Fairy Metal Thunder (Songs of Magic, Book 1)

by JL Bryan

  Chapter Three

  The Assorted Zebras agreed to play The Monkey Paw, a large club in Madison that had been converted from an old mitten-and-galoshes factory. Or Mitch had agreed to it, and then told the rest of the band, complaining nobody had shown up to help him sort through the various gig offers.

  On Thursday, the day of the show, Jason sat in his room watching for Dred’s orange van. The band hadn’t gotten together again since the festival on Saturday night. As Mitch pointed out, there wasn’t much point in rehearsing when the magic instruments did all the work.

  Jason had watched the view count on their YouTube videos gradually climb past a million, while the number of fans on their Facebook page soared by the thousands. Bootleg videos of their set at the Spoon and Cherry Festival were popping up, too. They were getting hugely popular without actually doing a thing—that was the power of the fairy instruments. Once people heard them, they couldn’t get enough.

  Jason lifted his t-shirt and looked at his back. He hadn’t found any four-leaf clovers for Grizlemor's potion. The long, deep dragon scratch, and the infected-looking curlicues snaking off on either side, had been turning an ever hotter shade of pink over the last few days.

  “Can I go to your show with you?” Katie asked, walking into his room.

  “Not tonight, Katie.” Jason hurried to pull his shirt down.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a long way away. And it’s just college kids there.”

  “So? I’m going to college.”

  “Not for a long time, though.”

  Katie frowned. “Can I go when you play on Tori’s birthday?”

  “We’re not playing Tori’s birthday.”

  “But Mom said you were. She even told Aunt Polly.”

  “Are you serious?” Jason asked.

  “I heard on the phone! Cause I was listening in. That’s how I heard Tori screaming when she heard you were gonna play at her house. Happy screams, I mean.”

  “Oh, man.” Jason shook his head. “A middle-school party in Sheboygan? Mitch and Dred will never agree to do it. Why did Mom have to tell her that?”

  Dred’s van pulled into the driveway. Jason grabbed his guitar case and the backpack into which he’d stuffed Grizlemor the goblin.

  “I have to go. Bye, Katie.”

  “Should I tell Tori you’re not coming?” Katie asked.

  “No! Don’t worry about that.”

  “But she thinks you’re coming.”

  Dred blew the horn.

  “Just let me deal with it, Katie. Don’t say anything! And stay out of my room when I’m gone!”

  Jason hurried downstairs, out the front door, and into the back seat of Dred’s van. Dred was wearing her hair tied under a kerchief, as usual. Mitch’s long hair was tucked behind his ears, and he wore an old t-shirt which had once depicted Keith Richards and a band of Jamaican Rastafarians, though more than half the image had flaked off over the years.

  “Where’s Erin?” Jason asked.

  “We haven’t picked her up yet,” Dred said. She backed out of his driveway.

  “Somebody’s eager to see his little kissing pal,” Mitch said.

  “Shut up,” Jason said.

  “Ooh, I think you’re right,” Dred said.

  “If I saved you from a dragon, would you kiss me, Jason?” Mitch asked.

  “Yeah, hilarious, Mitch,” Jason said.

  “So how many kisses have you gotten out of that one?” Mitch asked.

  “What? Just one. No big deal.”

  “Really? I’ve barely heard from you or Erin this week,” Mitch said. “We thought you two snuck off somewhere together.”

  “No, we haven’t been hanging out,” Jason said.

  “Jason was too wussy to call her,” Dred said.

  “So she plants a big wet one on you like that, and you’re just going to let it slide?” Mitch asked.

  “Guys, she has a boyfriend. She’s happy with him. She’s not interested,” Jason said.

  “Wuss,” Dred said.

  “I agree.” Grizlemor appeared in a green puff on top of Jason’s guitar case. “He’s a wet biscuit.”

  “Thanks for your advice, everyone,” Jason said. “So, anyway, let’s change the subject.”

  They reached Erin’s, a low brick ranch house near the fairgrounds. Erin played her harmonica on her front porch swing. She didn’t seem to notice when Dred pulled into the driveway right in front of her. She was lost in the music. It happened to Jason when he played his enchanted guitar, too.

  Dred blew the horn, and Erin jumped and finally seemed to notice them. She hoisted an overstuffed messenger bag over one shoulder and hurried toward the van.

  “I hope she’s got snacks in there,” Mitch said. “I told her to bring snacks.”

  “Why didn’t you bring any?” Dred asked.

  “You’ve seen my mom’s kitchen. What was I supposed to grab, tofu dogs? Celery?”

  Jason pushed open the side door for Erin. She climbed over him, giving him a quick half-hug along the way. Her face didn’t pass anywhere close to kissing distance.

  Mitch and Dred greeted Erin, and Grizlemor startled her by greeting her from the back of the van, where he sat on their gear.

  “How’s your claw wound thing?” Erin asked Jason.

  “It’s not bad. Grizlemor's working on a potion for it.”

  “Oh, you know how to make potions?” Erin asked the goblin.

  “None that would interest someone like you,” Grizlemor said, crossing his arms.

