Jonah studied the three of them, huddled together on Kenzie’s bed. “What’s going on? Natalie said you were in a bad way.”
Kenzie said, “Going on? We’re kicking back, listening to some tunes. Feeling ravenous.”
“You’re always starving after you catch fire. I asked Martha to bring back some food,” Jonah said. He squatted in front of Kenzie, looking him over. “How are you feeling?
Are you up to the minute on your meds?”
“I need the whole entire bedtime regimen,” Kenzie said, yawning. “Except the Weirsbane. This one shot me full of it a few minutes ago.” He scowled at Emma.
“Emma did?” Jonah took a quick breath, as if he might ask a follow-up question, but then seemed to decide against it. “Natalie says your room will be prepped in a few minutes.
Are you about ready to move?”
“Not before the food comes,” Kenzie said.
Just then, Martha appeared in the doorway with a stack of box lunches. “All they had left was—” She stopped, eyes wide, listening. “Who is that? That band is absolutely fantastic. I don’t think I’ve heard them before.”
“That’s our band,” Rudy said happily, finally basking in the praise he’d been fishing for.
Our band, Emma thought. Maybe Jonah Kinlock was crazy and they would never be together and his younger brother tended to catch fire and she was caught in a web of secrets and lies and violence, but . . . there was this. Our band. She really liked the sound of that.
Chapter Forty-two
Got Ourselves a Gig
“I’m not doing it,” Jonah said flatly. “No. Absolutely not.”
“But . . . I already said we would,” Natalie said. “You don’t have plans for Halloween, do you?”
“Do I ever have plans?” Jonah rolled his eyes. “Since I haven’t been traveling, I—oh, wait, I do. I’m clipping my toenails. If there’s time left, I’m doing my fingernails, too.”
“It’s a paying gig,” Rudy said. “They’re offering good money, in fact. And Gabriel says they’re really excited about having us come.”
“Of course they are,” Jonah muttered. “Don’t you see? It’s Halloween. Invite the monsters in to entertain at your party.”
Rudy and Natalie looked at each other. “I don’t think that’s why they invited us, Jonah,” Natalie said. “Patrick gave them a list of bands, and I guess Ellen Stephenson heard Fault Tolerant at one of the teen nights downtown, and so when we showed up on the list, they chose us.”
“There are a lot of bands in town,” Jonah said. “They can pick another one.”
“We don’t want them to pick another band,” Rudy said. “We need to get out in front of some audiences and build some buzz. Once we get a good set list of original music, I’d like to go into the studio and record an EP. We’ll need money to do that.”
“Gabriel will front us the money,” Jonah said. “Studio space, equipment, everything.”
“Gabriel’s the one who wants us to do this gig.”
They were in the first-floor practice room of Oxbow, which had become their default hangout over the weeks since Mose died. Even Jonah had to admit, the more they practiced, the better they sounded. More cohesive. More than the sum of their parts. As Natalie said, the best band she’d ever been in, meaning no disrespect to Mose.
Emma had been cool and distant to Jonah since the night of the visit to Cleveland Heights. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?
At least she’d shown no signs that she recognized him as the one who’d murdered her father. Maybe Fortune had finally decided to shine on him, for some unfathomable reason.
What he hadn’t expected was the relationship that was developing between Emma and Kenzie. She’d been over to see him several times since he moved to Steel Wool. They had a lot in common, in particular a knack for music theory and composition. She’d take her guitar and serve as the voice for Kenzie’s flights of fancy. When Jonah asked, Emma said she liked Kenzie because he told the truth. Which to Jonah’s ears sounded like a barb at the rest of them.
She knew they were keeping secrets. Jonah knew how that felt, now that he was on the outside, no longer a part of Nightshade. He knew Alison still went out on missions . . . in fact, her frequent absences were becoming an issue when it came to scheduling practices. Jonah knew the shadehunters were still holding meetings and planning strategy and launching aggressive killing operations. He just wasn’t privy to their activities anymore. Was it because he didn’t need to know, or because Gabriel didn’t trust him?
