Dangerous Creatures(52)

It wasn’t because of the music. Link’s musical taste had gone from bad to worse, as if the whole band was infected with it now. Link was trying out new lyrics while Ridley stood there, and when she could make out the words, they were so bad she wished she couldn’t.


“My Chicken Wing / You make my gut sing

You make everything / Really swing.

Dipped in batter / Heart goes pitter-patter

Do your wild thing / My Chicken Wing.”



He continued the set, singing, “Cole Slaw / Get under my craw,” and “Fried Pick-le / Love how you rib tick-le.” Pretty soon there would be no major food groups left to write about, and he’d have to get a new muse. The way things were going, though, Ridley was fairly confident it wasn’t going to be her.

She sighed, leaning against the doorway as she watched her not-quite-boyfriend rock out on the stage. Within minutes, Necro and Floyd would join in, and soon the whole band would be singing about whatever picnic basket of nonsense Link had decided was worth their time.

And a few hours later, for unseen and unknown reasons, the crowd would be eating it up. Wesley Lincoln, formerly of Meatstik, and of the Holy Rollers and Who Shot Lincoln before that, was making it big-time as Sirensong. The hottest new indie act of the Caster Underground club scene.

Wesley Lincoln, a quarter Incubus and the worst drummer in five boroughs, above or below the ground. Him, and his cole slaw, and his fried chicken, and his sweet meatballs.

Ridley shook her head. She should text a picture to Ethan and Lena. They’d never believe this. Lena had already thought Ridley was kidding when she’d told her about it on the phone. Talk about being on the lookout for something out of the ordinary. The success of Sirensong should’ve been the first clue.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” The voice caught her off guard, but she recognized it before she turned to see him.

“Would that stop you from asking?” Ridley looked at Nox.

He shrugged. Not really.

“Why are you with him? Why bother?” Nox stood next to her now, watching the band.

“What are you talking about?” Ridley moved closer to the stage, ignoring Nox as best she could. What she was or wasn’t actually doing was no business of his, she thought.

“Not meatballs,” Nox teased. “I promise you that much.”

Link was prancing around on the stage, playing the air guitar. At least, Ridley thought it was an air guitar. From the looks of it, it also could have been an air accordion or even some kind of air DustBuster.

Ridley tried not to appear openly annoyed, but Nox just laughed.

“Look at him. The big lump of idiot Incubus muscle and Mortal mental limitations.”

She glared at him. “I’m sorry, are you talking about my boyfriend?” My almost-ex-boyfriend. But Lennox Gates doesn’t need to know that.

“Am I? I’m not sure, to be honest.” Nox looked at her over his glass, amused. “Is that what he is? Really?”

“Do you speak English?”

He laughed. “English, not Idiot.” He gestured toward the stage. “Speaking of which, some of his lyrics I find hard to understand.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s funny, because every time you open your mouth, Idiot is all I hear.”

“You and him? That’s not a relationship. If you think it is, Little Siren, you’re in worse shape than I thought. Or should I call you Little Chicken Wing?”

“You could. But then I’d do this.” Ridley slapped him as hard as she could.

Nox winced, rubbing his jaw. “All right. Okay. Truce.”

She ignored him.

“You know why I make you so angry? Why I get right under your skin? We’re two of a kind, you and me.” He dropped his hand. She could see his eyes pulling toward her. She looked away.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Birds of a feather. Peas in a pod. Casters out of the same Dark handbook.” Nox winked. Ridley wanted to hit him even harder than she had before.

“You are so, so wrong.”

“Am I? And here I thought we were so simpatico.”

Her temper flared. “Simpatico? How? There’s nothing likable about you, and barely anything likable about me. In fact, we’re just about the two worst people I know.” It was how she felt about herself lately, and it made her feel a little better to finally be able to say it out loud.

Because it’s true, she thought. And it always will be. No matter how many jobs I get or how hard I try. No matter how badly I want to change.

How regular I want to be.

Nox nodded agreeably. “The worst. Exactly. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot and we were meant to be friends, in our own twisted way. Just like, I don’t know, Link Floyd?”

She swung up her arm to slap him again, but this time he caught it.

Nox shrugged. “We are who we are. I’m a Rolls, he’s a—what does he call it? A Beater?”

“Maybe,” Ridley said as she pulled her hand away. “But if I wanted a Rolls, Mr. Gates, don’t you think I’d just Charm a chauffeur?” She examined her silver nails.

He ignored her. “I own the club, which means I own your little boyfriend, too.”

Ridley twisted the pink streak in her hair expertly. “And if I wanted a club, Mr. Gates, don’t you think I’d just Charm the club owner?”