The venue was relatively small, and most of the standing room was filling up respectably. The lights were still up, and the groups were clumped and chatting. As she made her way towards the front, her boots sticking to the floor. She reapplied her lipstick reflexively.

The name Dark Alley was plastered as the background for the performance in white letters with black paint splash and droplets accenting the letters.

From the left side of a stage, a man came out carrying an amplifier.

It was Ian.

Her heart started to pound, thudding against her rib cage. It took all of her strength to keep from gasping for breath. She faintly smelled mint.

He set it down on the corner of the stage and looked around. Black jeans, white shirt, black tie, black vest. Classic. Simple. She looked up at him, and caught his eye. She gave him a small smile, and he smiled back. The exchanged lingered for a bit, then he left.

He was clean, for all she could tell. No shadows seemed to cling to him, no smoke clouded his eyes. There were shadows roaming around the dim hall, to be sure, but nothing that gave her pause. She kept scanning the room, confused, and barely noticing when the lights dimmed and the curtains closed. She didn't hear the emcee thanking everyone for coming out that night, or thanking the local rock station for sponsoring the event. Was she wrong?

The stage went black. A voice boomed over the sound system. "ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?" The crowd answered affirmatively. "THEN MAKE SOME NOISE FOR DARK ALLEY!"

As the curtains rose, she heard the first few cords creep out, contemplative. The stage lights came back on, and in the middle of the stage was a pool of viscous black. "Sail on, my lonely son," snapped her focus to to Eric, the lead singer, cradling the microphone tenderly. The pool became a vortex that sucked through the floor of the stage, gone just as quickly has she had seen it. "Soon harbors will burn!"

* * *

While the last song was wrapping up, she snuck out of the crowd to find a side exit. She was impressed with the density of the floor at that point. In her experience more people would have left by now, it being a weekday.

She made her way to the back door and let herself out. She went to the alley near the back, and waited. She shook her head, feeling the vibration that she was in the correct place. While working on homework this afternoon, she had fallen asleep and seen this place. Seen this very encounter in vivid detail. It made her nervous and sick to essentially follow instructions, but she did anyway. Twenty minutes later, Ian slipped through the same door, unbuttoned his vest, and sighed against the wall. "Hey," She called, trying not to scare him. His focus snapped and recognized her.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Hey," he replied. "You're in the front row?" He cracked open a bottle of water and took a long sip.

She smiled. "Yeah, the show was awesome. Not inside celebrating? You guys packed the place on a Wednesday, that's impressive."

He wiped the sweat off of his brow with his vest. His features were a lot more refined in person than his picture let on. "I'm hiding 'til the Jaeger disappears."

That genuinely did tickle her. She laughed, and looked down shyly. "I'm Violet."

He tried to stick his hand out to shake hers, then realized it was a bit sweaty and wiped it on his leg instead. "Ian," he said, and took another drink of water. The move endeared her to him, and nearly broke her heart. She wanted to ditch the script, and looked around for any sign that she could bail. She caught his eyes and smiled. She could bail on it all. She could just flirt. She could just take a step forward, play with her hair a bit, and avoid it all. She bit her lip playfully.

But the vortex on the stage came back to her, and how close it was to touching the band.

She stopped biting her lip and smirked.

"Before the show, Eric ate three bean burritos and Louis, your drummer, said he smelled like a roadside truck stop. When you get back in there, Louis will try to jump on Eric's back, knocking them both over. Trevor will equate the pile to a dying beluga whale on the beach. Eric and Louis will attempt to shotgun whatever beer was in Trevor's bag, only to realize shotgunning a sour is a bad idea. The resulting spit takes will prompt your tech Manny to yell 'Free Willie!' and Trevor will call them both bastards for wasting nice beer."

He stared at her suspiciously.

She continued "Listen, I don't expect you to believe me right now, honestly, if you did, I'd call you crazy. And as you could imagine, I’m an expert in said subject." She closed the space between them, and held out her hand, palm up. He extended his warily. She took it, pulled out her Sharpie, and wrote her phone number on his palm. She blew on the ink gently.

"Once you're convinced I'm not entirely crazy, text me. I need your help, but first I need you to believe me."

She stuck the marker in my pocket, gave a small wave, and walked away, heart pounding like an orchestral percussion section.

* * *

By the time she arrived home and emptied her pockets, she had already decided to skip her morning class. It was only midnight, but she was drained, and a little sad.

She berated herself. Why are you sad? Because you couldn't flirt with a boy? Boo-frickity-who.

She kicked her boots off and buried her face in a throw pillow. She focused on her breathing until she was nearly asleep, when her phone buzzed.

From an unknown number: "I give. You're a witch."

"I prefer Wiccan-American, kthnks."

"Fair enough. Why does a witch need my help?" He was texting back fast, which gave her some hope.

"Interpreting smoke signals. Meet me at the Sip and Spin?"

"They won't even let the band play in that bar since I'm only 20. "

"Boo. My house?"

"...Sure. Address?"

It was almost two a.m. by the time she heard knocking on the door.

I opened the door and leaned against the frame in smug satisfaction.

Ian stood shyly, and gave me a small wave with his Sharpie'd hand. It just dawned on her what the ellipses on his last text were asking, but she felt the ambiguity worked in her favor.

"Hey. So I hope you're a good liar, cause you'll need some quality bullshit to tell your friends about this."