Page 3 of Dark Verse

“I’ll be there. I’m on my way.”

The phone picks up Via’s voice in the background, “Where is he?”

“Where do you think he is?” Zeke retorts.

“Knoxamillion, if you don’t get out of bed and get your ass to this venue, I will fight you.”

I roll my eyes. I hate it when she starts making up names for me.

“Chill out, Via. I’m literally walking out the door now.”

I work to pull on my shirt while keeping the phone to my ear.

“She can’t hear you,” Zeke says, “but you better be here in twenty real minutes.”

“Which would still make you late!” Via calls.

“Getting off the phone to get on the bike,” I say, hanging up before Zeke can lecture me more.

I’ve been running late all week and can’t seem to catch up.

Ma’s shipments came in a day late, which meant everything I agreed to help her with got pushed back a day. The plan to drive my vehicle out here was scrapped at the last minute when Unc’s ancient truck finally crapped out on him, and he had to borrow mine to haul feed. I didn’t mind the prospect of taking my bike out to Colorado until the first of two huge summer thunderstorms intercepted me. The first forced me to seek refuge at a rest stop for several hours, the slow-moving system spitting out hail, intense wind, and even a tornado at some point. The second soaked me to the bone in less than five minutes.

By the time I rolled into Denver, it was well past two in the morning. I stripped off my clothes, fell into the hotel bed, and was dead to the world for the next twelve hours.

And now I’m about to be late again. Late for the first gig I’ve played in years.

Pulling up the directions to the venue, I shove one earbud in my ear so the sat nav can guide me.

I’m on the bike a few minutes later, pulling on my helmet and turning the engine over. I’m more used to riding on the dirt and country roads of Kansas, so the early evening city traffic almost immediately overwhelms my brain. But the upside is undeniable. A bike is the right choice to get anywhere fast. I can easily weave through the slower cars and trucks and push the limits of acceptable red-light running. No doubt I’ve pissed off lots of other motorists, but shit, why else have a bike in the city if not to get everywhere faster and park practically anywhere? I’m able to shave a full six minutes off the expected arrival time.

Even in a city the size of Denver, it’s easy to spot where the gig is taking place. The multicolored lights from inside light up the surrounding area. The streets near Haven Castle are filled with early evening traffic. The four-story-high cream building almost shimmers in the summer light, the 100-year-old stonework beautiful in its own right. I find the small nearby lot with designated motorcycle parking. Well, shit, that’s convenient. Most towns back home force bikes to take up an entire car-sized space. Out of habit, I spot the back door and take it into the building.

A dozen people are rushing around the kitchen, steam rising from pots, and the sound of sizzling meat, boiling water, and shouted commands bombarding me. I turn to the person closest to me and ask where the band is setting up. She points me toward another side door.

“Third floor, I think,” she says before rushing away.

The door leads to a service elevator and steps, so I take the steps to the third floor.

The wide space is sparsely but richly decorated, making it the perfect dance floor. A dozen strings of fairy lights hang above my head, criss-crossing to create a delicate and beautiful-looking cage of light. In the center of the lights, about fifteen feet from the ground, hangs a large, ornate birdcage with more lights inside. Along the edge of the dance floor, strategically placed chairs and love seats offer tired partygoers a soft place to land.

I see Zeke at the far end at the same time he sees me, and he begins to wave almost frantically. Moving along the edge of the room towards the stage, I open my mouth to greet him, but Octavia pops up in my line of sight.

Her usual bouncy curls have been smoothed down completely, giving her a corporate look that doesn’t suit her. She’s not nearly as severe as her general air suggests in the moment, but I don’t fault her. I know she’s been under a lot of stress.

“I know, I know,” I start apologetically.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll let Raven know we’re ready.”

“Who’s Raven?” I question.

“The coordinator. It’s her sister’s wedding reception.”

“Right.” I nod as she leaves the stage in search of the wedding planner. “Five minutes for warm-up!” I call after her as she disappears from view.

I turn back to Zeke, and he greets me with a firm hug.

“Good to see you, cousin,” he says, giving me another squeeze before we drop our arms.