Maybe that’s what your gift is, Emma. Building guitars that cast spells. Spellcasters.
When the set first began, Jonah kept his eyes cast downward, avoiding looking at the audience. During the guitar transitions, he stepped away from the mike and prowled around, unable to stay in one place. Energy seemed to bubble up inside him until he released it through his voice. Sweat dripped off his chin, plastered his hair to his forehead, ran down between his shoulder blades.
Finally, he dared look out, beyond the lights. He could see a mass of moving bodies, a collage of exotic colors. People dancing, people clapping or just swaying to the music.
Guitar transition. Jonah swung away from the voice mike, facing Emma. They were both in open G, the tuning allowing them to speak their minds through their instruments. She chewed on her lower lip, keeping her eyes on her fingers, a tiny frown between her brows.
Jonah lost his place, faltered, then had to scramble to get back in line. He could feel Natalie’s glare, like a red-hot poker between his shoulder blades.
More vocals coming. Jonah swiveled and walked back upstage to the microphone, turned, and faced the audience. Natalie’s voice curled around Jonah’s, sliding over and under, deep-throated and breathy, a rogue current in Jonah’s trickle of sound. Alison’s bass provided the heartbeat, spinning a web of connection between the band and the audience. Drawing them in.
When the song was over, the thousand invisible threads connecting the band members to one another, and to the audience, snapped. Jonah swayed, nearly fell. Sound backwashed over them, a mingling of applause, cheering, foot stomping.
Jonah was sweating, his clothing soaked through, droplets spotting the stone floor. He blotted his face with his sleeve, grabbed a bottle of water, and drained it.
“Thank you,” Natalie was saying to the audience. “Thank you so very much.”
Jonah looked back at Emma. “Emma,” he said, “sorry I stepped on you in that last—”
“Haven’t you heard? There’s no sorry in rock and roll,” Emma said, leaning down to adjust the balance on her amp.
“This next piece is called ‘Logjam Blues,’” Natalie announced.
This time Jonah sang lead. As promised.
They were a little rougher on “Logjam,” less practiced. Jonah totally blew one of the new transitions, but the audience didn’t seem to notice as Rudy’s moody keyboards took over.
As the song unraveled to a rather shaky end, Natalie said, “There’s lots more rock coming, but right now I’d like to take it down a notch. We call this one ‘I’ll Sit In,’ featuring Mr. Jonah Kinlock on lead vocals.”
This was Jonah’s signature piece—a Kinlock & Kinlock composition. Blues with a bit of country thrown in. Jonah set his guitar in its stand, lifted the stand mike out of its cradle, and walked to the front of the makeshift stage. Natalie began a soft cadence with brushes and Emma and Alison chimed in on guitar.
This time, Jonah sang directly to the audience.
If your lover ever leaves you,
And you’re lost in bleak despair,
When your hopes and dreams are shattered,
Call me, I’ll be there.
Rudy and Natalie piled in, harmonizing on the refrain.
If you’re here to play the blues, I’ll sit in.
When it comes to songs of heartbreak, I’ll fit in.
For emotional disaster
You know I am the master.
If you’re here to play the blues, I’ll sit in.
And Jonah was on his own again.
When you’re lost and out of options,
When you’ve made that big mistake,
When your friends forget your number
And your heart’s about to break.
He haunted the edge of the stage, stalking back and forth, casting his net of sound out into the audience. To his surprise, the energy ran both ways—from the audience as well as to it. They fed him, and he fed them.
If you need commiseration, call on me,
Any time of day or night, I’m free,
When your soul begins to bleed, I’ll be just what you need,
If you’re here to play the blues, I’ll sit in.
He turned, faced Emma, and sang directly to her.
Don’t look to me for love songs.I just can’t harmonize.
There’ll be no sweet kisses in the dark,
I hope you realize.
He paused for three heartbeats, gazing at Emma.
But if you’re here to play the blues, I’ll sit in.
When it comes to songs of heartbreak, I’ll fit in.
A sad ending to your story? That’s when I’m in my glory.
If you’re here to play the blues, I’ll sit in.
The end of the song was greeted with applause and rather damp cheering. Emma blew her nose and carefully wiped mascara from under her eyes.
They worked their way through the rest of their set list. With ten minutes to go, Natalie said, “Before we wrap things up, I’d like to introduce the band.” She interjected a drum roll. “To my left, on keyboards and vocals, Mr. Rudy Severino!”
