The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5) by Susan Squires Page A

drunks at a table were arguing loudly. He really hated this place.
    But the rolling in his belly, the shaking of his hands and the music crashing in his ears said he had to be here. He stared at the stage. The instruments promised nirvana, like the whores of both sexes on every street corner of Fountain Avenue. It was all a lie, of course. But they could maybe stop the shaking for a while.
    “Ghost,” he heard whispered around him. “It’s him.”
    He strode to the stage, hopped up and tossed his backpack to the edge. Someone dimmed the stage lights and brought up atmospheric spots. He bypassed the guitars, sitting complacent on their stands, and headed for the keyboard. The snarl of tangled melodies and baselines, rhythm tracks and jazz attacks pounding in his head needed keyboards.
    He gave no introduction. They knew who he was, and he didn’t care if they understood the music or not. He didn’t ease into it slowly. He didn’t ask for quiet. Let the drunks at the bar shout at each other. He would drown out their noise with his own. Standing at the keyboard, he just let the music just pour out of him. The chords and fingering spilled into the darkness of the room. His aching belly seemed to vomit out the intricacies in swirling crescendos.
    When he could finally breathe again he ran his hand through his hair to get it off his face. It was plastered with sweat. How long had he been playing? He slowed the music. He tried, at least. It occurred to him that one day he was going to sink into the music and never come out again. Maybe madness was his Destiny, not magic.
    Something struck him.
    He sucked in a breath. Goddamnit. She was here: that girl from the other night. He could feel her out there, over by the bar. Her presence had been masked by the music ripping from his soul. What were the odds of her turning up here? Crap in a hat. The music started getting unruly again, twisting into whorls of anxiety just when he’d been coming down from the release it had given him.
    He had to get out of here. But the idea of stopping only seemed to goad the demon notes to coil inside him. The music tore at him. He felt like he was in some vortex as it began to whirl faster and faster. If he didn’t escape the tornado now, he’d be torn apart.
    With a grunt of effort he wrenched himself away from the keyboard, leaving the shattered music in mid-measure. He heard audience gasp in the ensuing silence. Notes still seemed to vibrate in the suddenly quiet air. His rasping breath was loud in his own ears. He hunched his shoulders and stumbled to the edge of the stage, grabbed his pack and practically fell to the dance floor. He looked around, dazed. How long had he been playing? The place had filled up. From the nearest table, hands reached out to steady him. People were murmuring at him, wanting to touch him. Not waiting for a security escort, he staggered to the back hall, to the restrooms. He could feel her sitting at the bar, staring at him. He had to run.
    But he wasn’t capable of running right now, not literally anyway. Someone put a hand on his shoulder. He turned with a snarl. It was some guy in a leather-fucking-suit jacket. Who wore something like that? “Don’t touch me.”
    The guy raised his hands as though he’d been caught in the candy jar. “No touching,” he promised. “But how about a recording contract?”
    Lan would have laughed if he’d been capable of it. “You’re fucking crazy.” He turned to go.
    “Maybe. You’d be a nightmare. But the music…”
    The wistfulness in his voice brought Lan’s head back around.
    “The music is like nothing I’ve heard,” the guy said simply. “So emotional, evocative…”
    Lan managed to focus on the guy’s face. Pain welled in his gut. She was responsible for the pain. He knew it. He glanced over to the bar now that the lights had come up a little. Damn. She was there, with that short blonde hair and those angelic blue eyes, looking very pale. He had to get