Page 3 of Bewitched By the Siren
CHAPTER TWO
Hali
I spottedthe stranger Taylor called me about the second I walked out onto the stage. Even if he wasn’t the only person pointing a camera at me––the locals know better––I’d have noticed him immediately. He screams “city slicker” with his designer clothes and artfully styled hair. He looks like he’s ready for a meeting in a board room, not a night out at a local dive bar.
I’d thanked Taylor for calling earlier, assuring her I’d dash the stranger’s hopes and send him on his way right out of town. She and I aren’t friends, not really, but I’ve asked several citizens of Circe Key to keep an eye out for any strangers asking about me, and everyone who lives here is so nice, they eagerly comply.
Of course, they don’t really have a choice. But I don’t like to think about that.
My eyes keep finding the man while I perform my set. He looks a bit stunned. Enthralled, even, but I’m used to that look from people in the crowd.
It’s not real. It never is.
But something about seeing that look on this stranger’s face makes my heart beat off-kilter. I force my eyes to stay away fromhim as I finish up. I need to focus. Keep my metaphorical eyes on the prize. The reason I do this. The reason I do everything.
As I finish my last song, I hold up a fist and wait for the cheers to die down. Once I’m sure the crowd will be able to hear me, I lift the microphone back to my lips.
“Thank you so much. You guys are the best! Don’t forget to tip your servers and bartenders. They’ve been working hard tonight.”
I inject a little melody into those last two sentences, then hop off the stage and rush through the door beside it. I never ask for tips for myself, though I desperately need them. But, of course, I don’t need to ask. The treasure chest I leave on the stage fills up after every performance.
And every time, I ignore the sick feeling in my gut as I count it at the end of the night.
I head straight for my small dressing room at the back of the storage space I’ve entered. It used to be a closet for cleaning supplies, but Memaw cleared it out and let me have it as a place to change when my shows started filling the bar to capacity every Friday and Saturday night. I closet myself inside and grab my necklace from where I left it on the narrow table. Clasping it around my neck, I close my fist around the shell-shaped pendant and take a few deep breaths.
I’m tired. I need to get home and take a sea salt bath.
I pull off my dress and change back into my street clothes before cleaning the makeup off my face. I pull my long hair up into a loose topknot, then slide my feet into my flip-flops.
I’m relieved to be done, heaving a sigh as I swing open the door and step out. But I immediately freeze and gasp when I come face to face with Mr. Fancy Pants.
“Customers aren’t allowed back here,” I say, waving my hands to encompass the storage room.
He grins. “I couldn’t miss the chance to meet you. I’m Brendan Howser.”
He hands me a business card with those words, and I glance at it briefly before trying to hand it back. I don’t need to read it. Taylor already filled me in on who Brendan Howser is and why he’s here.
“Not interested.”
When he refuses to take the card back, I sigh and shove it into my back pocket. I’ll just throw it away when I get home. I try to walk away, but I can feel him behind me as I go.
“I just want a chance to talk to you about your future. You have an amazing voice.”
“Thank you,” I grit out, my face heating.
Of course, he thinks I have an amazing voice. It’s the nature of the beast inside me.
“Hali, please,” he says, hurrying to block my path as soon as I step back out into the main area of the bar.
“This guy bothering you, Hali?”
We both turn toward the burly, bald bouncer stepping toward us. When I look back at Brendan, he looks a little green around the gills. And for some reason, I take pity in him.
“I’m fine, Drew. He’s harmless.”
Drew mad dogs Brendan for a couple of more beats, then nods once before spinning and stalking away. After watching him go, the man beside me turns to meet my gaze.
“Thank you. That guy could crush me with his pinky finger.”
