Dylan Mercer's Arc

Chapter 2 of 6

They made it through two clean runs before the landlord came out from behind the bar. He pointed at the clock above the neon guitars. It read a quarter past midnight. He told Dylan the tavern was closed, that the noise was rattling the glasses, and that if the band played one more song he would keep their gear until morning. Tsuki sat still at the booth. The fairy watched from the doorway. Dylan asked for ten more minutes. The landlord shook his head and started unplugging the stage lights. They packed fast. Derek Ramone shoved his snare into its bag and slung a cymbal under one arm. "Cool," he said. "We finally sound like a band and we get kicked out." Hoot Hendrix laid his red guitar flat in its case and clicked the latches shut without looking up. Luna Basswood balanced her fish-shaped bass across her back and stood by the door. Dylan carried the mic stand out onto the empty street. The neon sign clicked off behind him. "We need a room," Dylan said. "Tonight. Now. Or we lose it." Hoot said, "Everything's closed." Derek kicked a bottle cap into the gutter. "My place has neighbors," he said. "They already hate me." Luna said, "Same." Tsuki stepped down off the curb with her small hide drum under one arm. She said the fairy knew a loft two streets over. A practice space. The owner slept through anything after ten. They walked. The loft sat above a shuttered shop, wood-framed, its windows patched with panels of colored glass. A hand-painted sign hung dark over the door. The fairy touched the lock and it opened. Inside smelled like old carpet and sweat. Amps lined one wall. A drum riser sat in the middle under a single bulb. Derek dropped his bag and grinned. Hoot said, "This is real?" Tsuki said, "For tonight. He owes me a favor." They set up in eight minutes. Tsuki tapped her drum against the floor and Derek matched her. He locked in on the first bar. Hoot's F sharp minor rang clean through the room. Luna's low string sat right under it, no buzz. Dylan sang the chorus and heard his own voice come back at him from the walls, held together by the other three. They ran the song twice without a break. Nobody argued. At two in the morning Dylan stopped the song and looked at the band. Derek was still on the beat. Hoot was watching Luna's hand. Luna was watching Derek's foot. Tsuki set down her drum. "You have a sound now," she said. "You need somewhere to record it. The booker won't come back to a tavern." Dylan looked at the door. The fairy stood by it, wings still flat. "Where," he said. Tsuki said, "A studio. Tomorrow. It costs." Dylan had eleven coins in his pocket. He nodded anyway.