Will began to play—thick, effects-driven chords rippling out from the amp. Loud, grainy and low, with a little melodic hookkicked in from higher up the neck every few measures.
He sang, almost speaking, his voice intent and focused.
I don’t speak to my family,
They don’t know what I know.
Twelve people gone, many more, many more.
You don’t know what I know.
The song went on, Will’s voice rising to a wailing lament, the final chorus just a repetition of the words I know . . . over and over again. He finished, his eyes closed, the last note drifting out into the silent club.
Applause, but scattered, barely registering over the background chatter. The room had taken the band’s break as an opportunityto fire up conversations. Will didn’t know why he was surprised. A lone bassist they didn’t know playing a song they’d neverheard? It barely qualified as entertainment. He was lucky they hadn’t booed.
Futile.
Will began to play again—a short, repeated pattern, just an appealing little anchor line.
“How about the world these days, huh?” he said, talking to the room. “I’ve been paying a lot of attention to the news lately.More than I ever used to. Shitty out there, right? What’s a gallon of gas these days—like four bucks?”
He played a little flourish, then settled back into the three-note pattern.
“Here,” Will said. “Let me give you what you want.”
The extinction of the scarlet kingfisher
A brawl erupts in the Taiwanese Senate over the issue of returning certain items of antiquity to the mainland.
Twelve people die during the commission of a robbery at the Lucky Corner Deli in New York, New York.
A plane crashes in the Niger desert forty-three kilometers southwest of Tabelot.
Fourteen infants are born at Northside General Hospital in Houston, Texas. Six are male, and eight are female.
Will could see screens appearing in the audience—people checking the Site. To the left, he could see a silhouette, someonestanding, body language communicating extreme tension. Hamza, most likely.
He didn’t care. Will opened his mouth to sing the next prediction, the one about the Malaysia Airlines flight, and his bassamp cut out. The robust, effects-assisted pattern he’d been playing immediately transformed into a thin, jangly skeleton ofits former self.
Oh, he thought. He turned to look to the side of the stage, to see Jorge Cabrera standing with the sound guy at the mixing booth.Jorge’s face was a little hard to read—the lights were still shining in Will’s face—but he wasn’t smiling.
Will unslung his bass and leaned it up against his amp—as if Jorge will let you back up to play again after that little adventure, he thought—and stepped down off the stage. He walked past Hamza and Miko, past Jorge and the other musicians, and found aseat at the far end of the bar.
He ordered a beer and a shot, and as they came he could hear Jorge on the microphone apologizing and promising the band wouldbe up again soon.
Will drank the shot and signaled for another, then began working to get through the beer before it showed up.
A hand touched his arm lightly, and he flinched.
“Will,” Miko said.
He turned toward her.
“Hamza wanted to tackle you right there onstage,” she said. “I wouldn’t let him. I thought it would just draw attention towhat you were doing. That second one, about the fight in Taiwan—you gave it to Hamza to convince him the predictions werereal, right?”
“Yes,” Will said.
“I remember that day. He came home early from Corman Brothers. Very out of character for him back then. Most days I barelysaw him before midnight. He told me he was going to quit, and he didn’t seem worried at all. Said he had something spectacularlined up.”
She caught Will’s eye.
“That was you. Turns out you were the spectacular thing, Will Dando.”
“I guess so,” Will answered.
Miko went silent.
Will watched her, wondering what she was thinking. In hindsight, it had been stupid to be so reluctant to let Hamza bringMiko into all this. She had dived into the work to figure out the Site’s plan with both feet, and she had a flair for makingconnections that neither he nor Hamza saw.
More than that, though, she was kind in a way Hamza wasn’t. She was thoughtful. She wanted to help.
Will picked up the second shot and downed it.
Miko was wonderful.
“What did you think of the first song?” he asked.
“Grow up, Will,” Miko said, her tone mild.
He looked at her, surprised. Wounded, even.
“You aren’t as special as you think you are. You aren’t the only person who can see the future.”
She reached out across the bar, sliding his half-empty pint glass away from his hands.
“I’m a teacher. I see the future every goddamn day with those kids, me and every other teacher out there. And then there’sthis.”
She touched the swell of her stomach.
“The future doesn’t just belong to you. We all get our piece.”
Miko’s eyes narrowed.
“I know how to deal with children. And so I’ve been nice, I’ve been sensitive, because no one wants you playing chicken witha truck again or jumping off a roof because you’re convinced you can fly. But shit like that”—she pointed at the stage—“isabsolutely not okay. You aren’t allowed to implode. You’ll pull me, Hamza, and who knows who else down with you when you go.”
Will frowned.
“Children?” he said.
“Yup,” Miko said. “You are acting like a fourth grader. No. Not even. Second grade, tops.”
“You’ve seen what the Site is doing,” Will said, hearing the defensiveness in his voice and hating it. “It’s ruining the world,and I don’t know what to do. I don’t understand what’s happening. I just know it’s happening because of me.”
“So you decided to sing the predictions at open mic night?” Miko said, pointing back at the stage.
“This isn’t an open mic night,” Will said, a little offended. “It’s invite-only. It’s actually sort of a big deal to playwith these guys.”
“I hope you enjoyed it. I don’t think they’ll have you back any time soon,” Miko said, blunt.
Will sighed. He eyed his half-drunk, just-out-of-reach beer.
“You know I talked to
