“I didn’t know how,” Goldie said. “And I wanted to be wrong. And I was confused. One second I was sure this was the Source; the next second I was just as sure it wasn’t. Whatever it is-they are-there’s power here, and lots of it.”
Cal let go of Goldie and stood motionless. “Are you saying … are you saying flares are enslaving other flares?
Flares are binding Enid in this contract from hell? Turning his music into a-a weapon?”
“I don’t know. I just know what I hear. What we hear.” Goldie looked to Magritte for support. “I don’t know what it means.”
“But now you’re sure it’s not the Source.” Was that disappointment or relief in his voice?
“I told you before-I’m not sure of anything. I’m still not. But if it’s the Source, it’s learned some new tricks.”
Magritte was watching him, eyes like dark moons. “The music in here-it’s like twisted blues…”
Colleen sat back in her chair, making it creak mournfully. “Now that’d make sense, wouldn’t it?” she asked. “The flares need protection from the Source; tweaked music protects them from the Source; if they can draw in tweaked musicians, they’ve got the real-world equivalent of a force field.” Unexpectedly, she giggled. “Real-world. Did I really say that?”
“Wait a minute.” Venus, who had been watching in silence, broke in. “Are you saying that Primal is a bunch of devas?”
Cal was staring at Colleen, brow furrowed, but when he spoke, it was to Jelly and Venus. “Do you know any other musicians who had contracts with Primal Records before the Change?”
Jelly looked at Venus and said: “One or two.”
Venus looked away across the bar.
“Are they still around?”
Jelly shook his head. “We … we just thought they found some way out. Except for Charlie Gwinn.”
Venus had wandered to the front window, to be silhouetted by the seep of light through the blinds. “Charlie…” she said, her face obscured by the slices of brilliance, “Charlie hung himself. Smashed his horn to pieces and hung himself. We buried him in the park.”
“Jesus, Lord,” said Jelly. “Do you think it was the same with him as with Enid?”
“Maybe that was his way out,” said Venus. “Maybe it’s the only way out.”
“No,” Jelly whispered.
“No, there’s another way, and we’re going to find it.” Cal looked to Jelly behind his bar. “How well do you know Papa Sky?”
“He’s a mysterious old dude,” said Jelly. “Keeps to himself mostly. Like he said, he came from New York a while back. Just showed up on our doorstep like a stray cat. Comes back every day to eat.” Jelly shook his head and smiled. “Man, but he plays a mean sax. Some sweet horn, too. A 1922 Selmar. You heard him bribe Tone just now. That old guy is the riff king. He’s teaching Tone to blow some serious chops.”
Venus snorted. “He could have the Angel Gabriel’s chops, Jelly. That doesn’t mean he’s right in the head.” “What about this friend of his?” asked Cal.
Jelly shook his head. “He’s a bigger mystery than the old man. Papa talks about him once in a while, but that’s about it. The way he tells it, this guy practically carried him all the way from New York.”
“So, what’s next, Cal?” Colleen asked him. “Are we going to wait for our new friend to come back, or do you want to just try to bust into that place on our own? Blind.”
Cal did not answer directly. “It’ll be dark soon.” He took a deep breath and released it. “I assume bad things come out at night around here.”
Venus turned back toward us, shaking her head. “Not in the Red Zone. Primal pretty much takes care of things there.” Her mouth curved into a sardonic smile. “It doesn’t let the creepy crawlies get to its people. One of the perks of being a normal in Primal Land.”
“Perks?” Colleen laughed without humor. “You can’t friggin’ get out. I know-I tried.”
Venus shrugged. “A trade-off, I guess. We can’t get out, but other things can’t get in. If we behave ourselves, we do just fine.”
Colleen shook her head. “That’s still a prison, any way you cut it.”
“Yeah,” said Venus. “It is.”
“And we could be trapped here,” said Colleen, looking to Cal to refute it.
In the lamplight, the dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced. Colleen put on a brave show, always, but she had not recovered from her brush with Primal’s arcane fences.
“If this is a trap,” I said, catching Cal’s eye, “then I’m sure we will find a way to spring it. In the morning.” I canted my head subtly toward Colleen.
Cal glanced at her, then asked Jelly, “You have someplace we can crash?”
Jelly smiled. “That’s about the first sensible idea you’ve had since you got here. If you’re going to go out questing, you at least ought to do it on a good night’s sleep.”
I cannot speak to how good the night’s sleep was, but it was sleep, and welcome. We spent the night in what had been Jelly’s private residence. He now shared it with others who called this place home. Thanks to the cleverness of our hosts, we were blessed even with showers. They were hot, if brief.
By unspoken consensus, we granted Goldie and Magritte the right of a room to themselves. The rest of us slept in a pleasant bedroom made up with a large canopy bed and several cots. Colleen first opted for one of these, but after some argument, Cal convinced her the bed offered the best chance of comfort. She agreed, but only on the condition that one of us share it with her. It was not an unreasonable request; we had shared tents, plots of earth, and straw bales for months.
Calvin, eyes spilling worry, took me aside to ask, “Is Colleen all right, really?”
“You know Colleen. It is impossible to tell how much discomfort she is hiding.”
Cal glanced over to where Colleen sat cross-legged before a potbellied stove, drying her hair, wearing nightclothes composed of long, gray thermal underwear and a man’s red and black plaid woolen shirt. Shapeless, androgynous. “You take the bed. In case she needs you.”
I closed my eyes and thanked God my friend could not possibly see the precipice my thoughts teetered above. “Da,” I answered, not trusting myself to say more.
“So, who’s my bunkmate tonight?” Colleen had gotten up from the stove and moved toward us, combing her hair. It had grown in the past weeks and curled disobediently around her ears, framing her face.
Cal nudged my shoulder. “Here’s your man,” he said. “He looks like he could use a soft feather mattress and a down comforter, doesn’t he? Besides, I’m not really ready to turn in yet. Enid and I are going to do some sleuthing. See if we can find out a little more about Papa Sky and his mysterious buddy. Maybe unearth some more tales of disappearing musicians.”
“Good luck.” She yawned. “Jeez, I’m tired.”
He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Sleep tight,” he said, touched my shoulder again, lightly, and left us alone.
Neither Colleen nor I spoke again until we lay side by side under the canopy, veiled slightly from each other by the semidarkness of the room. Firelight wove itself through the bed curtains and played across the ceiling, having crept from the slotted door of the wood stove, which Colleen had carefully banked down for the night. There was moonlight, too, equally clandestine, slipping between sash and sill. It was a luminous violet.
We lay in silence for a time, then she reached up and knocked on the headboard. “God, this thing reminds me of my childhood. I ever tell you about the bedroom set from hell?”
“No, I don’t believe you did.” I glanced sideways in time to catch her grimace.
“I was about, oh, thirteen, I guess. We’d just moved… again, and Mom wanted to make up for it by buying me new bedroom furniture. Well, I’ll tell you, what I really wanted was Mom and Dad’s bed. Big, old, heavy, mahogany four-poster. I came home from school one day and here was this wretched gold and white French Provincial thing with dust ruffles and pink roses all over the quilt. Pink, for God’s sake. She’d bought me her dream furniture, not mine. I wanted a pirate’s bedroom, not a princess’s.”