Succession of Witches (2 page)

During the intermission between performances, Jay filled the relative silence by talking to Sam, explaining all about the origin of the name Sodatown for the downtown Sterling area while Cassie and Mike mostly stayed silent.

Looking at Jay’s animated features as he discussed the original Slam! Cola plant that had opened in the 1960s and the town that had grown up around it, Cassie found herself irritated with him for how excited he seemed to get whenever he was in Sam’s presence. She knew that for Jay, finding out about Sam’s identity meant that a whole world of magic that he’d only dreamed of really existed, and that was heady stuff, but his obsession had a whiff of subservience to it that she didn’t like. Most of the group thought of being Sam’s entourage as a show, a ploy to keep them safer from the d
emons than they would be otherwise, but Cassie was afraid that Jay really did think of himself as some kind of underling. Worse, he liked being an underling.

After what felt like hours, the members of NCWP began to take the stage. Cassie was only half-paying attention as a lanky man in tight red leather pants strolled confidently onto the stage and gave his bass guitar an experimental
strum, while other leather-clad men took their places. She tapped her foot impatiently; where was Dwight already?

“He looks different than he does at work, huh?” said Jay, resting his chin in his hands.

“Who?”

“
Dwight- who else?”

“Huh?”
             

Cassie’s head snapped back towards the stage; her mouth dropped open as she realized that the man in skin tight, red leather pants was her boss.

Since he was only a few inches taller than she was, Cassie had always thought of Dwight as a small man, but being on stage made him look larger than life. A thin black tank top revealed his chiseled, muscular arms, normally hidden by his loose polo shirts. Instead of wearing his hair in a neat ponytail, his long strawberry blond hair was loose, coming down nearly to his waist. With the stage lights behind him, his hair made him look like he was surrounded by tongues of flame. The long hair should have made him look feminine, but with the tight pants showing off his narrow hips, he looked anything but. A pair of fingerless gloves and shiny vinyl boots completed the flashy ensemble.

Cassie stared for a good 30 seconds, unable to reconcile the man she saw before her with sweet, unassuming Dwight from the coffee shop.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe it,” she said, “Our boss is hot.”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” said Jay.

“Hear those chicks screaming? I think he already knows,” said Cassie, smiling. Now that she was over the shock, she liked the fact that Dwight could be sexy when he wanted to be. Good for him.

Sam leaned over to her and half-whispered in her ear. “He isn’t hotter than me though, is he?”

Cassie nearly jumped out of her chair; where had that come from? That kind of playful, flirty comment was unlike him. Mike and Jay chuckled nervously at her reaction, clearly also surprised at what Sam had said. As she often did, Cassie took refuge in gross exaggeration.

“No, master,” she said, rolling her eyes. “No mere human could ever be as hot as you. We worship at the altar of your hotness.”

“No need to lay it on quite that thick,” said Sam, turning away from her as NCWP geared up to play. Cassie looked at him with a perplexed expression. What had he wanted her to say, anyway?

The strange thing was
, she wasn’t exactly lying. Despite the fact that his bloodlust disgusted her, she still found him incredibly attractive. That was part of the reason she’d been avoiding him; she could deal with hating him, or being afraid of him. Being attracted to him at the same time was just confusing, and it made her feel sick, like she was as broken and deranged as he must be.

“Hellooooo Warehouse,” Dwight crooned into the microphone, rousing Cassie from this depressing revelry.
“How you all doin’ tonight?” He grinned mischievously as the crowd erupted into positive yells and screams.

“Nice
— do me a favor and keep it that way,” he said, to more screams. He arched his back theatrically and played a deep note on his bass, pausing to let the sound resonate through the club. Before the chord could die out, the rest of NCWP launched into their first number, and within seconds, Dwight was singing.