  “Is he always like this?” Erin whispered.

  “His full name is Grizlemor the Cranky,” Jason told her.

  “Why didn’t you call me back?” she asked.

  “You just said to call you ‘sometime,’” Jason said. “Like you didn’t really want me to call back.”

  “Oh...well, Zach was on his way to pick me up, so I really didn’t have a lot of time to talk right then.”

  “Right. You’re busy.”

  They were quiet for a minute.

  “So, Mitchy,” Erin said, “What’s so great about this club that it’s worth driving three hours to play there?”

  “It’s Mick,” Mitch said.

  “And how much are they paying?” Dred asked.

  “What they pay isn’t important,” Mitch replied.

  “It is to me.” Dred scowled at him.

  “Guys, this is The Monkey Paw. That’s where Lost Asteroid got their start,” Mitch said.

  “They’re a good band,” Erin said.

  “A ton of other indie rock groups, too. Like all those Squid Ink Records bands,” Mitch added. “You know, Paperhat. Buzzboy and the Western Railroad got signed after they did a show at this club. The owner of Squid Ink hangs out there all the time.”

  “Why didn’t you just send him a demo?” Dred asked.

  “A demo’s nothing. You have to feel how powerful these instruments are. In person. It’s not just this one guy, either. The Monkey Paw is like the capital of the Wisconsin music scene,” Mitch said.

  “There’s a Wisconsin music scene?” Dred asked, and Erin laughed.

  “And while we’re talking about it,” Mitch said, “The key word for tonight is ‘dial it down.’”

  “That’s three words,” Dred told him.

  “Don’t make things complicated,” Mitch said. “I’m just saying, everybody take it easy, don’t play too hard. We don’t want earthquakes and fireballs tonight.”

  “Or storms,” Dred added.

  “Or storms,” Mitch said. “Just a nice little set. And hopefully no elves or unicorns come attacking us tonight. That’s your department, Jason.”

  “It’s what?” Jason asked.

  “You’re the one who knows all about this supernatural stuff,” Dred said.

  “I am?”

  “You’ve got that goblin and everything,” Erin said.

  “He does not have me like a pe
t toad,” Grizlemor said. “I’m simply keeping an eye on the instruments, and trying to keep you man-whelps from torching yourselves. Or getting caught by agents of Queen Mab.”

  “See?” Mitch said. “Supernatural stuff is you and Grizlemor's department, Jason.”

  “Great.” Jason watched out the window. He kept an eye out for unicorns, dragons, black-armored fairies, or whatever other completely insane thing might be chasing them tonight.

  Long after sunset, when they finally reached Madison and rolled down University Avenue toward the club, they saw the street and sidewalk in front of the old galoshes factory was packed with hundreds of people, maybe a thousand of them.

  “I didn’t know The Monkey Paw could hold that many people,” Mitch said.

  They had to slow down as the crowd grudgingly parted for them. Then people started to point at Mitch and Dred through the windshield. Then the crowd surged in around the van, pounding at the doors and peering in the windows. Jason heard the words “Assorted” and “Zebras” repeated many, many times by squealing, excited voices.

  Dred rolled down her window.

  “Hey, we need to get through, people!” she yelled. She honked her horn repeatedly. “Scoot!”

  If anything, the crowd closed in tighter. Dred’s van rolled to a stop.

  “Just keep going,” Mitch said.

  “I’ll run over somebody,” Dred said.

  “I’m sure they’ll move.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I bet I can move them,” Erin said. Hands slapped the window beside her, and faces pressed against the glass, as if they’d driven into some zombie apocalypse movie.

  “If you have an idea, Erin, go for it,” Dred said.

  Erin unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed over the console between the front seats. She sat on Mitch’s lap, and Jason felt a little pang of jealousy even though Mitch looked more annoyed than anything else. Erin rolled down the window, and the crowd reached their hands into the van.

  “What are you doing?” Mitch asked, dodging back from hands that tried to grab at him. One girl with long black fingernails managed to catch his mouth with a finger, stretching out his lip like he was a fish on a hook. “This eh nah a guh idea.”

  Erin raised her wooden, rune-engraved harmonica and blew a long note. A wind rustled through the van, stirring up Jason’s hair and assorted fast-food wrappers on the floor. A strong gust blew straight out from the harmonica, sending the people outside Mitch’s window stumbling backward.

  Erin leaned out the window, pushing the crowd farther from the side of the van with another long, high note. Then she sat up on the edge of the window and pointed her harmonica at the crowd in front of the van. She blew open a path, sending people staggering to either side.

  “Oh, good work, Erin!” Mitch said. “Try not to do anything that’ll lead to a lawsuit, though.”

  Dred tapped the gas. They advanced at a mile per hour through the crowd while Erin blew people out of the way with blasts of wind. The front lines of the mob stumbled into the arms of those behind them, looking surprised.

  When they were past the crowd, Dred drove up to the next block and turned. She circled around to park at the loading dock behind The Monkey Paw.

  “Those fans are scary,” Dred said.

  “Everybody loves us.” Mitch grinned.