Discord's Desire, 3
First, Liz loses her job. Then she spots a flyer for a punk show covered in fae glamour. The entire reason she moved to the humdrum ‘burbs was to avoid the supernatural crap she’s been seeing since she was a kid.
She should avoid the show, but curiosity wins out. A punk band consisting of an incubus, a satyr, a banshee, and a siren can only spell one thing—trouble.
When Liz lets it slip that she’s no average human, the siren takes a keen interest in her. Even without his otherworldly abilities, those skillful bass-playing fingers and the promise in his wicked smile might just be the thing to turn Liz’s rotten day around.
Be Warned: public exhibition
Excerpt:
The leaves crunched under my feet as I stormed down the street. I clutched my messenger bag a little tighter and lined up by the telephone pole, my shoulders trembling like the brittle tree branches as the gusts of wind blew through.
Two years, but I never complained, even though the pay was crap and the customers were jerks. Fired and all because of Dave. Smug bastard screwed over anyone who wouldn’t screw him. The balding little creep had hounded me ever since Billy and I split up a couple of months ago. Good riddance to both of them.
I rubbed my bare arms as another gust blew through. The town lights were twinkling and stores began to flick their neons on. Where was this bus?
A paper fluttered on the telephone pole, one of those hastily scribbled adverts with a serial-killer scrawl.
A punk show in Jefferson City? Now that was a rarity. These people were either the worst marketers ever or looking to raise hell. I tugged the flyer loose and scanned it. Tonight only, the band Babykiller would be opening for the main act, Discord’s Desire. I lifted the paper, ready to crumple it up, but stopped.
The subtle glow that ringed the paper and the exotic perfume wafting off it sent my supernatural radar into overdrive. The flyer was saturated with a fae glamour meant to reel any average humans in the second they spotted it.
Unfortunately for them, I was the weird rarity.
Magic, glamour—none of that stuff affected me. I’d been seeing weird shit my entire life—fae, satyrs, centaurs, nymphs—everything that walked around disguised as humans. For some reason, their voodoo never worked on me.
Not the best ability when the rest of the world thought you were insane. After my first ten encounters with therapists trying to talk me through delusions and my “cries for attention,” I gave up and bounced from city to city until I moved all the way out here. Biggest perk of living in the middle of nowhere? Less chance of bumping into any of those supernatural weirdos, which meant I could live a semi-normal life.
I stared at the flyer, cursing its existence. Should I ignore this invitation and leave well enough alone? Of course, but now my curiosity was piqued and I had to find out why supernaturals wanted to muck around in Jefferson City.
The bus approached in the distance, the groan and squeak of the brakes echoing over to where I stood. As I stepped onto the bus, I yanked my cell phone from my pocket.
Time to call Viola.