The group from The Daily Grind, including Sam, watched their manager perform with something akin to wonder. While they recognized the voice, a little hoarse and ever so slightly nasal, Dwight was every inch the rock star while he performed. While his singing voice was nontraditional, he enunciated every word with perfect diction, allowing the lyrics to register with the audience
— although the content of some of them made Cassie blush.

He had a way of performing each song that made it seem extemporaneous, like he was composing on the spot rather than chanting something pre-written. The rest of the band seemed to obey subtle signals from him as the music rose and fell in waves, giving him an appearance of effortless control that would have done a demon proud, Cassie thought.

The set seemed to pass incredibly quickly, although logically Cassie knew it was probably about the same length as the previous band’s performance. When Dwight took his final bow to thunderous applause (and plenty of passionate screams from the women), the group sitting at the booth blinked and looked at each other as though waking from a trance.

“I see what Khalil meant,” said Sam, watching the members of NCWP slowly begin to pack up their equipment. “He’s practically unrecognizable on stage.”

Cassie nodded. Which was the real Dwight, the sweet guy who counted out her register for her, or this slender rock god? It seemed impossible that he could be both.

To her surprise, the man himself approached their table soon after the set, graciously dealing with adoring fans as he made his way to them.

“Great show,” said a raven-haired girl in a semi-transparent minidress, putting her hand on his bare shoulder. Dwight grinned at her, but maintained eye contact, making no move to look at her body.

“Awesome, thanks for coming out tonight,” he said, then turned to
the group in the booth as though he had no idea that several women were pawing to get close to him.

“Hey guys,” he said, putting his hands in the pockets of his leather pants. Cassie was surprised he could fit anything in pants that tight. “Anyone who says anything bad about the show tonight is cleaning the bathrooms for the next three weeks.”

Cassie laughed. “No need, you guys were amazing.”

“Yeah, thanks for getting us these passes,” said Mike. “I was kind of worried after the opening act, but you guys rocked it.”

Dwight’s smile widened. “You mean Ladykiller Brigade? They’re nice guys.”

“Yeah, but you guys are in a different league,” said Jay.

“Ah, stop it,” said Dwight, but Cassie could tell he was pleased. Dwight turned around for a few moments to accept some compliments from club goers who had been tapping him on the shoulder, which he accepted with a practiced, and (Cassie couldn’t help but notice) completely impersonal grace.

“Listen, you guys hungry?” he asked. “I can never eat before these things, and the rest of the band is going over to this girl Audrey’s, but I need food first. Wanna come with me to Maggie’s?”

Cassie sat up straighter, excited. Everyone had heard of Maggie’s, the fifties-style diner that had been a staple of the Sodatown area pretty much forever. Supposedly, the menu consisted only of simple fare like burgers and fries, but they were done to perfection. Going would mean disobeying her mother’s order to come straight home after the show, but what Annette didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“The rest of the band won’t mind you
taking off?” asked Sam.

Dwight shrugged. “Not really; they see enough of me as it
is.”

As the group slowly made their way towards the front of the club, with Dwight smiling and signing CDs (and some arms) for his adoring fans all the while, Cassie wondered if there was some friction between Dwight and the rest of NCWP. Dwight had certainl
y seemed in charge on stage, and maybe it was more of a dictatorship than a democracy. While she was happy for any excuse to try the famous Maggie’s fries, it did seem a little odd that he was splitting from the rest of his band to hang out with his employees.

Then again, she thought as they fanned out into the street, they weren’t just coffee shop workers; they had the added bond of the entourage. What that meant, she wasn’t sure any of them really knew, but it was a strong connection nonetheless.

Dwight went outside coatless, quietly talking to Sam about something as he led the way to Maggie’s. Cassie didn’t know where it was, but if they were walking it was probably within a few blocks of The Warehouse. She shivered at the sight of Dwight’s bare arms exposed to the January air, but she supposed he was still warm from the combination of exertion and stage lights. A few people seemed to be following them, probably wanting to continue the party wherever the NCWP lead singer was going, but Dwight gave no sign that he noticed or cared.

