by Jim Stein
Someone had already covered Randy with a black plastic tarp, and a woman combed the area with a handheld lantern. The cat still dangled from the bent railing, an indication the authorities considered it more like road kill than a sentient being. It was a relief to find Quinn being interviewed far away from the grizzly scene.
“Hey, Quinn!” I walked slowly toward her and the two constables. “Evening, officers.”
She sat on the raised edge of the walk by the doors I’d burst through earlier. Quinn’s face was a neutral mask, but her shoulders eased as I sat next to her. She leaned into me ever so slightly.
“You would be Ed Johnson?” The shorter of the two asked without preamble.
“Yes, sir.” It never hurt to be respectful. “I record for the band.”
“And you were here during the…attack?” He faltered for a second coming up with the appropriate term, making me wonder what Quinn had said.
“Yes, with Quinn and Randy.”
I gave her a sideways glance, looking for clues before I said anything to contradict her story.
“And this black cougar rushes you out of nowhere?” The officer took the lead, ticking off items from his notepad.
“Slammed into Randy, then jumped right onto my back.”
“Damnably strange having a big cat down by the water. You struggle, pin the cat against the railing, and your friend back there”—he flicked a too-casual hand toward Randy’s body—“charges in and skewers the kitty?”
“More or less,” I said cautiously, again looking to Quinn who gave a little nod.
“Why don’t you tell me how the drummer managed to choke to death on mud?” His hawkish eyes narrowed, pen poised over his pad.
The tall, thin officer stepped up behind his partner, hand casually resting on his baton and interest clear in his tilted head and raised eyebrows. Both were good enough poker players I honestly couldn’t tell if they suspected foul play. Sweat popped out on my forehead. The men blinked in surprise when I started my story in New Philadelphia with us all getting caught in a mudslide.
“Check it out with the sheriff’s department,” I concluded. “Deputy Vance Cochran was on the scene. Bryn Mawr hospital will have records of treating his mud inhalation, and they authorized more meds back in Montana. He just couldn’t get the stuff out of his lungs.”
“Put on a good front.” The taller man scratched his chin. “Other witnesses claim he was a rocking dynamo during the show.”
“Yeah.” My eyes leaked a trickle of water down my cheek. “Nothing kept that man from playing.”
After an hour of back and forth, Quinn and I yawned more than we spoke. The constables finally seemed satisfied and took pity on us, promising to contact Randy’s next of kin and get him home. I fell into bed numb, exhausted, and wanting the world to go away.
The next day was a blur as the reality of losing our friend sank in. Emotions ran from numb to angry and back again. The jovial walks to downtown turned into silent trudges for lunch and dinner. Half-hearted attempts at conversation died into murmured apologies during the evening meal.
Toward the end of the night, Manfred and Rhonda showed up at the bistro and sat inside, opposite our outside table. They cast furtive glances our way, the waitress brought them drinks, and their conversation turned animated. Though I couldn’t hear, Manfred seemed to be yelling, and his assistant looked downright pissed. We were just divvying up the check when the road manager approached our table.
“I’m sorry about Randy…” he trailed off, drew in a ragged breath, and sighed. “Rhonda will draft a tour cancellation announcement.”
The woman was none too happy and stared daggers at her boss’s back. It wouldn’t have been surprising to see a hole melt through the plate glass between our tables. As much as I disliked Manfred, I had to admit the man looked truly upset. Hopefully it wasn’t just because of the loss in revenue.
“No!” Billy’s fist hit the table, making everyone jump. “He wouldn’t want that.”
“But, Bill.” Jinx recovered first. “We can’t play without a beat.”
The big man’s face twisted, and his beard wagged as he chewed his lip. Billy’s mellow demeanor made it easy to forget his passion for the music. The scars on his forearms stood white against dark skin as he clenched and unclenched his hands. Then he thwacked the table with an open hand.
“You recorded all his tracks.” Billy jabbed a finger at me and smiled, the first one of the day. “All of Randy’s beats and solos, even his wildly-inappropriate improvisations. We’ll work with that. It’s his legacy.”