Emma had remained silent through the argument, head bent over her fingerboard. She was playing one of her own guitars, an electrified acoustic with a fabulous voice. But she still wasn’t satisfied with the action. Now she spoke up. “Who’s having the party?” she asked.
“Gabriel’s contacts were Jack Swift and Ellen Stephenson,” Natalie said. “But the party is at Seph McCauley’s house, and I think Madison Moss is cohosting. It’s a kind of open house . . . members from all the guilds are invited. Apparently it’s gotten to be a Halloween tradition.”
“Well,” Emma said. “I could stand to make some money. I’m building guitars, but I haven’t had as much time to work on them, what with practice and school and all that.”
“If you need money,” Jonah said, “I know that Gabriel would be glad to—”
“I’m not talking about walking-around money,” Emma said. “I need to make enough money to open my own shop. I’ve got some saved up, but not enough. I’m already living on Gabriel’s dime. I don’t expect him to stake my business.”
“He probably would,” Jonah said. “He’d love to show you off . . . ‘Savant Makes Good, Starts Own Business. Film at eleven.’ ”
“I said no.” Emma punctuated this with a trill of notes.
“I said no, too, but nobody seems to be listening.” Jonah looked around the circle of faces and saw no support at all.
To buy some time, he set his guitar in its stand, crossed to the refrigerator, and pulled out a can of pop. Taking a long pull, he considered his options. He could try using his powers of persuasion, but he knew Natalie would call him on it. She had a habit of drowning him out with a drum solo whenever she felt he wasn’t playing fair.
“Alison?” Jonah looked to the one person he thought might back him up, though she’d been even harder to read and predict since Mose had died. “What do you think? Do you really want to go along with this?”
“Maybe,” Alison replied, with an odd, vague smile. “Can we run amok during the show? Set fire to the stage? Kill a few people?”
No help there.
“You know as well as I do that it was vigilantes from Trinity that tried to blow up Safe Harbor,” Jonah said, “whether Gabriel admits it or not.”
“If that’s true, I’m guessing it wasn’t the people hosting the party,” Natalie said. “You know I’m no fan of wizards, but not everyone over there is a bigot. Mercedes Foster is really—”
“Then let the nonbigots come to the benefit concert in the spring,” Jonah said. “Let them come onto our turf.”
“Gabriel thinks it’s a good idea. It will be good publicity for the school, and it might change some opinions about—”
“Of course he thinks it’s a good idea. And he knows I’ll think it’s a bad idea, which is why he brought it to you and not to me. He knew what my answer would be.”
“This is business,” Natalie said. “This is income, and exposure, and maybe a chance to show them all what we can do.”
That’s the trouble with bands, Jonah thought. You join one because you love to make music, and before you know it, it’s a business.
“I don’t need to show anyone anything,” he said. “Have you considered the fact that we might be walking straight into an ambush?”
“Jonah,” Emma said. “Rowan seemed to think that people in Trinity were involved in my father’s murder. You think they were behind the attack on Safe Harbor. We can all sit around here talking to ea
ch other, but if we really want to find out something, it seems to me we might learn more by going there, meeting some people, and asking some questions. Even if the people who were involved in the attack aren’t at the party.”
“I can’t imagine what we’d learn that would justify putting you in danger,” Jonah said.
“You’ve been complaining about Gabriel doing this very thing—avoiding confrontation,” Natalie said.
“I think you’re outvoted, dude,” Rudy said.
“All right,” Jonah said, giving in. “We’ll do the gig. But if it’s a disaster, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Chapter Forty-three
Halloween
“How come nobody embraces monsters, except on Halloween?” Emma said to Natalie, who was riding shotgun in Sonny Lee’s old Element. “Is it kind of like St. Patrick’s Day, when everybody in need of a party turns Irish?”
Natalie laughed. “Halloween is like a mix of pagan festivals, Irish folklore, All Saints’ Day, and Día de los Muertos. It seems like every culture has a stake in it—pun intended.”
“I always think of Halloween as the time when the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest,” Emma said.
