Fairy Metal Thunder (Songs of Magic, Book 1)

by JL Bryan

  Chapter Six

  Mitch called Jason on Saturday morning.

  “Emergency band meeting,” Mitch said. “At high noon.”

  “Dred doesn’t want to go with Squid Ink,” Jason guessed. “Is that it?”

  “No. Something much bigger.”

  “Can it be something more specific?” Jason asked.

  “You’ll see. I already called Erin and Dred. I’ll say this—we might just have to say ‘never mind’ to old Zig Kaplan.”

  “Are you going to tell me what’s happening or just give me clues?”

  “Be at Local Coffee Shop at twelve o’ clock today, and you’ll see for yourself.” Mitch hung up.

  Jason groaned and stretched. Grizlemor had finally completed his potion last night, with the clover Erin found, and painted it all over Jason’s back. It still burned, but a cool tingling sensation had crept in around the edges of the wound.

  He managed to shower, dress and ride his bike into town by noon. Katie was at Kiddie Krafts Day Camp over at the church, so he didn’t have to babysit today.

  Local Coffee Shop was a franchise of a national chain. Like all Local Coffee Shop locations, it had a false front meant to look like the entrance to a rustic cabin, which looked a little out of place on Bridge Street.

  Jason parked his bicycle and chained it to the plastic-log bike rack outside Local Coffee Shop, and then he walked inside.

  Dred and Mitch had taken the big picnic table in the corner, near the foam-brick chimney. Jason ordered a tall Caramel-Fudge-There’s-Coffee-in-Here-Somewhere (usually abbreviated “Caramel-Fudge Somewhere”). He also bought a Shamrock Mint Coffee for Erin. He didn’t know if she even liked that flavor, but it made him think of her.

  “So what’s the big news?” Jason asked as he sat down next to Dred.

  “He’s not telling,” Dred said. “He’s trying to be cool and mysterious.”

  “There’s no point repeating the same information three times,” Mitch said. “When Erin gets here...and there she is.”

  Jason smiled as he turned toward the front door, but the smile dropped right from his face. Zach, Erin’s handsome, Fleet-Farm-catalog-model, charity-activist boyfriend, was holding the door as Erin stepped inside.

  Jason watched them go to the counter and order their coffees. Zach kept his arm draped around Erin’s shoulder the whole time. Jason did notice Zach wink at the cute girl behind the counter while Erin looked at a package of Mostly Organic cookies. Zach probably considered that to be better than a tip, since he didn’t put an actual tip into her tip jar.

  “There they are!” Zach pointed as he approached the table ahead of Erin. Zach thumped Mitch’s back and held out his fist for a bump. “How’s it happening, Mick?”

  “It’s happening,” Mitch replied, returning the fist bump. Dred rolled her eyes.

  Zach held out his fist to Jason. “Jayce, a little love?”

  Jason reluctantly gave fist love. Zach turned to Dred, and she held out her fist with an annoyed look on her face.

  “Oh, nah, ladies get hugs.” Zach put an arm around Dred’s shoulders and hugged her head against his stomach.

  “You can just stick with the fist bump,” Dred told him.

  Erin set her coffee next to the Shamrock Mint. “Whose is this?” Erin asked, pointing to the heap of green whipped cream.

  “Oh, mine.” Jason grabbed it out of her way and set it next to his Caramel-Fudge.

  “You got two coffees?” she asked as she sat across from him. Zach sat between Erin and Mitch.

  “Yep,” Jason said. “I was feeling sugar-deficient.”

  “Are you diabetic, bro?” Zach asked.

  “No. So what’s the announcement, Mitch?”

  “Yeah, and can we keep the meeting on the quick side?” Zach asked. “I’m taking Erin shopping. Want my girl to look her best at the big showbiz party in the Cities tonight.”

  “You mean the catalog modeling biz?” Jason asked.

  “Actually, I do TV acting now, too,” Zach told him.

  “What have you acted in?” Dred asked.

  “I acted as a delivery guy for Uncle Otto’s Authentic German Pizza,” Zach said.

  “You were a model in a commercial,” Dred said.

  “No, I had lines! ‘Try our famous sausage-schnitzel pizza! It’s just like Uncle Otto used to make. Before he died.’ Three lines!”

  “Three lines is pretty good!” Erin said.