Nods flowed around the table, bleak expressions shifting to resolve. His music would live on.
19. The Council
R ANDY WEIGHED heavily on everyone’s mind during the concert. His empty drum set gleamed under mellow blue spots as his rhythms flowed from the speakers. The A-Chords curled their music around the beat, merging with his memory and pouring their souls out to the audience. They’d never sounded better.
We buried our friend after the show. More precisely, we buried his drumsticks, which the police returned after they’d been scrubbed clean. Quinn pulled the intimate event together for us to say goodbye.
A local shop engraved a simple placard we affixed to the old ash tree standing silent sentinel over the scene of the attack. Head bowed, I handed Billy a clear plastic box lined with white satin. The police hadn’t bothered with the two branches I pressed into Randy’s hands at the end. They lay alongside his factory drumsticks, and we returned them to the earth beneath their tree. We took turns giving a prayer or mumbled goodbye to the mementos in their shallow grave. Pina was the last.
“Farewell and rest, rhythm maker.” The sprite dropped a pinch of dirt onto the box as the others had, but I sensed magic.
Tiny green buds sprouted along the sticks beneath the scattered dirt. I hastily shoveled more in, filling the hole and hoping no one else noticed. Pina looked so sad I didn’t have the heart to ask what she’d done, even later when we walked back to check on Anna.
A thumping crash had Piper, Pina, and me running the last few yards to my sister’s door. Animated voices and a man’s muffled cursing caused Piper to pause and knock as she unlocked her door.
“Thank god you’re back!” Aarav met us at the door, nursing a bruised cheek. “That Valium you left isn’t doing a thing.”
“Emergency stash from Manny’s on-call nurse,” Piper said when I raised an eyebrow. “Anna grew so agitated this morning that I had to try something. You and big shaggy were out and about.” She turned back to the distraught Bright. “When was her last pill?”
“Just before the show, then again a few minutes ago,” Aarav said. “But I’m telling you, it isn’t working. She whacked me with a purse!”
Anna’s mood swings and rash behavior were short lived, but her return to normal was taking markedly longer than last time. Aarav skipped the show to sit with her and give Piper a chance to help with the funeral. None of us wanted Anna exposed to more Grims.
“I’ve missed something.” Pina bulled past. “You’ve given her human medicine?”
“A low dosage to help with anxiety,” Piper said. “She responded well this morning.”
I stepped across the threshold, but Piper put a restraining hand on my chest. “Less is better right now. Let’s give Pina space to work, okay? Aarav, go get some ice on that. We’ll let you know how she is in the morning.”
The Bright mumbled his thanks and scooted through the doorway, apologizing as he jostled me. Pina and Anna sat on the edge of the bed. The little woman soothed the girl’s forehead, exerting her calming influence while Anna mumbled and rocked. There was little I could do at the moment anyway.
“Let me know if she gets any worse.” I patted my sister’s restraining hand and gave a squeeze as she slumped. “You did good helping with Randy too. One day at a time, I guess.”
“Thanks, Ed.”
“I better go make sure Max doesn’t explode. I’ll tell him
you said he’s too shaggy.”
***
Max walked and sniffed while I tried to make sense of recent events. The Grims were after the Brights. That was for certain, although I didn’t know why. Judging by Patty and Anna, they wanted converts to make more Grims—if such a thing was possible. The predators stalked around the watering hole of each concert, dragging prey away to be brainwashed.
The band needed better security, and the VIP mixers needed to stop. Manfred continued to push the two groups together. Yet he seemed as distraught as anyone over Anna’s treatment. The manager was either an accomplished actor playing both sides of the fence or a clueless idiot. The man didn’t strike me as stupid.
Another big question was how the cat-thing found me. The burns and scars marked it as the same creature we dealt with in Philadelphia. Had it nursed its wounds and then traveled a thousand miles for revenge? I slipped into the Sight and checked my hiding spell for the hundredth time—still anchored firmly, still billowing. In theory, nothing should be able to track me, but it had. And the deadly mud infecting Randy responded to its presence.
