They all concentrated, frowning to catch what he was talking about, and Sara heard it next, and felt tears spill down over her cheeks. Rowan drew up a chair next to her and hugged her tightly, one of his hands still gripping Jason's, and soon even Jason's eyes were wet.
In among the whooshing of the tramera's heartbeat, there was another sound, so faint it could easily have been imagined, if it weren't audible to everyone in the room. It was a soft, sweet humming, subtly different from the noise of the machines, in that it had a melody, a slow rise and fall of tone and pitch, nothing organized like a written piece of music, more like the call of an underwater mammal.
The baby was singing.
Rowan kissed Sara on the forehead, then the lips. "What are you thinking?" he asked.
Sara took a deep breath, wiping her eyes, and beamed at him. "I think our little girl is going to change the world."
He smiled back. "And so are we, dear one. So are we."
Blue
(This story takes place after the events of More Than Kin, Less Than Kind but before The Lost.)
It all started because her violinist got eaten by a demon.
At the time, of course, she didn't know that. All she knew was that Tony hadn't shown up for rehearsal and nobody could find him.
"Son of a bitch," she muttered. "Roy, did you try his cell?"
"Twice. Man, we're fucked." The bassist wasn't one to mince words. "The one song where we really need that lazy ass happens to be the one everyone wants to hear. We can't just skip it."
Stella's hand around the neck of her guitar was clenched so hard her knuckles were white. Roy was right. "Without You" had gotten a lot of airplay on local stations the last month, and the last two audiences had known all the lyrics. The song was one of those angst-ridden ballads she'd written after Racquel had dumped her, and it depended heavily on the duet of piano and violin. That's what she got for being ambitious--if she'd stuck with an acoustic line the way it was first written it wouldn't be so pretentious and they wouldn't be so fucked.
Neal Munson, the club manager, was asking Roy if they could find someone else, and Roy was retorting acidly that people who played violin and could learn a song in two hours weren't exactly falling out of the goddamned sky in Austin.
Stella lifted her head. "Hey, Roy...let me make a call."
*****
Jason Adams swept into the club looking a little like a secret agent and a lot like a badass. She'd always admired how he commanded attention--the minute he appeared, everyone in the club stopped what they were doing and stared.
He was wearing black like usual, complete with that long coat that seemed to be part of his uniform. He wore it all year long, and she'd pointed out once that if he was ever sent undercover he might want to try short sleeves in July. At least right now it was February, so it made more sense.
He had something with him that made the knot in her stomach relax a little. A violin case.
That wasn't all he had.
Stella watched his two companions enter the club behind him, and while her mind asked "what the fuck?" her pussy said, "oh, hell yeah!"
The first one was another guy, this one with long hair the slushy grey of the world outside, and eyes that were a slick silver like ice hanging from a road sign. Her brain didn't want to register the fact that he had pointy ears, and that he was as theoretically gorgeous as Jason himself, although his features were just feminine enough to confuse her hormones.
Behind him came a woman in leather with a wild shag of black hair streaked liberally with blood red, and Stella's nether regions stood up and saluted. The woman's face was familiar, and it took a second to realize she must be the sister Jason had talked about. There was a strong family resemblance, down to the way they walked, but the girl was clearly a lot more interested in the people staring at them. Jason was aware of his affect on people but didn't care; the girl was aware, and loved it.
Jason took the steps up to the stage and smiled at her.
"You're my savior," she said, resisting the urge to hug him. "Thank you times a billion."
"Glad to be of service," he replied. "I'm just thankful you called on my night off." He gestured to his companions, who joined them on the stage. "This is my partner, Rowan, and my sister Beck. This is Stella Blue."
Hands shaken all around. Rowan gave her a particularly warm smile, and yeah, he was definitely hot, for a guy. She wasn't sure what to think of that. She’d been in the vag business as long as she’d known there was such a business, and the only phallic objects that had ever come close to her were made of silicone and usually battery operated.
"It's all right," Jason said. "He does that to people."
"Shit, is that a Gibson?" Beck asked, pointing at her guitar. "It's gorgeous."
"Yeah...you play?”
"Bass. A little piano. I'm not a genius like my brother here, but I get by."
"Stella," Jason said, "What can you tell me about this missing violinist of yours?"
She blinked at the change in subject. "Not a lot. His name's Tony Garcia. We advertised for a violinist in the Chronicle three months ago and he was the best audition. He recorded the part for the song, and we liked him enough to keep him around for gigs."
"Did you know anything about his personal life? Friends, enemies?"
"No. He was private. Really driven, as a musician--he was never satisfied with his playing, always practicing. And he was good. Not star quality, but good. He was probably never going to get out of Austin."
Jason shot Beck a look, and she nodded. "Eyes say the energy spike corresponded to his address. The team didn't find anything in the apartment except the usual leftovers."
Jason rolled his eyes. "Goat?"
"Chicken."
"Pseudo-Santeria?"
"Probably."
Stella started to ask what the hell they were talking about, but Jason turned back to her and said, "I'll level with you, Stella. After you called I ran a check on Tony Garcia and sent a couple of Agents over to check on his place."