Natalie’s smile faded. “It’s always thinner than you think.” They’d taken two vans to the gig so they wouldn’t have to travel as a pack. That way, if somebody—i.e., Jonah—wanted to leave as soon as their set was done, he could. Jonah, Rudy, and Alison had gone on ahead in the white panel van that was Fault Tolerant’s usual ride, because Natalie was still working on Emma’s look.
“I’m not used to dressing up,” Emma had protested. “I need to be able to move to make music.”
“It’ll be fun,” Natalie said. “It’s Halloween, after all. And it will make you harder to recognize.”
“That’s for sure,” Emma said, looking down at herself.
This outfit was a compromise, though she felt like she’d given more ground than Natalie. She wore a low-cut black dress from a thrift shop that hugged her nonexistent curves and showed off her nonexistent assets. It was slit way past her knees, so at least she could walk. Overtop, a lacy jacket fastened with a red gardenia in front—she had insisted on some coverage— and lacy black gloves that extended from elbows to wrists, but left her hands bare. Emma had insisted on that, too. She was no Jonah Kinlock, who could play guitar with gloves on.
Natalie had pulled her hair up, leaving a few tendrils hanging down. Then added a close-fitting hat made of black feathers, a red gardenia over one ear. Smoky eye makeup and red lipstick completed the look. Every time Emma looked in the mirror, she was startled at the stranger looking back at her. Ah, well, she thought. Maybe I should try being someone else for a while, since being who I am isn’t working out so well.
Right now the skirt was hiked up to her thighs so she could work the Element’s resistant clutch.
She looked over at Natalie. Unfair. Nat had chosen a street look, with her hair teased up and tied back with a bandanna, extreme eye makeup, Converses, baggy jeans, and a flannel shirt. She looked . . . normal.
“I’ve been wondering,” Emma said. “Where did the name of the band come from?”
“It was Rudy’s idea,” Natalie said. “He’s the tech guy. According to him, a ‘fault-tolerant’ system is one that’s designed to keep working even if one part fails. Like a car that can still drive on three wheels, or a building that keeps standing even if a support fails because of rust, or fatigue, or whatever. This band has survived the loss of several members over the years. It’s important enough to keep going.”
“I guess, in a way, savants are like that, right?” Emma said. “We just keep going somehow.”
“Some of us do,” Natalie said somberly. “Not all of us.”
Trinity looked like a postcard of a college town, with its stone buildings and gingerbread houses painted in soft blues, pinks, and greens. What it didn’t look like was a fortress.
“How did the Interguild Council ever come to pick this little town for its headquarters?” Emma asked. “Isn’t it a bit out of the way?”
“I think it had to do with the fact that some of the major players in the underguild rebellion had roots in Trinity. Linda Downey, Jack Swift, and Leander Hastings all have ties here. Because of that, when the rebels forced a change in the Rules of Engagement, Trinity was established as a sanctuary that was free of attack magic. A lot of mainliners moved into the area because of that.”
Emma’s pondered this. “You know that dream where it’s the day of the final exam and you haven’t been to class all semester?”
Natalie laughed. “You have that dream, too?”
“Well, that’s the way I feel right now. Like I got started late and I’ll never catch up with all this magic business.” Emma downshifted as she navigated past the square and turned north toward the lake.
“Trust me,” Natalie said. “The only reason I know this much is I spent a summer in Trinity apprenticing with one of the sorcerers there. Mainliner history isn’t a focus of the curriculum at the Anchorage. In a way, Gabriel’s still a separatist.”
“Seems like it’s not working out that well for him either,” Emma observed.
It was nearly dark when they reached their destination, a small Victorian house on a leafy street that edged the lake. Tiny orange lights outlined the doors and windows and sparkled in the trees. Emma turned into a gravel driveway, past a large sign that said The Party is here! and pulled up behind Jonah’s van, which was parked in the drive as close to the side door as he could get. The others must have just arrived, because they had the rear doors open and were unloading equipment onto the drive. Alison, Jonah, and Rudy were dressed casually, like musicians ready for a gig.
