Page 6 of Deliverance

She continues to smile at me brightly.

“Hey, what about the stuff in the back?”

“What about it?”

“I saw a piece on the way in here that I liked. You know if anything in that hallway is for sale?”

“I’m pretty sure it is. Most of the artwork you passed is usually on the main floor. They just moved everything for the event. We can ask Tina. Which piece was it?”

“Rhythm.” I wrack my brain in an attempt to remember the name of the artist. “Drew…eh…something?”

“Kadence?”

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Why don’t we go look for the person to talk to?” Hazel offers me the crook of her arm and draws me back inside.

“Who picked the soundtrack?” I ask, noting to myself that the song in the background is another one of Elijah’s tunes.

“Justice.”

“Did he?” Conflicting emotions rush to my chest. It’s strange having a best friend whose uncle is both a fucking rock’n’roll legend and the biggest dick on the planet. The old man never gave us a break. At least, not until after the release of “Amber.” “Elijah partaking or something?”

“There’s a silent auction. He donated one of his guitars,” Hazel explains, leading me across the room.

“Really?”

“Didn’t Justice tell you? He and Elijah jammed together back in Tahoe during Christmas.”

My heart stalls. I was under the impression they weren’t on speaking terms. A couple of tweets some years ago mean nothing. Or do they? Apparently, there’s been a new development and my friend failed to inform me.

I’m torn about how to feel—happy that the two are patching things up or pissed because I’m out of the equation and won’t get to share a stage with Elijah Hale. Ever.

There goes my childhood dream.

“No, he didn’t mention it,” I tell Hazel honestly. “Are they writing music?”

“Are you kidding? Do you remember the last time Elijah collaborated with someone?”

“Nothing wrong with staying relevant. Look at Ozzy and Post Malone.”

“Look at Guns N’ Roses and AC/DC. Some bands don’t even need to write new stuff to stay relevant.”

“Ouch, woman. You married a rockstar and now you think you can challenge me.”

She tosses her head back and laughs.

We weave through the crowd and approach a small group of guests.

“You have a new fan, Drew,” Hazel calls out.

For some reason, I’ve got this image of Drew in my head, one that looks a lot like a hipster dude from Silver Lake. I don’t expect to see a young woman.

She turns to face us and steps away from the gathering, a flute in her hand gliding through the air along with the black sweep of her long gauzy dress. “I love new fans.”

Her voice is both deep and soft, a dark velvet draping around my mind and blocking out all other noises.

“I saw one of your pieces in the back and I’m intrigued.”

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