"You shouldn't have done that," she said. "I didn't want you to misuse government resources or whatever they call it. I don't want any trouble, I just needed a stand-in."
"Well, the thing is...this isn't the first time we've heard the name. Tony's suspected in some fairly shady dealings."
"Like what? Drugs?"
Another look exchanged among the three. "Near as we can tell, Tony Garcia was a mediocre music student until six months ago. We think he was...on something that enhanced his performance. Let's call it a drug. The problem is that the kind of people who deal in this sort of thing tend to be dangerous, and we think he may have...gotten his hands on something he wasn't expecting. You know how drug dealers are; you pay for Ecstasy and you get rat poison."
She knew he was skirting some pretty important facts about the whole thing, but really, if the feds were involved, she wasn't sure she wanted to know the details. "Okay. We can go with that. So you think his dealers are looking for him? Is that why you brought the Next Top Models here?"
Jason grinned. "Something like that. And they're both big fans of yours."
Rowan, who had been looking around the club as if memorizing every inch of the room, shot her a smile and said, "We saw you at the Music Hall last Winter. Plus...well, this may be too much information, but you figured heavily into our first date."
"Thanks, I think."
Jason nodded to Rowan. "You, stay backstage away from the crowd. Beck, circulate. Keep an eye on the doors."
"Got it." Beck hopped down off the stage, which probably would have resulted in Stella breaking her ankles if she'd tried it, and went to the bar, where Steve was getting ready for the crowd.
As Beck took a barstool, her coat fell open a few inches, and Stella saw the glint of metal: a gun strapped to her corset.
Good god, that was hot.
Jason saw her staring and said, "Sorry, Stella, but liking cock runs in the family."
Stella smiled ruef
ully. "Too bad. I'd put that girl on a plate and sop her up with a biscuit."
Jason looked mildly horrified at the mental image, but Rowan laughed. "Wouldn't we all." He turned to take the steps back down to the floor, and Stella noticed he was wearing some sort of gadget on his wrist--there was another one behind his ear.
"He has a hearing problem, you could say," Jason not-quite-explained. "Crowd noise."
The collective weirdness of his people was making him seem even weirder. They'd had conversations and hung out before, but she'd never really paid attention to his body language or the aura around him beyond the fact that people automatically deferred to him like they would to a rock star. Watching him open the violin case and take the instrument out, there was a precise sort of poetry in his movements, and she knew from years of hanging around musicians that the way he held the violin meant he was every bit as good as he'd said he was.
"We don't have much time before the doors open. Are you sure you can handle this?" she asked. "The sheet music's on the stand, but maybe we should go through it a couple of times."
He shrugged. "No need. I listened to the song on the way over."
The knot in her stomach was back. Nobody was that good, were they?
She glanced over at Roy, who mouthed, "We're fucked."
*****
She had no idea how he did it, but not only had Jason memorized the violin part, he'd fixed it. He joined in just after the first measure, half a verse early, and she cringed behind the piano--until she realized that he'd done something to the melody, looping it around itself and changing the key, simplifying the first section and doing some crazy-ass thing with the chorus that almost had her in tears, not only as the beauty of the music, but at the memories it evoked.
She'd really thought Racquel was the one. They'd known each other since the first gig, and she should have known not to fall for a drummer, but what good did common sense do up against a cherry blossom tattoo, multiple orgasms, and the most amazing chipotle chili on the planet?
"Hold my wrists above my head
Carve your initials in my chest
Me plus you forever
Until the leaves come falling down...”
She hadn't been able to really get into the song since she'd written it--song was emotion, and this one took her back to a deeply painful time she wanted to forget. But somehow looking at it from this side, it held a certain promise along with the loss, as if metaphorically bleeding to death wasn't the end of everything.
It had been months since she'd been kissed. Months. Musicians were supposed to be knee-deep in groupies, right? Even locally-world-famous tiny dreadlocked dykes with red-beans-and-rice asses.
The silence of all those lonely nights poured out of her into the keys, and she heard the violin lift the melody up along with her voice into the bridge. She realized that Jason wasn't just accompanying her, he was improvising. Son of a bitch.
She darted a look at him and saw he was playing behind her, not directly in the spotlight, and his eyes were closed, his expression rapt and bordering on ecstatic. She felt another pair of eyes and turned her head to see Rowan standing in the wings, his eyes locked on Jason, a soft smile playing on his lips. There was enough love in his silvery eyes to make Stella forget, for a minute, just how shitty love really was.
Somebody's going to get crazy laid when he gets home. Stella sighed inwardly. Must be nice.
She arced the piano line back toward the final chorus, and the weirdest thing happened: it was like she could hear someone talking in her head. She recognized the "voice," but had no idea how he could be doing it.
[What is it you really want, Stella?]
She frowned, trying to concentrate on the music--she'd played this song so many fucking times she barely even had to be awake. What did she want? She wanted someone to come home to, someone to go on the road with. Someone to make it worth the risk of hate crimes in this backwards-ass state. Someone she could take to her Mama and someone who would love her dog. Someone who loved music and progressive politics and could teach her how to cook.
