The Devil's Metal
Authors: Karina Halle
Tags: #period, #Horror, #Paranormal, #demons, #sex, #Romance, #Music, #Historical, #Supernatural, #new adult, #thriller
Also by Karina Halle
The Experiment in Terror Series
Darkhouse (EIT #1)
Red Fox (EIT #2)
The Benson (EIT #2.5)
Dead Sky Morning (EIT #3)
Lying Season (EIT #4)
On Demon Wings (EIT #5)
Old Blood (EIT #5.5)
The Dex-Files (EIT #5.7)
Into the Hollow (EIT #6) – October 23rd,
2012
Come Alive (EIT #7) – Spring 2013
Ashes to Ashes (EIT #8) – Winter 2013
Novels by Karina Halle
The Devil’s Metal
Sins and Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1)
(Winter 2012)
∞
Karina Halle∞
\m/ Metal Blonde Books \m/
Published by Metal Blonde Books at
Smashwords
Copyright 2012 by Karina Halle
First Smashwords edition published by Metal
Blonde Books September 2012
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Karina Halle
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or
portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover design by Karina Halle
ISBN-13: 978-1475079371
ISBN-10: 1475079370
Metal Blonde Books
P.O. Box 845
Point Roberts, WA
98281 USA
Manufactured in the USA
For more information about the series
and author visit:
http://khalle.wordpress.com
To the musicians who’ve inspired this crazy,
beautiful journey: This one’s for you.
Thanks for helping me escape hell.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
“Are you ready to rock and roll!?”
Melanie’s voice boomed through the barn
causing a group of pigeons to take flight from the dusty rafters.
Moonglow raised her head back in annoyance and gave me the eye. As
a flighty Arabian horse, she was never too impressed with Mel’s
approach.
“I’m ready!” I hollered back and quickly
finished brushing down Moonglow as she stood uneasily in the
crossties, her weight shifting from one leg to the other.
In seconds, a boisterous Mel appeared beside
me, a thin sheen of sweat on her dark brown forehead.
“How the hell could you even be riding in
this weather?” she asked, words popping with energy. She was
returning Moonglow’s wild-eyed look and I couldn’t help but snicker
at their exchange. It was Mel versus horse and Mel usually won.
“I have to practice,” I reminded her, wiping
the sweat from my face. I probably deposited a million white horse
hairs in its place. Even though Mel was obviously bothered by the
oppressive heat that swamped the Kittitas Valley in late July, she
still looked insanely hip and bitchin’ (as she liked to say). Me,
on the other hand, well let’s just say I looked like I belonged in
a stable.
“I know you have to practice,” she said,
tearing her eyes off my horse and ducking under the crossties, “but
the concert starts in an hour and…you’re…”
She trailed off and gave me an unimpressed
squint as she looked me up and down, deciding to finish her
sentence by plucking a few strands of hay out of my unruly
hair.
I snatched them out of her hand and flung
them onto the concrete floor.
“I’m fine,” I told her quickly and gave
Moonglow a few more quick brushes down her legs. I was going to put
her away slightly sweaty which was never good, but Mel was right. I
was a mess and I had a concert to cover. I’d always made a point of
looking as natural and professional as possible at shows just so
people wouldn’t think I was some groupie. Still, being covered in
sweat and horse hair wasn’t a good look either, even for rock and
roll.
“If you say so,” she said and crossed her
arms. The movement pushed up her breasts in her low-cut scarf top.
Mel was totally tight with the whole groupie term. Then again, she
wasn’t the one trying to make a career for herself in the music
industry. She just loved rock—and its men—as much as I did and made
one hell of a fine partner in crime for live shows.
I gave her a dismissive look and took
Moonglow to her stall, locking her in just as a rumble of thunder
shook the ground.
“It’s a bit early in the season for
thunderstorms,” I noted as we made our way out of my father’s small
barn. The air was ripe with electricity, and a mess of dark gray
clouds loomed on the rolling horizon, spilling down the brown hills
like dust bunnies.
She patted at her small afro. “As long as it
doesn’t mess up my hair. Now aren’t you glad I got the car for
tonight?”
I lived a bit outside of Ellensburg on a
small cattle ranch, turned hay farm, turned waste of space, and a
symbol of lost money. I never had a car and my dad crashed his
truck into our neighbor’s fence earlier in the year, so it was
either my three-speed bike, Moonglow, or my own two feet for
getting around. Or Mel, when she managed to snatch her older
brother’s car keys.
We called it the Dumpster. It was an ugly
Gremlin, patched and peeling paint, and it constantly smelled like
garbage. Its newest nickname was the Shaggin’ Wagon, based on the
rotation of chicks her brother picked up in Seattle when he was
there for school. Something about city chicks being easy. With
Ryan, my ex, going there for college in the fall, the idea made me
feel sick to my stomach.