I knew this was a bad idea, Emma thought, plucking at her own gloves.
Jonah was kneeling in the back of the van, his muscled chest and arms flexing as he lifted amplifiers and speakers down to Rudy, his black hair ruffled by the wind from the lake. Emma’s heart clenched. He was just so damned pleasurable to look at.
Natalie had poked through Jonah’s clothes, looking for wardrobe options. Then they’d argued for another hour. The negotiation had ended with Jonah in a skintight, paper-thin vintage Ramones T-shirt and faded blue jeans. And his trademark gloves.
When Rudy saw Emma and Natalie approaching, he nearly dropped the speaker he was holding. “Whoa!” he said. “Guess they don’t need us for sex appeal.”
Alison stared at them. “Nobody said we were dressing up,” she said, twisting the ends of her hair.
“Meet Lady Day,” Natalie announced, stepping aside to showcase her work. “Lady sings the blues.”
Jonah looked up, then did a double take. Sitting back on his heels, he stared at Emma, his face transitioning from surprise to wistful resignation. Like somebody who’s hungry and knows he won’t ever get fed. Emma could feel her cheeks heating, pinking up under his scrutiny.
We can’t be together, he’d said. Not now, and not at any other time.
Granted, maybe Emma was misreading him, but the signals he was sending definitely seemed mixed.
By the time she got close, he’d cleared his face of emotion. Nearly. “So,” he said, his eyes on her ruby-red lips. “You’re Billie Holiday?”
“Sort of,” she said, “though I guess you’re more of a torch singer than I am.”
He smiled, reached out, and fingered a tendril of her hair. “You look amazing,” he said. “It’s hard to imagine that anyone would recognize you.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Emma asked. “If so, it’s hitting my ear wrong.”
She noticed something glittering at his neck and leaned closer. It was a pendant, hanging from a chain. A flower pendant just like hers.
His blue-green eyes met hers, his gloved hand closed over the pendant, and he tucked it out of sight.
“Come on,” Alison said. “Let’s get this gear inside.”
“What was that?” Emma asked, still staring
at Jonah’s neck.
“Nothing,” he said, climbing down from the van. Scooping up two guitar cases, he led the way to the door.
A very tall, broad-shouldered guy wearing a black mask met them there. He wore a linen shirt with voluminous sleeves, a tight-fitting studded leather vest over it, velvet pantaloons and tights, and leather gauntlets.
Something about the mask pinged in Emma’s memory. A word came back to her. Zorro.
“Um. Jack?” Jonah said, raising his eyebrows.
“I hoped you wouldn’t recognize me,” Jack replied, scowling. “Would a hat help?” He plunked a velvet hat with a feather plume on his head. Reaching over his shoulder, he pulled a lute out of a sling on his back and cradled it in his arms. “What about now?”
“You still handle that lute like it’s a sword, Jack.” A girl appeared in the doorway next to him. “Don’t forget yourself and try and skewer someone with it.” She was nearly as tall as Jack, wearing a long velvet gown with a laced bodice and cathedral sleeves that hugged her athletic frame. Her hair was tucked up under a jeweled net. “I told you black leather and gauntlets wouldn’t work for a minstrel.” She studied him, rubbing her chin. “Though I must say . . . leather suits you. And you should wear tights more often. You do have a fine leg.”
“If you’ll recall, I wanted to go with the gladiator costumes,” Jack said, stripping off the mask and hat and tossing them aside.
“Then everybody would recognize us for sure,” the girl said.
Emma guessed that these two would be recognizable in any costumes. “Who are you supposed to be?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“He’s a wandering minstrel, and I’m the highborn lady who runs off with him,” the girl said. “Also, an assassin.” Shaking back her sleeves, she revealed twin daggers in wrist sheaths.
“I don’t think the assassin part works,” Jack said. “You criticize my leather, and then you—”
“Weapons go with everything, Jack,” she said, twitching her sleeves down, concealing them again. Her eyes flicked over Emma in her finery. “That’s a great dress,” she said.
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