“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 each 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?”