Then there were those other little glimpses of the supernatural, the buffeting wings out in Deadwood, the spooked horses in Bridleville, and even back in Philly there were the freak wind storms and mutant locusts. It was difficult to see how the pieces fit together.
For now, top priority was keeping the Grims away from the Brights. Anna in particular seemed to be a prime target. After using so much power against the cat, I’d been lucky Dan and the other man gave up so easily. I liked to think I intimidated them, but as I thought back on the encounter and the way bald Jim suddenly decided to abandon Anna…he recognized me. Or at least realized who I was. Jim didn’t drag Dan away in fear; he left to make a report.
Shields or not, the dark powers would know. I bundled my jacket tight and steered Max back toward our room. The sky was clear, but the gathering storm I sensed had nothing to do with sporadic summer weather. As much as I loathed another true dream, I needed to talk with Koko before things escalated. Plus, a good night’s sleep might help more of the puzzle fall into place.
Thoughts of rest fled as I stepped onto the sidewalk outside the rooms. Dark figures lurked along the wall and grass in front of my door. Any hope I hadn’t been spotted under the dim lights vanished as one of them rushed me. I dredged up Fire, but it responded too slowly. I’d been foolish to think we were safe.
“We’re ready to talk.” The shadowed figure had curly black hair.
“Aarav?”
“Claude said you wanted to see us.”
Aarav and I walked to the rest of the group. Claude huddled in the cold with four other Brights outside my room. The stout fellow socialized with Anna’s group, but the three women were new. Feeble light washed the color from their clothes, and none of them were dressed for the cold evening.
“That was the day before yesterday.” I directed my comment at Claude, got a vacant smile in return, and sighed. “All right, everyone pile in.”
Seven in my tiny room made for standing room only, especially with Max and his bed taking up a third of the floor space. The doofus flopped onto his side, stretched his legs in a shivering yawn that took up the entirety of his massive bed, and gave the room an amused doggie grin. Maybe I was the dummy.
Aarav made introductions while everyone figured out where to plant their butt. Milwaukee’s hostel was a social hub, and that’s where the women joined Anna’s circle. Most of them perched on my bed, but Aarav and Claude lounged against the dresser. Trinity, a tall dark-skinned girl about my age, folded down to share Max’s bed.
“Have any of you seen Lord of the Rings?” Quizzical looks and head shakes were the only replies. Even with Claude’s delayed reaction to my request, I hadn’t finished thinking through what to say. “Read the Wheel of Time series?” Silence. “Watched a Harry Potter movie?’
That last one got nods and grins.
“Magic spells and mystical creatures are fun to imagine.” A few noncommittal shrugs. I needed an inroad, something they could relate to. “We’re all adopted with great families, but… how cool would it be if our biological parents were wizards?”
“As long as I don’t talk to snakes.” Trinity laughed and scratched Max behind the ears. “Momma don’t like reptiles.”
“Nah, nothing dark,” I said. “You all just met, but there’s this connection. Everyone clicks, right?”
I knew the answer to that question. The Brights were cut from the same cloth. Hell, I had to admit I was too. I’d been drawn to Anna even at our first brief meeting, and I resonated with these folks. Sure, I could get frustrated with things like Claude’s overly-laidback personality, but I still liked him. It wasn’t just the music that brought this group together, we had a natural affinity for each other. They felt it too.
The room disintegrated into side discussions, everyone taking the opportunity to recall a happy meeting or affirm their friendship with one another. I had to speak above the buzzing chaos.
“We’re kindred spirits, drawn together by music.” I screwed up my courage, pushed down my inner critic, and took the big plunge. “Has everyone heard of Kokopelli?”
Awkward didn’t begin to describe the next few minutes as it dawned on my small audience I was being literal. We were all related. Aside from their openness, the thing that worked in my favor was each of them had experienced events or visions they couldn’t explain. Their incredulous questions trailed off, replaced with hesitant recollections of strange creatures, odd occurrences, and dreams that seemed like so much more.