Rudy grinned and waved.
“On bass guitar, Ms. Alison Shaw!”
Alison executed a brief bass guitar riff, then bowed, doff ing her trademark bowler. “On guitar, all the way from Memphis, Lady Day, Miss Emma Lee!”
Emma curtsied awkwardly, looking eager to get offstage. “And, finally, Jonah Kinlock, on lead vocals and guitar.”
Natalie punctuated each of the introductions with a drum roll. “And I’m Natalie Diaz, on percussion. And now . . . in honor of our late lead guitarist, the immortal Mose Butterfield, a medley of his favorite guitar solos!”
Jonah kicked it off with Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower,” then Emma on Clapton’s “Crossroads,” Alison following with Jimmy Page’s “Stairway to Heaven,” Emma with B.B. King’s “The Thrill Is Gone.” Finally, everybody joined in on Stevie Ray Vaughn’s “Pride and Joy,” with Rudy absolutely spectacular on keyboards.
They finished up with “Doomtime,” a cheery anthem about the end of days that had been a standard with the band for several years.
“That’s it for this set,” Natalie said. “We’ll be back again in an hour.”
People crowded in from all sides, asking questions, snapping photos, trying to get some face time with the band members.
“Too bad we don’t have that EP already,” Rudy muttered, with a pointed look at Jonah. “Or T-shirts.”
By the time Jonah unleashed his Strat and looked for Emma, she’d disappeared.
Chapter Forty-six
Death Came Knocking
It was good that Emma had Tyler’s old jacket, because it was a clear night and the temperature was dropping. Even if it looked kind of silly with her torch-singer dress. Turning up her collar, she followed the walkway down to the screened gazebo by the lake. She’d had enough of mingling . . . now she just wanted this endless night to be over.
Sonny Lee always said, “If you’re worried over something you can’t do nothing about, shake it off.”
What about grief, Emma thought. Does it work for that, too?
This was not the kind of scrape she’d normally get into . . . falling for an unattainable man. Was it because of Jonah’s gift? Or because she was trying to somehow replace the men in her life that she’d lost? She’d never subscribed to the notion that the wrong man was better than no man at all.
If Jonah was hiding something, she wondered, could it be something good instead of something bad?
Leaves had found their way in to the gazebo and had collected in the corners and against the door. Emma scuffled through them and sat down on a bench, her back to the lake, the wrought iron cold under her. She could probably just hang out here until it was time for the second set. Or forever.
The interior of the gazebo was fairly large, its furniture huddling like ghosts under canvas wraps. Spiderwebs rippled like petticoats in the wind from the lake.
When she heard the crunch of gravel on the path, she thought, Stay away, Jonah. Or Natalie. Or Alison. Whoever you are . . . just leave me be.
But her bad luck ran true. The hinges squeaked as the screen door opened and closed. A tall figure stood silhouetted in the light from outside.
“So. Lady Day. It seems you were only half drowned.” Emma’s heart somersaulted into her throat. It was Rowan DeVries.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
“I was invited, like everyone else.” Rowan moved forward a step. There was only one door, and the wizard was standing right in front of it. Light collected on the tips of his fingers, and he extended his hand to illuminate the corner where Emma sat. “The Interguild Council wants to keep us as close as possible while they cut our throats.” He eased closer. “I caught part of your set. I must say, you’re an amazing guitarist. It seems you have all kinds of secret talents.”
“It’s no secret,” Emma said. The windows were a possibility, but he’d probably get to her before she boosted herself up and over, even if she could smash through the screen. “If you’re thinking of screaming, it’s unlikely anyone will hear you,” Rowan said. “They have a great sound system, and the volume’s cranked up all the way.”
“Why would I be screaming?” Emma said. “Unless you’re about to do something creepy.” Why did you have to bring that up? Well, it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t think of it on his own.
“I can’t believe that I fell for that amnesia story of yours. I was still grieving over Rachel . . . that’s the only explanation. I actually believed that you really didn’t remember anything, and the notion of Burroughs torturing you turned my stomach. I hoped that if I spared your life, I might one day find out what happened to Rachel. That’s why I allowed you to escape. It was a moment of weakness on my part, but it won’t happen again. Unfortunately, you still managed to fall to your death . . . or so I thought.”
“Am I supposed to say I’m sorry?”
“This alliance you’ve formed with the labrats intrigues me,” Rowan said. “Is this some kind of community-service project? Frankly, I think you can do better.”