Page 14 of Dark Verse

“No,” I lie. “It’s business. I still have plenty to keep me busy here in L.A.”

Alice pauses.

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about that.”

Heart sputtering for a second, I freeze. Without my permission, my mind begins racing over the last few days, weeks, and years of work. Searching for the misstep that led to this moment. It was the extended vacation, wasn’t it? I knew I should have come back to California right after Dove’s graduation.

“Alice,” I begin, working to keep my unease out of my voice, “are you about to fire me?”

Her expression brightens, and she laughs, “Girl! Hell no. Shit!”

That mental crash-out I was about to spiral into ends so quickly I actually chuckle, feeling almost breathless. Why I went for the worst-case scenario is beyond me at the moment.

“Okay, good,” I say.

“But I do have a business proposal that would take you out of L.A. for a few weeks. Maybe eight weeks or more. And it’s a bit further than your Culver City assignment.”

I nod along. That’s not so different from my last few assignments. Portland was my first major assignment after my promotion a year and a half ago to my current position, and it was an absolute crash course in the fusion of art and business that is the music industry. After Portland, I successfully relaunched a San Francisco bar nine months ago and a small venue in the heart of Culver City four months ago. I spent anywhere from eight to twelve weeks getting to know the venue, the staff, and the area. I wouldn’t mind getting back out of Southern California for a little while.

“Where’s this new venue?” I ask.

“Denver.”

CHAPTER SIX

KNOX

BITTER COFFEE. That’s how that chord tastes. I move my fingers along the fretboard of the guitar, shifting from B major to F minor. Worse. That tastes like a face-full of burnt milk. I strum out the first few chords of one of our more popular songs, No Saints, All Sinners. Every note is correct, and yet it tastes off to me.

My family and bandmates used to call me synesthesia, my superpower, and I agree with them. My brain’s ability to link musical notes and chords to tastes and sometimes smells has helped guide me while creating some of our greatest hits across three albums and several EPs. But these last years have been different. Ever since my year from hell, the synesthesia has weakened and shifted. These days, music tastes more bitter and sour, when before it was everything: salty, sweet, bitter, sour, spicy, even umami.

Forcing my stiff fingers through several songs for practice isn’t pleasant, but it needs to be done. I haven’t played live, let alone practiced in too long. My mind starts to wander to the other night.

To that woman.

Raven.

She was like fire, taking control of everything in sight and molding it to her will. Watching her take command of a room stuffed full of NHL hockey players that towered over her without missing a beat was…sexy. When she caught me after our set, I was immediately drawn to her once more, all the distractions from inside gone. She smelled like rosewater and lilacs, the smells clinging to her hair and skin.

This weird sensation of rejection hangs over the memories. She went from jumping me in the alleyway to running away less than ten minutes later. I swear I can still smell her sweet pussy on my fingers days later, and it’s driving me a little crazy.

The chord pattern I am repeating absentmindedly with my fingers shifts in my ear and on my taste buds. By mistake, I create a G-flat major chord. Ginger, lemon, and honey. Spicy, sour, and sweet all at once.

I hear movement on the steps, and a few seconds later, Cash appears in the door frame.

“Hey, cousin,” I say, my smile wide and genuine.

I stand quickly to greet him, the guitar left forgotten on the window seat.

He’s lost several pounds since I last saw him, his usually clean chin fully scruff after nearly a week and a half without shaving. His frame seems fragile, like a strong enough gust might just turn him into a human kite. Still, his big goofy grin is the same no matter what.

“Hey, Knox. How you feeling today?”

“Fuck that, how are you feeling?”

“Better in general.” He pauses in thought. “A little winded after the walk into the house and up the stairs.”

“Here.”