Nona Hagapple wanted the opera house at the heart of Scary Applesville. Sold out. Her name on the marquee. But the haunted hall only booked full bands, and Nona's band had scattered years ago. Last night she stood alone in her kitchen and hit a G above high C, just to prove she still could. The note held. Her lineup did not. She had one yes. The guitarist laughed when she called, then asked what time rehearsal starts. One yes was not a band. One yes could not fill a stage. She needed a drummer, and every old bandmate she'd phoned had said no. So she drove to the purple club on the edge of town. Violet light bled from the broken windows. Inside, a man sat alone behind a set of drums carved with glowing runes. He played hard, sweat in his beard, like the empty room was packed. Dan GhostApple. She'd heard his old band died slow, him the last one still showing up. He stopped when he saw her. "We're closed," he said. "I just play when nobody's here." "I'm putting a band back together," Nona said. "For the opera house. The big one. I need a drummer." Dan wiped his face. "Heard of you. Heard you broke up messy." He set the sticks down. "Bands fall apart. People stop caring. I watched mine do it one quit at a time. I was the last idiot in the room." "My guitarist already said yes," Nona said. "I can hit notes people said I couldn't. I'm not here to quit halfway." "Everybody says that." Dan looked at her flat. "Then they don't show." Nona crossed the sticky floor. She stood over the drums. "Count me in. Any tempo. If I can't keep up, I'll walk out and you never see me again." Dan studied her a long moment. Then he picked up the sticks and hammered a fast, mean beat. Nona pulled breath from her gut and sang over it. She climbed. The runes on the drums flared brighter with every bar. She hit the high note and held it past where most voices crack. The glow pulsed. Dan's beat stumbled, then caught, matching her. He let the roll fade. For once he didn't look tired. "Fine," Dan said. "I'm in. But I want it as bad as you say you do. The second you don't, I'm gone first this time." "Deal," Nona said. She had a drummer. She had a guitarist. She had a rhythm section and a voice. Then Dan leaned back and killed it. "One problem," he said. "That opera house don't book acts off a phone call. There's a man who holds the stage. Nobody plays there unless he says yes. And last I heard, he hasn't said yes to anybody in years."

Nona had a drummer and a guitarist now. But two players and a voice made thin songs. She needed low end. She needed a bass. Dan's beat hit the floor; her voice climbed the ceiling. Between them yawned an empty middle. She couldn't take a hollow set to the opera house gatekeeper and expect a yes. So she called her guitarist and told him to meet her at the old studio. The studio sat weathered and dark, cables drooping from its roof like dead vines. Jake Hazardapple waited by the door. Red hair, black jacket, rings on both hands. He had played beside Nona for years, back before everything scattered. He grinned when he saw her, same grin he'd had on the phone. "You said this was urgent," Jake said. "I skipped dinner." "We sound thin," Nona said. "No bass. The gatekeeper won't book half a band." Jake's grin faded. "I know one bass player left in this town. Sam." He said the name slow. "We don't talk anymore. He quit on us last. Blamed me." Nona already knew where Sam drank. The purple club. She drove them both there. Violet light leaked through the broken windows. Inside, a man sat alone at a corner table. Black leather, dark hair spiked up, a scowl that looked permanent. A bass leaned against the wall beside him, its body carved with glowing runes, a molten orange eye set in its face. Sam Gullapple looked up and saw Jake first. "No," Sam said. He didn't move. "I didn't come to fight," Jake said. His hands stayed at his sides. "You came with him," Sam told Nona. "That's the same as fighting." Nona pulled a chair out and sat across from Sam. "I'm playing the opera house. Full band. We've got drums, guitar, and me. We've got no bottom. The songs sound like they're missing a leg." Sam's eyes flicked to the carved bass. "I don't play for people who walk out." "Then watch me not walk out," Nona said. "Pick it up. Play something mean. If I can't ride it, I'll leave and you keep your grudge." Sam stared at her a long moment. Then he lifted the bass. He dug in hard. The runes flared. The orange eye pulsed. The low notes rolled through the floor and up through Nona's boots. She breathed from her gut and sang. Her voice dropped down to meet his line, then climbed off it. The bass gave her something to stand on. For the first time the song had a floor. Jake smiled and didn't say a word. Sam let the last note ring. He looked at Jake, then at Nona. "The band, not him," Sam said. "I play for you. Not for old times. And I want to hear this gatekeeper say yes with my own ears before I believe it." "Deal," Nona said. She had her bass. The songs stood up full now. But Sam and Jake wouldn't look at each other, and the gatekeeper still hadn't said a word to anyone.