Mel must have caught the look on my face as
we crossed the narrow road of crumbling asphalt to the Gremlin,
because her brows furrowed.
“Is Eric home?” she asked. Her voice always
sounded small when she said his name.
I shook my head and looked back at the aging
farmhouse, empty and terribly dark despite the evening light. It
was Friday and my brother was finishing up summer school. He should
have been home an hour ago, so I hoped he found some friends and
was hanging out with them after class. As for my dad, he was out at
the bar. At least I knew where he was.
Mel stopped and put her hands on my
shoulders, peering up at me. I was tall for a girl, 5’9”, and she
was a tiny little thing. I tried not to let many people boss me
around, but she had a way about her. She leaned in close and peered
into my eyes.
“Dawn, tell it to me straight. Are you okay?
You don’t look okay.”
I gave her a quick smile. My lips tasted
like sweat.
“I guess I’m just feeling overwhelmed,” I
admitted.
She gave me a nod, reached into the open
window of the Gremlin’s back seat, and pulled out a flask. She
tossed it to me and I caught it with ease.
“Drink that,” she said. “Shut off your
brain.”
I opened my mouth to protest but knew it
would be useless. I tipped the flask back into my mouth and got a
burst of warm whiskey as it poured into my throat. I swallowed it
quickly and wiped my lips, trying not to cough.
“How about tonight you stop worrying about
everything…and I do mean everything,” she said, emphasizing the
last word, “and just enjoy the music for music. Don’t even take
notes. Just be. I love you girl, but you’re trying too hard. It’s
the fucking summer. You’re not even writing this piece for a paper,
right? So take the time to live a little, you dig?”
I wanted to argue with Mel about needing to
keep going, about buckling down and trying harder. Being a music
journalist in Ellensburg, Washington, home of a big rodeo and miles
of Timothy hay, was difficult. Being a
female
music
journalist was almost impossible. But I knew complaining to Mel
would do me no good. She was black and she had her own share of
prejudices and obstacles to deal with, even in a field like
nursing. Even in everyday life.
I smiled just as another roll of thunder
crashed across the waving fields. Goosebumps prickled up my arms,
despite the sweat and waning sunshine.
“I’ll
try
to have fun,” I joked. “So
are we ready to go?”
She took a small sip of the flask then
handed it back to me, nodding at it. “Almost.”
I sighed and took one more chug of the
burning liquid. The baloney sandwich I made myself for dinner
hadn’t protected me in the slightest and I was already feeling
buzzed. I tossed the flask back into the car and gave Mel an
expectant look.
“Happy now?”
She took a pair of Jackie-O sunglasses out
of her snug denim shorts and placed them on her face. She grinned,
her white teeth flashing like lightning against a cocoa sky.
“Getting there,” she said and opened the
driver’s door. That smell of garbage wafted out and we both tried
not to gag.
“Seriously,” I said as I eased myself onto
the passenger’s seat. “Does he haul trash around in here or what?
You know, maybe he’s living out of his car in Seattle, ever think
of that?”
“Oh, I’ve thought of that.” She started the
car and it chugged to life. Within seconds we were roaring down the
country road, windows open, Alice Cooper’s “Hello Hooray” blaring
from the radio. The breeze wasn’t doing anything to get out the
smell or cool down the car. My jeans stuck to the seat. Dust and
heat blasted my face.
“Are you worried Ryan’s going to start
picking up trash once he goes?” she asked as she whipped the car
violently onto the main road.
I would have laughed at that but it hit a
little close to home.
“A little.”
She looked at me beneath her shades. “You
know you have to give up on him, girl.”
I shrugged and started paying attention to
the way the wind was tangling my long, curly hair. I was going to
end up at the show with a rust-colored rat’s nest.
“We could make it work,” I said with quiet
determination.
“You mad? I mean, I love the dude like I
love my brothers, but you know this fairytale ain’t having a happy
ending here. He was good for sloppy kisses and cherry popping and
looking slammin’ at our prom, but you guys have been dullsville
ever since…well, ever since you started school.”
This was all true, so I couldn’t argue. Ryan
was my first steady boyfriend in high school and we were the envy
of everyone there. At least, I told myself that. We looked good,
both of us tall and very athletic, both of us competed in the rodeo
every year (me in barrel racing, him in calf roping), and we were
one of those tongue wrestling in public, sickening couples. Since I
grew up towering over most of the girls and was predisposed to
muscles and a small chest (and therefore a plethora of teasing), I
always felt that Ryan’s love for me was like an award for staying
alive or something. It definitely helped the high school years go
down a lot easier. But after we graduated, everything changed—as it
should, I guess.