  “And here’s the best part,” Zach said. “Every time they play that commercial, five percent of my pay goes straight to Encyclopedias for Toddlers.”

  “Well, I’m glad we could waste all this time, because now I don’t have to explain the big news,” Mitch said. “They’re here already.”

  “Who’s here?” Jason asked.

  Mitch nodded toward the front door of the Local Coffee Shop.

  The man was in his late twenties or early thirties, dressed in a kind of dark business suit, except he wore a tight black shirt and no tie. His hair was done in that intentionally-messed-up look with a lot of gel. The young woman who followed behind him, carrying an oversized briefcase, had fluorescent blue hair and matching lipstick. Jason thought her hair looked fake, though, like a shiny plastic wig.

  Mitch raised his hand, and the man threw a big smile at the band as he walked toward them.

  “You’re the guy I talked to on the phone,” the man said. “Mick, right?”

  “That’s right!” Mitch said, with a triumphant look at everyone else.

  “Mick, it’s great to meet you in person.” The man pumped Mitch’s hand. Then he looked around the table. “Let’s see if I’ve got it. Erin Kavanagh. Jason Becker. Mildred Zweig.”

  “Just Dred. I don’t use the first syllable.”

  “And...” The man stared at Zach. “I’m not sure about you.”

  “Do you shop at Fleet Farm?” Zach asked.

  “Never. I’ve really enjoyed speaking to Mick here. Lot of passion, lot of energy, lot of dedication to the group. I’m sure he’s caught you up on the news.” While the man spoke, the woman silently unfolded the large briefcase. The interior turned out not to be a briefcase at all, but a briefcase-sized color touchscreen. She placed it on the end of the picnic table. The screen was black except for a glowing golden “M” floating at the center of it.

  “Actually,” Mitch said, “Everybody just got here.”

  “We have no idea who you are at this point,” Dred said. “But I really like her hair.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said. Her accent sounded Russian.

  “Guys,” Mitch said. “Listen. This is—”

  “Cayce Roddell,” the man said, flashing a smile. “Malarkay Records. Vice President, Artists and Repertoire. Velga’s my assistant, don’t mind her. Anyway, we are ready to go with this.”

  “With what?” Jason asked.

  “All of it,” Cayce said. “Mr. Malarkay has heard your music, he’s seen the numbers, and he is ready to place one big horse bet on you.”

  “Wait,” Erin said. “You don’t mean Andrew Malarkay?”

  “That’s right. And I have put together a plan to launch you out there with the full support of the Malarkay Media global family of companies.” Cayce touched the screen, and it displayed a bunch of little boxes with corporate logos, interconnected by a spiderweb of lines. He touched the golden-circle logo of Malarkay Records, and it expanded.

  “First, an intensive recording session at our main studio in Dublin.” He double-tapped the logo.

  “Like Dublin, Ireland?” Jason asked.

  “That’s where Malarkay Media is based,” Cayce said. “But it is a global family, as you’ll see.”

  The logo was replaced by an image of a very young-looking man with close-cropped, unnaturally red hair, and multiple piercings at his ears, eyebrows, nose and lip. A row of pictures featuring several international pop stars floated below his picture.

  “You will be produce
d by Heath Blank,” Cayce said. “He’s turned out more multi-platinum albums than any producer in our stable. He’s produced Chrome Ninja, Claudia Lafayette, and DJ Smoov-Moov, among others.”

  Dred elbowed Mitch at the mention of Claudia Lafayette, and he scowled at her. Mitch’s “ironic” interest in Claudia Lafayette t-shirts and posters just happened to seem a lot like a crush.

  “Here’s one you’re probably hearing everywhere now,” Cayce said. He touched the picture of DJ Smoov-Moov, and a music video began to play.

  DJ Smoov-Moov was a lanky guy with puffy red hair, pale freckled skin, and big steampunk aviator glasses. He wore what looked like a silk jogging suit with glittering golden stripes. The video alternated between him spinning a record at a packed nightclub, and him walking through a ritzy black-tie party smashing things with a golf club while the stuffy party guests ignored him.

  He sang:

  I’m DJ Smoov-Moov!

  I got the groove-groove!

  All the girls out

  On the dance floor

  I make ‘em move-move!

  I’m DJ Smoov-Moov...