Power Trio

Kell and Thekla take a cab to their next stop for the day, a meeting at Warcry with the tour’s manager. By unspoken agreement, the ride is silent.

Thekla keeps telling herself to stop thinking about what happened in Sion’s weird West Hill studio, that they’ll sort it out after the tour, but her mind can’t latch onto anything else. Stop thinking about it just echoes through her like a tape delay.

Kell stretches her hand across the middle seat, and Thekla places her own on top of it, clutching her drummer’s ring finger. Evan had to run to his Labyrinth job after their revelation; she wishes he was here with them.

They move through the Warcry offices like the living dead, mustering up just enough energy to exchange hugs and greetings with an ebullient Rahul. They’re meeting with a lady named Anise, and Rahul directs them to the third floor, an open office so full of potted vegetation it could be a Rainforest Cafe. One full wall is a huge airbrushed painting of a cyan Prelate Stratus, visible through a layer of ink where hundreds of signatures scrawl across it.

At the end of a row of desks separated by low-rising shelves, a petite, banana-colored high elf in a structured black blazer sits at a desk marked ANISE CANTATOR is sipping out of a neon Warcry thermos. Her forest-green hair is pulled into a messy ponytail; a skunk stripe starts at her temple and flows down her back.

The computer screen in front of her shows an email inbox. She’s tak-takking on a keyboard-sleeved tablet that’s open to a chatroom whose users appear to be discussing an MMORPG. A bunny-eared chick in barbarian armor flashes across the screen as Anise Cantator (presumably) gives them a startled look and slams her tablet shut.

“Hello!” she hastily stands and gives them a laugh-lined smile. Besides those, and the heavy bags beneath her eyes, her skin is shiny and smooth, her age impossible to pin down. Elves age weird, Thekla supposes. “Legendary, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kell extends a hand and Anise shakes it. “Kell Falrak, drummer and bandleader.”

“And I’m Thekla Kamiyon, guitarist and songwriter,” Thekla says. They spent yesterday with Evan trying to sort out what to call themselves in front of the brass. Kell doesn’t like the word bandleader and they write their songs by committee, but they need to dress it up a bit.

“It is seriously so wonderful to meet you,” Anise says. “So great. I heard your singles. Commodity Credit? That’s on the running playlist, first song. Seriously. Okay, just two seconds. I’m just going to let Nathan know you’re here.” Anise pulls a handset phone to her face and dials an extension.

“Hiii, Nate.” She immediately code switches, knocking her voice up half an octave and injecting it with energy. “I have Legendary here. Are you free? Mind if we swing through? Okay. Okay, sweet. Okay. See you soon.”

She slots the phone back onto its console. “Just a couple minutes, guys. Get you anything? Water, coffee, anything like that?”

“All good here, Anise,” Thekla says. “Thank you.”

Kell nods in agreement.

“Do you guys mind if I grab some coffee, then?” Anise apologetically sloshes her thermos. “I am seriously burning the candle on both ends today.”

Kell and Thekla follow the elf to an office kitchen papered over in gig posters, where she sticks her thermos into a blocky coffee dispenser and opens her phone. Thekla gets a snatching glance at the same chat room, with a big red dragon screenshot on it, before Anise swipes it away in favor of a jampacked calendar. “We’ve got a half hour with Nate. Uh, Nathan Puck. The founder.”

Thekla’s brows shoot up. “Like, of Warcry?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry. He’s seriously a total sweetheart. He meets every musician we work with.” Anise leans on a button at the front of the dispenser and visibly relaxes as her thermos fills. “It’s seriously nothing to worry about. It’s not an interview, nothing’s at stake. Okay? You are for sure going on the tour. It’s just him wanting some face time and to talk about how it’s going to work.”

“Will you just give us a second?” Kell flashes a bright smile to Anise, who returns an exhausted-looking version of it. She shepherds Thekla a few feet away, on the other side of the kitchen wall.