Jay sidled up next to her, looking excited. “So, did you and Sam work it out?”

Cassie snorted. “Work what out?”

Mike pulled up along her other side. “You know, whatever the stupid thing you’ve been fighting about is.”

Cassie turned to look at both of them in turn. “Do either of you have any idea what it’s like to be a demon’s familiar?” she asked, her voice deceptively calm.

“Uh, well no,” said Jay, “But-“

“Then stay out of it!” Cassie exclaimed, quickening her pace to catch up with Sam and Dwight. She supposed it was nice that Mike and Jay were trying to help her, but they had no idea what they were really dealing with. Furthermore, for their own sakes, she sincerely hoped they never found out.

Dwight made a quick call to Khalil, who agreed to hop a bus over to Maggie’s after he finished closing up the shop. When the group arrived at the diner, it was already packed with people dressed in their clubbing best. Cassie was afraid they’d have to wait for a table, but at a wave from Dwight, the hostess smiled and directed them to a rectangular table in the far corner. Clearly, Dwight was a regular here; either that, or lead singers were allowed to cut the line on general principle.

“This is going to be a little tight for six people,” said Mike as they took their seats.

“If space is a problem, Cassie’s welcome to sit on my lap,” said Sam as he sat down at the head of the table, breaking into a coy half smile. Once Cassie’s brain registered that yes, he really did say what she thought he had just said, she
stared at him in confusion. What was with him tonight? He never talked like this. The others looked mildly uncomfortable as well.

“Yeah, thanks but no thanks,” Cassie said, plopping into the chair next to him. She would have liked to sit further away, but Jay and Mike had already taken the far seats. Sam shrugged mildly, like it was a shame that she’d turned down his kind offer.

They had barely been given their menus and water when Khalil rushed in, still wearing his DG apron. Seeing there was no chair for him, he pulled an unused one away from another table without asking and dragged it over. The diners at the other table frantically tried to get his attention to point out that they needed that chair for someone coming later, but Khalil was good at being selectively oblivious.

“You got here awfully fast,” said Dwight with an accusatory tone as Khalil pulled his chair into position at the opposite end of the table from Sam. “Did you clean up at all?”

“Of course!” said Khalil, straightening his chair. “I was cleaning up as I was going along all night, so when you called I was all done already.”

“Why do I not believe you,” Dwight said with a slightly pained expression. It was strange to see him acting like a store manager in his rocker garb.

“So!” said Khalil, banging his palms down on the table. He turned to Sam. “You see what I mean about him? After these shows, the hottest women you’ve ever seen come up to him, all,” (and here, he spoke in falsetto) “tee-hee, you’re so awesome Dwight! And what does he do? Says thanks and walks the other way! The hell is up with that?”

“Don’t curse,” Sam reminded Khalil, “and yes, I noticed.”

Dwight looked from Khalil to Sam with an annoyed expression. “C’mon, they’re all college students. I don’t rob the cradle.”

“You don’t know they’re all college students,” said Khalil, holding up his index finger. “Some of them might even be 25!”

“Whatever. Still way too young for me,” said Dwight, looking down at his water. Cassie looked at him and wondered, for the first time, just how old he was. She’d always thought of him as being in his “mid-thirties,” but what did that really mean: 32, or more like 37? Furthermore, even though he looked great, how old was too old to be the lead singer in a band like NCWP? She realized she didn’t really know anything about this entire Sodatown culture that Dwight belonged to.

Even though burgers were her favorite food, Cassie only ordered a small plate of fries while everyone else decided to try Maggie’s Famous Cheeseburger.
Animal flesh was used for black spells, and eating it regularly could taint a white witch’s magic, or so Serenus’ had told her. She thought her magic was quite pure enough as it was, but Ser had made her promise that if she insisted on making no other progress in her magical training for the time being, she could at least start getting used to the proper witchy diet. She found she couldn’t argue with him there.