The Mutilation Machination Read Free

his
throat.
     
    Morgan watched speechless from the chair. He had not expected that
to happen. Now he was in trouble.
    As he watched Sheridan gag, he noticed the man's eyes
turn from brown to jade.
    He jumped up and ran across the room. "Michelle, Karl,
separate goddamn it. Quick."
    The escorts retracted their skin back onto themselves and then
moved aside.
    Before Morgan reached him, Sheridan swung his legs off
the bed and stood up.
    Morgan stopped and stared. He noticed a slight green tinge to Sheridan's
flesh – the man didn't look very well. He didn't look very well at all.
    "Oh my god, Mr Sheridan I'm so sorry. I never expected
that."
    Sheridan didn't seem to hear him. He wandered around the
room, coating whatever he touched with a dull green residue like a grotesque
Midas touch.
    Morgan backed away. Talk about being green fingered. He remembered
something Michelle had said, something about the algae wanting to spread. And
then Sheridan touched him.
     

Sweet Music
     
    “So what’s wrong this time? I can soon find someone to replace
you.” Dan Summer leaned across the desk, arms folded across the top.
    Christian Vane looked at his manager and scowled. “You’ll never
find anyone as good as me, and you know it.”
    Dan snorted. “You think just because you’ve made a bit of money
that you can rest on your laurels. Well, I’m here to give you a wake up call,
sonny boy. People come and go in this business all the time. If you don’t
perform, what use are you?”
    “No one can create compositions better than me, and you damn well
know it.”
    Dan tilted back his head and stared at the ceiling. The cords in
his neck flexed as he clenched his jaw. A moment later, he lowered his gaze and
looked back at Vane. “You young people think you know everything. Well you’re
wrong. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be where you are now. You owe me,
Christian.” Spittle flew from his lips.
    “I can’t perform to order. You  know  that, Dan. I
have to wait for the muse to inspire me.”
    Dan pointed a slender finger at Christian. “Well she’d better be
fucking inspiring you now. There’s a few thousand people out there waiting to
see you perform live. Do you know how much they’ve paid? More important, do you
know how much we could lose?”
    “I’m not in it for the money.” Christian’s focus fell upon the
pitch in Dan’s voice. He had never noticed the quality of it before.
    “Well pardon me if I piss on your parade, but without the money,
how could you afford to live like you do? You could forget about the Ferrari,
the villa in Spain, the penthouse inNew York. So don’t tell me it’s not
about the fucking money, you arrogant sod. I want you to get off your arse, go
out there, and give them what they want. Now!”
    Christian took a deep breath. “Shouting isn’t going to make the
muse appear.”
    “Fuck the muse. I want you to go out there and perform. People
aren’t interested in whether you’ve been inspired by the muse or the bloody
Archbishop of Canterbury, but if you don’t perform, then that’s it. I’ve had it
with you artistic shits. You’re all so fucking vain.” His face flushed red,
bringing out a cobweb of veins across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.
“You’re not even that good.”
    Christian closed his eyes. He remembered how his teachers all said
he had an excellent ear for music, how he could identify perfect pitch. That’s
how he heard something beneath the gruffness in Dan’s voice, something musical.
    But he really didn’t need this right now. How could he be expected
to get in the mood with someone shouting at him? He needed people around him
who encouraged, not badgered. Managers were two a penny. Virtuosos, now they
were rare. They had a talent. And that’s what he was. A goddamn virtuoso.
    Christian jumped to his feet; Dan stumbled back in surprise.
    “Well, I, ah ... I suppose the muse has arrived has she?” Dan
mumbled.
    “Not yet, but