“Shit, baby.” She’s chewing her lip again. “This just got kind of serious.”

“Kind of?” Thekla says. “She said ‘seriously’ like five times.”

That gets a laugh. “I lost count.”

“Keeping track is actually great for distracting from my existential dread.”

“I didn’t bank on meeting the guy who runs the fucking label today.” Kell frets with her hair. “How do I look?”

“You look amazing, baby.” Thekla gives her a quick kiss on the wrist. “You look like a rock star.”

“I really wish this top had sleeves right now.”

“Kell, you can’t be the one freaking out right now,” Thekla says. “I’m the one who freaks out. And I’m not freaking out. So you can’t be freaking out.”

By all rights, Thekla thinks, she ought to be. She supposes the revelation that the laws of nature as she knew them are in tatters overshadows a meeting with a record exec.

Anise retrieves them and escorts them to a woodgrain patterned door adorned only with Nathan Puck’s nameplate. She does a shave-and-a-haircut knock and then swings the door in.

The light of a picture window overlooking Cable Square frames Nathan Puck’s office. His walls are festooned with concert photography, gold and platinum records, framed notes, and at least a half dozen instruments. One wall hanger is empty, and its presumable occupant, a seven-string Neurotack guitar, a real shred machine, lays across his desk, atop several sheafs of papers and a clamshell takeout box. It looks like he was in the middle of a string change; Thekla can see a pair of needle-nose pliers and a snipped D string coiled on the desk.

Yellow Shirt Guy is sitting at Nathan Puck’s desk.

He stands and comes out around it, and the two chairs parked before it. “Here’s our openers,” he says, in an affable, deep-throated Brooklyn accent. He sounds like a favorite uncle. “Legendary. Good to finally connect.” He’s not in a yellow shirt today; he’s wearing a shaggy-chic office outfit, a stand collar shirt and cuffed chinos over skateboard sneakers. The one nod to luxury on him is the chunky golden watch on his wrist as he extends his hand.

Thekla takes it robotically, praying that the shock isn’t registering on her face. “You were at Ringside,” she says, fighting to keep the quaver from her voice.

“I was.” He certainly has a c-suite handshake, dominant and energetic. “I liked it. You’re Thekla Kamiyon. And you’re Kell Falrak. And the others are…” he taps his chin. “Sion Benefice. And Evan something.”

“H,” Kell says.

He grins. One of his bicuspids is capped with silver. “Evan H. Right. Like Suzi Q. That’s good.” He sits down at his simple wooden drafting chair. “Take a load off. Uh, Anise, you mind dragging that over here?” He gestures at a third seat over in the corner. Anise scurries over to it and pushes it next to Kell and Thekla.

“You can be on this side of the desk, Anise,” Nathan prompts, not unkindly.

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” She scoots her chair accordingly.

“So we’re sending you off,” Nathan says. “You know Conna and her crew, and she’s into you. I think you’ll work well together. Warcry doesn’t exactly work like a lot of other labels, especially with touring. We have some agreements in place with some government folks, some private equity nonprofit stuff. Part of what our business is, is getting fairfolk out through the country to show their music and demystify themselves. Essentially, we’re a label crossed with a promoter. The music industry's a pretty evil business, but we get a sizeable chunk of our operation money from grants, which lets us be less evil than most labels.”

“Right on,” Kell says.

“Right on,” Nathan echoes. “That means we’re able to write you a check for an advance, a pretty small one, sorry, plus expenses—that’s gas, lodging, renting a vehicle. It comes with an agreement that you should get a lawyer to read over and make sure I’m not a scumbag and we aren’t trying to screw you.”

Thekla shoots Kell a nervous look. This isn’t exactly what she thought Nathan Puck would be like; she’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“An entertainment lawyer, specifically,” he continues. “Sign nothing that anyone on any label gives you until you do that. This particular agreement says you’re only going to spend the expenses chunk of the money on essentials, and that we can terminate and yank you off the tour if we have good cause. Like don’t throw chairs through hotel windows. You’re not big enough to do that yet.”