“Koko, that’s what I call old dad. He specializes in true dreams. Watch for them. It’s one way to get more information. He likes to pull me in to have little…chats.” Though not recently.
“Wait. If all of us have this god for a father, how can you be the oldest?” Trinity nailed the oddity right away. “No offense, but there’s grown men following the tour. Even Grisha here must have five years on you.”
Grisha grinned from within his goatee and shrugged. His close-cropped brown hair already receded at the temples. He had been the first to admit strange creatures plagued him. Though I bet they kept a healthy distance from the stout man with broad shoulders and wide-set gray eyes. She was right; he had to be in his late-twenties.
“Time…” I chose my words carefully. “…doesn’t apply as strictly to Kokopelli. I’m the first, but not necessarily the oldest. Honestly, it makes my head hurt.” Another notion struck me. “Not everyone following the tour is part of the family. In fact, you all need to guard against the Grims. I’m sure you’ve noticed those sullen characters that seem wooden and sort of insincere about the music? Dan and another man are responsible for Anna disappearing twice now.”
“But they’re everywhere!” Claude blurted out.
“Buddy system,” I said. “Don’t let them get you alone. I can’t say for sure what they want or which ones are involved, but better safe than sorry. There’s benefits to this. Those stories you all shared are little sparks of what we’ve inherited. Trust your instincts.”
It was three a.m. before I got to bed. Max already sawed a pile of firewood. Overtired and overwrought, I had trouble drifting off. Anna’s friends warmed to the idea of being Brights better than I could have hoped. They promised to spread the word about avoiding Grims and watching each other’s backs.
Sane people would pack up and head home at the news, but I held no illusion the Brights would bug out. Our discussion solidified my theory that more than the music drew and held them together. I didn’t know what the Grims’ next move would be or if other players like the cat-thing would come out of the woodwork, but at least the warning had been sounded.
Still, I couldn’t help but feel I was being manipulated. Koko wanted me to inform and protect the Brights. I’d done my best, but hadn’t even been able to keep Randy and Anna safe. It wasn’t like I was a god myself, and Koko was plenty scarce and doing damned little to help.
*
**
The dream started along a wide, slow river. Forest reluctantly gave way to scrub brush along the banks. The drying mud at my feet was packed smooth, as if something large repeatedly slid in and out of the water at this spot.
Ripples in the murky surface reflected the twilight sky. There was no sign of Koko’s clearing or cheery fire, just a damp moldy chill. The ripples grew more pronounced, as though a passing boat stirred the water. I stepped off the path, but my sneaker caught the edge of a rock. My clothes hadn’t shifted to Indian garb.
A plaintive whine echoed from the underbrush to either side. I turned at the sound, then spun back as lapping water threatened my feet. Something ponderous and massive rose beneath the surface. The whines behind me rose to keening yips.
Follow the animal…
The words pressed into my head, a thought not my own. Before I could puzzle out what it meant, a deep throated bark jolted me awake. I gasped at the abrupt wake-up, accidentally sucked down a wad of spit, and launching into a coughing fit.
“Woof, woof, woof.” Max scratched and whined at the door.
Tears stained my cheeks as I coughed up a lung, grabbed my shoes, and opened the door. Max didn’t wait for his collar; he bolted toward the lake. I cursed and grabbed my jacket, a strange match for the pajama shorts, but it was cold out there.
My dog had an iron bladder. A bribe was often required to get him out of bed in the morning, and I didn’t remember him drinking much while I spoke to the Brights. He shot over the first patch of grass, skirted the ash tree with its memorial sign, and headed up the waterfront path toward the bad sector.
“Max, no!”
He followed the winding path away from the water and stopped near a dense patch of bushes squatting between the infrequent lampposts.
“What are you doing?” I panted and slipped the wide leather collar over Max’s head before he decided to take off again.
Max dropped his head low, hackles up and nose pointed into the bushes. Faint rustling scratched across the dead leaves in the hedge, mice scurrying from the unwelcome intrusion. Except the faint sound drew nearer. Max let out a truncated whine as if expecting a treat and promptly sat on his haunches, tongue lolling through his panting doggie grin.