Stella looked back over at Rowan, and she knew, instantly, that was exactly what Jason had. A match. A pointy-eared soul mate with his own life and his own purpose who wanted to walk with him for as long as the path went on.
I want that. Is that asking too much of this tired old world? We get maybe eighty years... at least some of them should be in such good company.
She heard a chuckle. [Very well.]
She'd never be able to explain what happened next, but the closest thing she could come to describing it was to say it was like someone cast a spell. She could feel something change in the music, catching her up in the last few lines, and when she opened her mouth to sing, it moved through her, violin and piano and voice all merging, calling, as if it reverberated off the edges of heaven itself.
The applause was, to say the least, thunderous.
*****
She came off the stage feeling so high that she almost got herself killed.
After "Without You" Jason disappeared, his part of the show over with, but she barely noticed. She was deeper into the music than she'd ever been, and found herself fiddling around with choruses, adding layers to the music, taking her acoustic solo on the cover of "Bring Me Some Water" to a whole new level that Melissa herself might have envied. She felt like a floodgate had opened.
Roy looked shocked as shit, but she noticed he kept up with her. So did Tammy on bass, and Stu, the guy who'd replaced Racquel on drums. She'd picked him specifically because he was the least like Racquel, and not just because of the penis. He was fat and hairy and had jailhouse tats. He was also a big teddy bear and hell on the drums. Her fit of pique had paid off for the band.
The audience demanded two encores, and she was more than willing to oblige. After that, her voice was hoarse and her fingers were about to bleed, but she didn't care. She bowed, told Austin it was awesome and goodnight, and left the spotlight with her beloved Gibson, her boots thumping hollowly on the wood stairs that led to the backstage area and the rear exit.
Her mind was on fire. She found her bag and groped for the notepad she kept in it, scrawling reminders on the first blank page--snippets of lyrics, a melody.
The noise beyond the door was deafening. Stella wiped sweat from her forehead and tossed the notebook back in her bag, then tucked the Gibson in its case and found the bottle of water she'd left by her stuff before rehearsal.
She was burning up. Suddenly she had to be outside--she didn't care if it was sleeting again like it had been earlier that day. She needed air.
Stella pushed open the heavy metal door and stumbled out into the back alley. She still had her water, and guzzled it inbetween huge gulps of freezing night air. As the weather wizards had predicted, it was wet and slippery outside, and sweat-soaked stage clothes were no match for the rapidly dropping temperatures. Within a minute she was shivering.
What the hell had happened in there? Clarity was starting to reassert itself. What was she thinking, magic and love and all that crap? It was crazy, stupid.
She told herself.
There was a scuffling at the end of the alley, probably a dog. She leaned back on the icy bricks to take another couple of breaths before going back inside. She wanted a drink. A very, very big drink.
A growl.
Just what she needed--someone's stray pit bull.
She looked over, about to yell at it to get gone, and her mouth dropped open.
There was a...thing...at the end of the alley, watching her. She could see it plain as day...because it was glowing.
"Oh, shit. Shit, shit, holy mother of shit." She stared at the thing as it took a step toward her, and a spare corner of her brain wondered if she could get to the door before it got to her, assuming she could make her legs work.
It growled again. It was too big to be a dog, and too long. It was like a hairy lizard, or a giant weiner dog wolf, maybe a big killer ferret? It was black and oily-looking
, its eyes a sick sort of yellow, its mouth open to show off curving teeth that were dripping with green saliva.
The hairs on the back of her neck and on her arms stood up.
"Stella! Get down!"
She obeyed before she could even identify the voice, dropping to her knees with her arms over her head, just in time for the club door to fly open to her right and a figure to fly out of it, black leather and red hair swirling.
Beck lifted her gun and fired, just as something moved at the open end of the alley and more shots exploded from there--then from somewhere overhead.
The thing screamed a piercing, all too human sounding scream, causing her to clamp her hands over her ears. It leaped up into the air and landed writhing, screaming again and again as more bullets struck it.
She saw Jason stride up to the creature, showing absolutely no fear, and stand over it, his eyes shining an icy silver. His expression was cold, alien, almost inhuman. He fixed his gun on the thing's head and fired one more time directly between its eyes.
Green blood oozed out of dozens of holes in its body, and it whimpered and laid still, huge red tongue lolling out. Smoke rose from the bullet wounds and she could hear a faint sizzling sound.
"Beck," Jason said, "call for a retrieval and cleanup unit."
Stella stayed right where she was until she felt a gentle hand on her arm, helping her up.
"Easy there," Rowan told her, steadying her. "It's all right now."
"What the fuck was that thing?" she demanded. "Is it cooking?"
The stench was horrific, like barbecued dog hair and rotten meat, and she felt like she was going to--no, wait--
She pulled her arm back, spun away from Rowan, and vomited into a convenient trash can.
Those same hands came up to her again, this time taking careful hold of her dreads and pulling them back from her face until she was finished. She felt soothing heat wherever he touched her, like an instant massage, and it didn't take long to regain her composure.
"Come on," Rowan said. "Let's get away from all this mess, shall we? Beck and the cleanup crew will take care of it."
The Agency, Volume IV Page 14