Call of Water (Madame Tan's Freakshow #1) - Marina Simcoe Page 0,1

on the floor, another placed on a higher rung, Zeph had no other props but the soft stage light. It flowed over him in waves of magenta and aquamarine. His voice floated with it, the lyrics weaving a beautiful tale of yearning and love. He sang about not wanting to exist in this world if his lover wasn’t in it.

The song wasn’t sad, the melody light and airy. Yet my heart twisted with longing for something I couldn’t name.

I’d heard this song before. It was one of my mom’s old favorites. Never before, though, had it had the same effect on me as in Zeph’s rendition. He never made eye contact with me, but it felt as though he sang for me alone. Each note reached through to my very soul.

Deep, beautiful feeling flooded me, warming me from the inside. I wanted someone to care about me as much as Zeph made me believe he cared about the woman in the song. I wished to need someone so badly that I, too, would not want a world without them, that their mere existence would make life worth living.

The intensity of that sensation grew with every word of the song, ebbing and swelling along with the music and the waves of the stage lights.

The crowd seemed to disappear. Any awkward feeling from being in a room full of people was now gone completely.

The desire for something grand and wonderful—an amazing adventure or an out-of-this-world love—throbbed in my chest.

As long as he continued to sing, I believed nothing was impossible.

The last note from Zeph’s lips faded into the music as the song ended.

The room erupted into applause, brutally yanking me back into the reality and shredding the magic he had created. The elated feeling was gone, and the void left behind pressed on me from the inside.

The noise felt intrusive. The air around me grew too thick to draw another breath. I scanned the room, needing to get out of there. Even if for a little while.

A side door was open.

“I’ll be right back,” I whispered to Fleur, ignoring her questioning look.

Getting out of my seat, I rushed to the door.

A short hallway behind it led to the kitchen.

“May I help you?” a waitress asked, carrying a round silver tray with small plates above her shoulder.

“I need to get outside...”

“The main exit is that way.” She smiled, gesturing in the direction I had come from.

“That would be too far,” I croaked.

She gave me a concerned glance. I felt blood rushing from my face, giving me the pallor of someone who was about to get sick. “Are you okay?”

“Just need some fresh air,” I begged.

Finally, she tipped her chin behind her shoulder. “The back entrance is that way.”

“Thank you.” I hurried down the corridor toward a metal door.

Chapter 2

OUTSIDE, I DREW IN the warm summer air. Propping my hands on my thighs, I leaned forward, staring at the toes of my sparkly shoes. A beautiful mix of ache and sweetness swelled in my chest—an echo of what I felt while Zeph was singing.

I desperately tried to hold on to the feeling, but it was fading with every passing second, and I hated for it to disappear completely.

“Hey,” a male voice, rough and deep, said from the left of me.

A tall man was leaning against the wall there—well-dressed, in a grey suit, his dark hair neatly cut and styled. A thin stream of shimmering smoke curled from the end of the long, dark cigarette in his hand.

“Are you going to vomit?” he asked calmly, staring at me with a pair of silvery-grey eyes. “If you do, could you please step farther away from the door? Maybe move under that tree over there?”

With another deep breath, I straightened up.

“I’m not going to throw up,” I assured him.

Normally, I’d feel fairly uncomfortable when talking to a handsome stranger. However, this one had kind of broken the ice by starting with the most awkward topic. He had been fully expecting me to vomit in front of him. There could be no way but up for me with him.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just needed some air.”

He nodded, a flash of understanding crossing his expression. “Is Zeph on stage?”

“Zeph?” I rubbed my face, collecting my thoughts that had been swept away by that magical voice back in the room. “Yes. He is...was. He’s just finished the first song.”

“His singing tends to have an intense effect on people.” The man took a drag of his cigarette. “It will pass,” he