Night Witch (Weatherstone College, #2)(21)

That explained the chaos outside.

Wait . . . “Logan said he was in a band,” I murmured.

The girls replied, but I couldn’t hear a word because the crowd was screaming so loudly.

Three huge men took to the stage, dressed rather casually in black jeans and torn shirts, displaying a lot of their muscled chests and tattoos.

“The masks,” Sara choked out, right beside my ear. “Holy fuck me, they’re smoking hot. Am I on fire? I feel like I’m on fire.”

They didn’t actually wear masks, but their faces were painted in red and white, giving them a ghostly serial-killer vibe.

“They’re warlocks,” Haley gasped, nodding as if she’d suspected that all along. “Can you feel the magic?” Their face paint shimmered under the stage lights, and I recognized the signs of a spell designed to conceal their identities.

But I knew exactly who stood on that stage.

Logan was in the center, one of the guitars I’d seen in his room at Weatherstone strapped over his shoulder, with the slightest of smirks playing around the corners of his lips.

Well, this night just got very interesting.





Chapter 9




My drink was all but forgotten as I moved closer to the stage, taking in the sheer size of the drummer as he settled behind his kit. That was Noah, for absolute sure. The bassist I didn’t know, but I would bet good money on it being Tobias. I couldn’t tell much about his facial features with the magic paint, but while he wasn’t quite as tall as Logan or Noah, he was equally ripped and tattooed.

It was no surprise, after seeing them up there, that they were popular.

All three oozed power and sex appeal.

“Good evening, New York City,” Logan growled into the mic, and the crowd lost their shit, screaming and jumping, strobe lights flashing around the space, lighting us all in blues and purples. “This is a last-minute gig for us,” he continued, locking the crowd into his green-eyed gaze. That part of him wasn’t concealed, and as he turned our way, Sara and Haley started to scream.

“Babe! It’s fucking Logan!” Sara clutched my arm.

My laughter was lost as the crowd joined her in screaming. The band started to play, the beat heavy as it filled the venue. Haley moved to shout near my ear. “Did you know?”

I shook my head, eyes still locked on Logan as he began to sing.

Fuck. My knees weakened at his low, perfect rasp, lyrics wrapping around me as he sang about broken hearts and unrequited love. The song wasn’t familiar, but it felt as if it should be—I had no idea how I’d never heard of this band before.

After staring totally entranced for a few songs, my need for answers drew me to do a quick Google search, which brought up a ton of articles. Casters started in the European scene a couple of years ago, stirring up a ton of interest over the mystery of their concealed identities—along with the fact that their appearances were random, and they gave no more than forty-eight hours’ notice of a concert, leaving the music scene in an absolute fucking tizzy over them.

They’d started with American appearances about ten months ago.

No need to guess the whys of that timing.

No doubt a few of those occasions Logan disappeared from the school—especially when Noah was gone as well—were due to them having a gig.

It didn’t surprise me that Logan chose to conceal his identity. His dad had grand plans for him to take over the family business, and would no doubt lose his shit if he knew his son was a famous rock star. Not that Logan needed fame or money, but from what he’d told me, this was his outlet in a world filled with responsibilities and darkness.

“I’ll be thinking about his voice and how he strokes that guitar when I use my vibrator tonight,” Sara shouted near my face, and I wrinkled my nose at her.

“We’re sleeping in the same room, you weirdo,” I shouted back and tried not to consider hexing my bestie because she was fantasizing about Logan. Between that and fighting the urge to climb the stage and stake my claim on the spellcaster, I was in real trouble.

Haley pushed us forward in the crowd, until we were close to the row of security around the stage. Protecting the band. I almost cackled like a cartoon witch at the thought of Logan needing anyone to protect him from humans.

He could level this fucking building without moving from where he stood.

Sara and Haley danced as the song switched to a faster-paced one, but I couldn’t move. I was once more just staring up in awe, wondering if it was time to change my phone contact to stalker too.

As if he could feel my stare, Logan’s gaze snapped down to me, our magic dancing between us. His lips quirked, but he never missed a beat. When the faster song came to an end, Logan’s fingers slowed on the guitar, a softer melody emerging.

The crowd went wild, setting off a low pulse thrumming in my center. Logan was already edging me with his guitar skills and orgasmic voice; add in that intense stare resting on my face, and I was a puddle. He released me with the next number, his gaze returning to the crowd, and I was able to breathe a touch easier. Casters moved from heavy beats to slower and intense rock ballads without a pause between songs. The crowd’s response told me which were their biggest hits, though at times it was hard to tell because they were all adored.

Finally, after about an hour, Logan stopped singing and addressed the crowd. He didn’t halt strumming his guitar, though, long fingers moving deftly across the strings. “You all know that we occasionally bring one lucky audience member up onto the stage for a personal song.” The rasp in his tone was more pronounced after an hour of singing, which momentarily distracted me from what he’d just said.