me, and I know it straight away.

The words flow from my diaphragm and feel like they’re vibrating through every pore before they emerge from my lungs and throat. I close my eyes and let the music take me as I caress the microphone. When we finish the first verse, I inhale to start the chorus but the rich notes from a trumpet and saxophone shake me into opening my eyes.

The band members nod to me, telling me to keep going as they play, and I glance back at Sol. His lips lift in an encouraging smile, giving my core a delicious twist of excitement that’s very different from the way the stage makes me feel.

I pivot back to the crowd and sing about how my lover has perfect timing, how I’ll lose my mind over the way his black heart makes me feel. When I glance back at the man who started this all, my gaze catches on the way his strong hands lovingly brush against every ivory and black key. When I raise my eyes to meet his, midnight heat bores into me and desire pulses in my core, keeping time with the drummer that’s now playing with us.

Every acting coach I’ve ever had would be screaming at me to face the crowd, but I don’t even care if they’re enjoying it when all I can see is the hungry way Sol is eye fucking me right now. My skin prickles and craves for those long fingers to caress me inside and out. All the while I’m singing every note and even though the key is a little low for me, the lyrics are designed for us and couldn’t have been a more perfect fit for this moment.

When the final words flow from me, I hold the last one longer than normal, allowing for the saxophonist and now the drummer to add a flourish. When they finish, there is a pause, one where the whole world is silent and it’s just me and Sol under the spotlight. The nerves and energy that scared me before are a distant memory as everything snaps into place inside my chest, almost an audible click as my dreams and realities align.

The room erupts in applause.

I spin around, having entirely forgotten in that moment that there was more than the two of us in the entire world, let alone this speakeasy. Everyone is on their feet, and that jittery excitement that always scares me settles into a deep calmness in my bones. Euphoria expands my chest with pride.

This. This just feels fucking right.

A hand claps on my shoulder and jolts me out of my reverie to see the lead singer with a cocktail and a wide smile across his weathered, dark-skinned face.

“Damn, girl. You’ve got pipes.”

“She’s the spittin’ image of Gusty Day, too. Prettier obviously.” The saxophonist winks a rheumy-blue eye. “Any relation?”

“He’s… he was my dad,” I finish. “You knew him?”

A host of emotions cross the singer’s face. “Yeah, we knew him. Played with him quite a few times. Shame he got mixed up with the wrong crowd, but at least you’ve figured out the right one.” His words make me frown but when he keeps going, I lose all train of thought. “If you ever wanna sing with us again, just let us know. There’s always an openin’ for Gusty Day’s kid.”

Tears prick behind my eyes, but I smile and nod. This whole experience has been overwhelming, and I can’t decide whether to run off the stage with Sol, beg to play another song, or shout “yes” to the lead singer at the top of my lungs. But I just stand there like an idiot until a strong arm wraps around my waist. I instinctively turn into the whiskey-and-leather scent, seeking the peace I know it brings me.

“Arrange it with Madam G, Zig, and we’ll chat about another show,” Sol offers before waving at him and helping me off the stage. “Maybe the Red, White, and Black Party next weekend.”

“Will do, Mr. Bordeaux.”

I wave goodbye to the band as Sol whisks me away. The lead singer calls for another round of applause. The cheers lift me up, making me feel weightless with more pride than any and all of the shows I’ve performed on the opera stage combined.

The crowd quiets behind me as Sol pulls me through the halls. The darkness is a stark contrast to the spotlight that was just beaming down on me, and I have to blink several times to see before we arrive at a darkened alcove. As soon as we stop, I open my mouth to thank him, but the warm taste of Sazerac cuts me off.

Sol’s lips mold to mine, and one hand splays across my back while the other cradles my head. I melt into his embrace, moaning into his mouth.

He breaks the kiss with a chuckle. “Kiss me back, Scarlett.”

It takes his prompting for me to realize I’m just standing there, dumbstruck still like I was on stage. I immediately wrap my arms around his shoulders and curl into him.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls into my mouth and delves his tongue inside. I savor the warm whiskey-and-sugar flavors as I taste him back. My hands thread into his hair and his hand on my waist pulls me in tighter.

“You were everything up there, Scarlett. Fuck, the way you came alive.” His lips pepper down my jawline. His mask isn’t hard on my face like I thought it would be, but I’m careful with it still. He obviously doesn’t want to take it off yet, not even to kiss, and my pulsing inner muscles will revolt if I screw this up.

His nose grazes over the sensitive skin on my neck before nipping my collarbone. I yelp but love the little bite of pain.

My fingers are still threaded into his hair so I dare to pull him up and bring him to my lips. He growls with urgency when I do and ravages my mouth with his before I break away.

“I need you, Sol.”

He doesn’t hesitate, not even for me to finish begging him before he gathers me into his arms. I’m vaguely aware of my dress ripping up the slit, but I couldn’t care less as he picks me up. He holds me like a bride being carried over a threshold, like he did when he carried me to his underground home last night.

“Don’t let go, Scarlett.”

“Never,” I whisper back.

I encircle my arms around his neck, and he pushes against a wall beside us, revealing a secret door.