Master of the Opera, Act 1: Passionate Overture by Jeffe Kennedy

Author:Jeffe Kennedy [Kennedy, Jeffe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-05-26T04:00:00+00:00

She should quit.

That was the clear and obvious solution. Not that she could tell anyone why.

Oh yeah, Daddy—see there’s some stalker dude who’s probably a ghost living below the opera house and, get this, he thinks he really owns it! And he gave me a rose and said some really weird shit. Say, can you find me another job?

He’d send her right back to the mental ward.

Christy groaned, wanting to bang her head on the bar, and took a deep swallow of her margarita instead. The salt on the rim pricked through the icy, tart concoction, finishing with the dark smoke of Hornitos tequila, seeping into her blood and soothing her as much as the crackling fire and chattering people.

She’d come straight to Del Charro from the opera house. After she’d stood there, clutching that stupid flashlight for forever after the ghost disappeared. Except he’d looked real. What did ghosts look like? And what was up with the you-shall-call-me-Master bit?

She should really just quit.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to. Charlie might fire her for leaving all those lights on. Because, when she’d finally screwed up her courage, she’d grabbed the iPad and run all the way up the spiral staircase, certain he might grab her from behind. Or worse, through the gaps between the stairs. No fucking way was she stopping to turn off the lights and climb in the pitch black.

She couldn’t face her silent hotel room either, so she’d come to this place, because she’d seen happy people through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the street, open to the balmy evening. So much better than being alone, cliché as it might be.

“Ready for another one?” The bartender pointed at the empty glass she clutched in both hands.

“Yeah.” Christy pushed the glass to her. “Something seems to have happened to this one.”

The bartender grinned and set the glass in the sink. “I’ll make you a fresh one. Where you from?”

Everyone here asked her that. She wasn’t sure if it was because she so obviously wasn’t local or because they assumed everyone was a tourist.

“I live here. Well—at the El Rey until I get a place. I’m working at the opera.” Unless I quit.

“Oh, cool. I’ve never been—can’t afford it—but I hear it’s really neat.” The bartender shook her unnaturally red ponytail. “One day, when I’m rich and famous. And learn to like opera.”

“What do you do—I mean, do you have a job besides bartending?”

The redhead laughed. “You figure I’m not planning to get rich and famous tending bar? No, I’m a starving artist. I paint.” She set down a brimming margarita and wiggled her fingers. “Faces, bodies, that kind of thing. This job pays the bills okay.”

Christy sipped the margarita—twice as strong this time. She’d have to watch it or she’d be taking a cab home. To the hotel. Whatever. “Do you guys serve food? Dinner food?”

“Sure. Restaurant’s attached, or you can eat here at the bar.”

“That would be great. To eat here.”

The bartender handed her the menu. “Special today is the chicken enchiladas.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.