Page 25 of Disharmony

He leans back against a tree, takes a deep inhale of the spliff balancing between his fingers, and grins. Smoking is forbidden in camp, but the usual rules mustn’t apply to celebrity coaches. Even in the moonlight, his striking hazel eyes stand out. Thousands of women find him attractive, but there’s more to a person than how hot they look on the front of an album cover or how much money they have in the bank. Damon has a notorious reputation as a womanizer.

“You’re not going to tell on me, are you?” he asks, brushing his dark hair out of his face

“Even if I did, I don’t think it would change anything,” I quip back. “Would it?”

“Probably not.” Damon laughs. I doubt Jacqueline would reprimand him if I reported it. “But still.”

“Smoking kills, you know,” I say, nodding at the joint, which smells like a blend of tobacco and pot. “You should quit.”

“We’re all dying anyway,” he says, taking me off guard and changing the subject abruptly. “You were singing earlier, weren’t you? Down by the fire?”

“Uh-huh,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “So?”

“You’re good.”

“Thanks,” I reply coldly. Others may swoon at his generic compliments, but I doubt he was even paying attention. “I better get back to the party.”

“I didn’t expect anyone here would be a Basilisk fan,” Damon says as I turn to go.

I stop in my tracks and spin around. “You know that song?”

“I wasn’t sure whether you were trying to be ironic,” Damon says with a half-smile. “Singing a song calledLion Slayerin front of the Lionhearts felt kinda personal.”

I’m thankful for the dark as my cheeks heat up. “I-I-I didn’t think—”

“I’d have heard it?” He takes a long drag. “What can I say? I have an eclectic taste.”

“Sure you do,” I scoff, unable to keep the sarcastic edge out of my voice.

“What? Don’t you think someone like me can appreciate metal?”

“It’s just…” I struggle to find the words. Based on the music they produce, it’s hard to believe they really have an understanding of what real art is, but I draw a line at being that honest. I don’t need to offend a camp mentor this summer. Instead, I settle on saying, “Your music is just… different to that.”

“You’re not a Lionheart fan,” he says it as a statement, not a question. I open my mouth to reply, but he stops me from trying to bullshit. “Hey, it’s cool. You can like what you like. But if you’re into the Basilisks, why choose that song? It’s not a fan favorite.”

“It’s one of mine,” I confess. Who’d have guessed he knew so much about Basilisk lore? It gives me a little more respect for him. Perhaps he’s more than just another corny boy band star after all. “That song is so… raw.”

“Sure, if you like that stuff.” Damon shrugs. Clearly, he’s pissed because I’m not a fan of his precious band. Hopefully, he’s high enough to forget this encounter happened. “What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t,” I reply, then my phone buzzes. I hold it up, grateful Dad’s patchy signal has provided a perfect escape route. “I have to go.”

“Enjoy your night, Lion Slayer.” Damon calls after me.

He doesn’t move. Like his reputation, he prefers to stay hidden in the shadows.

seven

Ash

A sticky substance sliding down my forehead stirs me from my sleep. Is our cabin leaking? I rub it and the liquid smears over my cheek.

A huge gust of wind whistles through the cabin as the door slams shut with a bang.

I grapple around for my bedside lamp and switch it on. “What the…”

Holy shit.

I scream.

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