-TRACK 5-SEASON OF THE LEECHAll the rumors about the dark ritual shit that went on in the recording studio were true. Camilla had offered us free reign over her extensive book collection, an invitation which Johnny took full advantage of. I bet he carted at least thirty tomes down to the studio. They weren’t top choices from the bestseller lists, either. These books were fucking ancient, dusty old things bound in cracked leather, and paper so thin it might crumble to dust if you breathed on it the wrong way.“Grimoires,” Camilla called them. Johnny was enamored immediately.“What the hell do you need those for?” Hank asked him. We were hanging out in the control room, waiting for Bobby to finish setting up his drum kit in the studio. Johnny dropped a stack of books on the coffee table.“Inspiration,” he said.Hank picked up one of the books and blew off a layer of dust from the cover. “Sacred geometry?” He shot Johnny a thin smile. “Don’t you remember Mrs. Rice’s class? You nea

-TRACK 6-BENEATH BLACK STARSReggie called me back the following morning and told me to meet him at a small diner a couple blocks away. “Bring the guys,” he said, “and let’s talk about this.” I told him I would, but I didn’t say which guys. I roused Hank and Bobby from their rooms, but none of us bothered calling Johnny. He’d been staying at Camilla’s loft, an invitation which had been extended to all of us, but none of us were brave enough to accept it. Hank and Bobby had had various trysts with her since that night in the hotel, but like I said before, I’d made it a point to stay as far away from her as possible. Besides, Johnny wasn’t invited to this meeting.Our manager was waiting for us in a booth at the far end of the diner. Three mugs of coffee were already on the table.“Thought you might need this,” he said, moving over. “Drink up. It’s fresh.”We took our seats and nursed our coffee. Reggie was silent for a few minutes, watching each of us, inspecting us. Afterward, I

-TRACK 7-BEHIND PALLID MASQUESCamilla dropped the charges on the condition that Reggie keep his distance from her. In truth, it was her way of keeping him away from Johnny and the rest of us. Reggie was a wildcard in the scheme of things, the only real opposing force that could present any threat to whatever she was up to. That much is obvious to me now, but back then, we were so tired and scared and drunk on the hope of wrapping up the album that we didn’t give it much thought. We were just sick of the drama and wanted to be done with it.I can understand why some bands implode, and I can understand why some take years between records. You work with the same people long enough, they become family, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get tired of seeing them day in and day out. Sometimes you just get sick of their shit. Sometimes you need a break to recharge, and sometimes that takes years to do.We wrapped up recording the album with Joe a few days after the incident with Reggie. Me

-TRACK 8-THE FINAL RECONCILIATIONWe were four days into rehearsals when Bobby asked the question. “What the hell does all this even mean?”“Which part?” Johnny asked. He was in the middle of adjusting the microphone stand. One of the hired roadies had underestimated Johnny’s height.“This,” Bobby said, gesturing around the stage. “The album. The art. All this gold shit. Half your lyrics are fucking riddles, dude.”Bobby had a point, although I’d been able to piece together just enough to follow a narrative running through each song. Johnny, however, took a cue from his girlfriend and played coy, merely shrugging with a smile.“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Johnny asked. “All will be revealed tonight.” He tapped his microphone. “Check-check, one, two, three . . . ”Bobby looked at me and shrugged. Hank just shook his head.“I stopped trying weeks ago, brother.”I would’ve walked them through the album, what I’d been able to piece together in my own head, but j

-TRACK 9-TATTERS OF THE KINGThe old rock star smoked his last cigarette down to the filter and slumped back in his seat. To Miles, he looked like an old worn-out doll, his days of bringing joy to children far behind him. Over the last few hours he’d watched life return to Aidan Cross’s eyes, only to fizzle and fade yet again as the old man recounted his band’s triumphs, failures, and untimely demise. Although he would never admit it to his crew, the story spooked Miles Hargrove to his core. He’d read the official police report from all those years ago, and he’d grown up hearing the rumors of ritual activity on the night of the final show, but to hear a first-hand account by someone who was there was soul-crushing.“So what happened after that?” Miles asked.Aidan Cross placed the smoldering cigarette filter into the ashtray with the others. He cleared his throat. “About what you’d expect, I guess. They found me on the curb outside the club, unconscious and nearly dead from smoke