The Enchanter Heir

They played through “Doomtime.” Emma wasn’t aggressive . . . she just threaded in and out of Jonah’s chords. Sonny Lee always said it was like putting embroidery on a silk dress or necklaces on a pretty woman.

By now, Severino was back. “Hey!” he said. “You never mentioned you were bringing in a ringer.”

“Let’s try something else,” Natalie said. Emma was finding out that she was as intense about music as she was about healing.

They played through their repertoire. “A Tientas.”

“Logjam Blues.”

“I’ll Sit In.”

“Ask Me No Questions (I’ll Tell You No Lies).”

“Ruined.” And covers of a few rockand-roll standards.

Jonah sang lead on most of the songs, Natalie and Rudy added scraps of vocal harmony. Emma wove through Jonah’s guitar work, each time adding more to the web of melody. He was a natural collaborator, seeming almost to anticipate what she was going to do before she did it, and turning on a dime to respond to what she did. With each song, they stepped on each other’s toes the first few times, but by the last run-through, it was more of a marriage of equals, each claiming his own space.

Natalie tilted her head, puzzled. “I can’t tell which of you is playing lead, and which rhythm guitar,” she said.

“Exactly,” Emma said. “That’s the whole point. I’ve got six strings on my guitar—or twelve—and I want to use them all.”

“Where’d you learn to play like that?” Natalie asked. “Have you been in a lot of bands?”

“Nothing serious, or for very long,” Emma said. “But I sit in a lot. Or I used to.” She cleared her throat. “When I lived in Memphis. If you’re jamming with players you don’t know, you have to figure out how to meet in the middle real quick.”

“Hmm.” Natalie shot a look at Severino, looking like a cat with a canary or two put away for later. Severino grinned back and gave her a thumbs-up.

“Natalie,” Jonah said, as if he knew exactly where this was going. “Don’t you have to get to the clinic?”

“It’s perfect, Jonah. You said our sound was thin. We need another layer. Not just icing on the cake. Actual cake.”

“You sound like a jilted lover on the rebound, Nat,” Alison said, unplugging the Ibanez and settling it back into its case. “Ready to rush into a new relationship with someone you hardly know.”

“Give her time to settle in before you go recruiting her,” Jonah said, beginning to break down his equipment. “She may find she has better options. Besides, it’s not fair to put Emma at risk so you can play in a better band!” His blue eyes glittered green.

Sonny Lee always said that Emma had an ironwood backbone—hard as iron, resilient as wood. And now it came into play.

“Hey!” she shouted.

They all swung around to look at her.

“Am I invisible or what?” She slid down from her stool, unplugged the Stratocaster, and returned it to its stand. “Emma,” Natalie began. “I don’t think we—” Emma bulldozed right over her. “I’ll be straight with you, because that’s the way I am. I don’t know whether any of this will work out—the school, the band, the town—any of it. But I like what I’ve heard and seen so far, and I’m clean out of options. I’ve had a good time today . . . better than I’ve had in a while. I’ll take a chance on you, if you take a chance on me. No contracts, no obligations. I’ll sit in for a few practices, if you want, or play one gig, then you can decide. Or decide right now, I don’t care. Just don’t argue about it in front of me. That’s rude. I was raised on the streets, and even I know that.”

They all looked at one another. Severino burst out laughing. “I think she fits in real good,” he said.

“Now I’ll get going, so you all can talk amongst yourselves.” Emma paused. “If you decide you want me to sit in, though, there’s one condition.”

“What’s that?” Natalie asked, shooting a smug look at Jonah.

“I need to go back home and get my guitars.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

Home of the Blues

“Please stay in the van,” Jonah said, for probably the thousandth time. “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll go get it.”

Emma shook her head. “I won’t know what I want until I take a look around. And you don’t know where things are.”

It was just after midnight. They were sitting in the driveway of Tyler’s house, in a van that Fault Tolerant used to haul equipment. Continuing an argument that had begun across town.

“They’re probably watching the house,” Jonah said. “They’ll be expecting you to come back here.”

“They think I drowned, remember?”

“Maybe. But they’ll know differently if you get up onstage. Which is why you shouldn’t do it.”

“Which is why it’s best we do this now, before we play a public gig.”

Ever since the practice session, Jonah had missed no opportunity to tell Emma why joining the band was a bad idea. It was beginning to get on her nerves, because she wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do either, but she really wanted to be in the band, and she didn’t need anybody trying to talk her out of it.

“You can’t bring everything,” Jonah said, staring straight ahead, through the windshield of the van. He gripped the steering wheel with his gloved hands as if it might try to get away.

“I don’t want to bring everything,” Emma said. “But you can’t expect me to leave my entire life behind . . . again.”

“I just . . . don’t you think it will be hard, to go back in there?” Jonah said. “I just don’t want you to be hurt more than you have been already.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” she said, her insides one great hollow of loss.

“I’ll go in first, then,” Jonah said, turning his impossibly blue eyes toward Emma. His voice thrummed through her like sweet rum, heating her insides and clouding her head. “You wait here while I make sure it’s not —”

“No!” she shouted, far too loudly for the inside of a van.

He flinched back, startled, raising both hands in defense.

“No,” she said, more quietly. “I need to sort out who’s telling the truth and who isn’t. I want to see where my father died, and I don’t want you to clean up first. I might notice something that other people wouldn’t. If DeVries’s sister died alongside Tyler, then maybe he and I are allies.”

“So you’re saying I should have left you hanging off a cliff ?” Jonah said, his body rigid, his face a mask of disbelief. “I should have left you to be tortured and—”

“No,” Emma said, sliding open the van door and jumping down to the driveway. “I said allies. I didn’t say I wanted to be anybody’s prisoner.” Somehow, Jonah was out of the van and standing between her and the house. “You’re not like other girls,” he said. He looked down at her, the night breeze stirring his hair.

“You’re not the first one that’s noticed,” Emma said, rolling her eyes. When he tilted his head, brow furrowed in confusion, she added, “Come on, Kinlock, you’re going to have to do better than that. Admit it, that’s a pretty lame line.”

He stared at her for another long moment, then snorted, his lips twitching into a smile. “It is lame, I admit it, but I got nothing else. I haven’t had much practice at flirting.”

“Is that what that was?”

And then they were both laughing helplessly, a muffled, smothery kind of laughing.

You don’t need to flirt, Emma thought. You just need to be.

When they regained control, Jonah said, “Can I at least walk in ahead of you and take the bullet for you, if need be?” His tone was light, but his body was taut as a leopard’s.