Page 42 of Bewitched By the Siren
“Hey, Brendan. Come on in,” a female voice says, and the gates slowly slide open.
“Who was that?” I ask as he rolls up his window and releases the brake to move forward through the gate.
“That was––”
“Holy shit. Is that Natasha Monk?” I shout, cutting him off when I spot the woman walk out onto the large front stoop to wait for us.
“Surprise,” he says, waving through the windshield at her as the car rolls to a stop.
“You know Natasha Monk,” I say, disbelief lacing the words.
He turns in his seat to face me. “You do know I’m a talent agent, right? I know a lot of people.”
“But…”
He takes my hand and squeezes it. “She’s one of Julius’ clients. I’ve met her several times, and when I told her I was in Circe Key to scout a new possible client, she insisted we come to see her.”
“I cover her songs at the bar all the time,” I say, a bit breathless.
“Well, let’s not keep her waiting,” he says, then goes still. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, then more firmly, “Yeah. Of course. She’s just a person, right?”
“Right,” he says with a laugh, then lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles.
Natasha greets us with warm hugs when we approach, and her easy demeanor instantly calms my frayed nerves. Taking us inside, she offers us drinks before leading the way down a set ofstairs. I look at Brendan with questioning eyes, but he only grins and shakes his head, still refusing to tell me what’s going on.
When we spill out into a beautifully finished basement, I freeze, my eyes locked on what looks like a professional recording studio. Turning, I meet Brendan’s gaze.
“What is this?”
“It’s not an ambush, I promise,” he says quickly, taking my hands in his when he realizes I’m reacting how he thought I would. “Natasha records all of her albums here, and she offered to let you use it. I just thought you might want to make a recording for your Mom, since she can’t get out to see you perform live. And for yourself, too, so you can hear how amazing you are.”
Natasha moves away from us to give us a modicum of privacy. I watch as she fiddles with some of the knobs and levers on the control board, my mind reeling.
“Hey,” Brendan says, squeezing my hands. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I thought it would something you’d enjoy, but if not, we can leave right now.”
I search his gaze, and there’s no anger or disappointment in their blue depths. Only concern mixed with affection.
“It would be just for me and Mom?” I ask.
“I promise. You’ll get a copy, and Natasha will delete the files from her equipment, completely. This is just for you.”
A kernel of excitement blooms in my chest, and I look over at Natasha. She shoots me an encouraging smile, making the kernel grow. When I glance back at Brendan, he doesn’t speak or try to talk me into it again. He just waits with patience and understanding, happy to do whatever will makemehappy.
“Okay,” I breathe, then I square my shoulders and nod. “Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Brendan
Emotion unfurls in my chest,some strange combination of pride and happiness and certainty and determination. I knew if I could get Hali here and offer her a session in Natasha’s private recording studio and convince her to make use of it, she’d finally see––or hear, rather––what the rest of us already know. That she’s a bright star who deserves to be recognized as such. That she deserves to share her talent with the world.
I can’t stop smiling as I watch her pull a hair tie from her wrist and muscle her long tresses up into a messy bun. Then, her eyes skating toward me with uncertainty, she unclasps the shell necklace she always wears and stuffs it into her pocket.
Weird.
But then again, she’s an artist, and most artists have quirks and superstitions the rest of us don’t understand. She offers me a shaky smile, then steps into the recording booth before pulling the door closed behind her. I watch through the glass as she picks up an acoustic guitar from a stand in the corner, pulls thestrap over her head and shoulder, and begins plucking out a simple melody.