“Oh, we’d never,” Kell says.

Nathan holds up a hand. “No promises in these meetings either, okay? No verbal agreements. That’s another big thing. I mean, thank you for that. But the right move is ask for time to think about it so you can go home, get that lawyer, do your homework on us. And look into Anise too.” He indicates the high elf.

“I’m an open book.” She sips her coffee nervously.

“If this tour goes how we want it to go, if you keep being impressive, Warcry is going to try to sign you and do your first album, and she’d be the one managing you. She’s already doing that for Shrike; you should ask Conna how that’s going. She’ll be heading out with them for the full tour. If Shrike needs something, it’s her job to get it, and to an extent that’s true for you too. So. What do you say?”

“We, uh…” Thekla’s head is spinning. “Can we have time to think about it?”

“Bingo!” He claps his hands. “Yes indeed. Good answer. Anise is going to get you suited up with the details. You got merch?”

“Not yet,” Kell says.

“Get merch. We take a piece of the doors but we don’t touch your merch money. That’s where you’re really gonna make your bundle and it turns people into billboards for you. I’m always a shirt guy but you see a lot of the hats these days, the uh.” He makes a weird motion with his hands. “Anise, you know what I mean?”

“Trucker hats,” Anise supplies.

“Right. That and koozies. I tell everyone: you should have a koozie. Now, I’ve been doing a lot of talking. You have questions? Comments?”

“So if this tour goes well, you want to sign us?” Thekla’s gripping the armrests of her chair like it’s about to take off. “Did I hear that right?”

“You did,” Nathan Puck says. “I left your show excited about music. It’s tough to get excited about your job. You sounded like you had a lot to prove. I’m here to be the first guy you try and prove it to.” He leans forward, rocking the guitar on his desk with the motion. “It’s not a sure thing, and it’s a tight schedule. You’re gonna be playing or on the road each and every night, you’re gonna be a long way from home and anyone who knows you, you’re an unknown opener for a known band. It’ll be a crucible. And you’re gonna need to be on top of the horse, not just hanging onto its ass. This is how we find out whether you’ve got it.”

Kell and Thekla exchange a look full of potential energy and barely suppressed excitement. “Mr. Puck,” Kell says. “We’re gonna—”

“Ah ah.” He holds his hand up again. “No verbal agreements, kids.”

They leave the office in a state of silent awe, hand in hand. They stop by Anise’s desk and she hands them a sheaf of stapled papers in a manila folder with the Warcry logo stamped on it.

“He can be a bit much,” she says. “But he doesn’t do projects that aren’t passion projects.”

“Not a problem at all.” Kell takes the folder. “The opposite. Honestly.”

“We’re really excited to be working with you, Anise,” Thekla says.

“You should thank Conna then.” Anise gives them a tired smile. “She was really insistent. We usually want a bit more seasoning, but you guys have been seriously hustling. And the music is where it needs to be. So I figured why the heck not.”

Six, Thekla mouths to Kell as the drummer riffles through the papers.

“Oh, one more thing.” Anise reaches onto her desk and pulls out a stubby felt-tip pen. “Every musician who comes in here, we ask them to sign the big guitar wall. You can pick a spot wherever.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to sign anything,” Kell says. Anise barks a strident laugh; Thekla can’t guess whether it’s forced or she just laughs weird.

They sign their names regardless, near the mural’s headstock, and she accompanies them to the elevator bank. “I really want to see you succeed,” she tells them, as they wait for a ride down. “I gotta tell you, I’ve been having stress dreams about this tour. Seriously.” She does her aggro laugh again. “It’s actually the first time I’m going out with the talent. So we’re all going to be having some firsts together. So let’s promise each other. We will not fuck it up. Promise?”

“Promise,” Kell and Thekla chorus, and then mercifully the elevator dings.