Power Trio

“And it isn’t even on the market yet. This is a local fairfolk landlord, rent stabilized, forever-home type spot. I really think you’re going to love it here.” Piter the realty elf has said this about the last three apartments; for the first time, Evan is inclined to agree.

The apartment is an airy, open railroad, the kitchen on one end looking across a sleepy Cabletown street, the bedroom on the other, its fire escape sticking out above a gardened backyard. Three stories below, the other residents have already filled the yard with creature comforts. A silver, space-age propane grill, a knitted hammock, a pair of unvarnished corn hole targets. Evan stands with his girlfriends under the high ceiling and examines the grainy paperwhite paint, the clean, angular corners. He imagines the life he’ll paint with Kell and Thekla across this blank canvas.

Piter insisted, at first, on showing them three-bedroom places, all of which were much larger and pricier than what they were looking for. It’s been an interesting process, reinforcing to him that no, thank you, they only need a 1br. Yes, all three of them will be on the lease.

The trio takes a moment to huddle.

“I love the fire escape access,” Evan says. “I get that it’s not exactly a balcony, but I can picture just chilling out there with a book and a beer.”

“The bedroom is a little small,” Kell notes.

“That’s only because your bed is a fuckin’ monster,” Thekla says. “But we could still fit one closet and a couple nightstands. And we have the rest of the apartment to put our stuff.”

“Do you think we could soundproof the guest room?” Evan asks. “Make some music in there?”

“Normally I’d say yes,” Thekla says, “but Kell’s drums can’t be defeated by soundproofing. And why would we even need to when we’re a ten-minute walk from the Shed?”

“What goes in there, then?” Kell asks. “Do we make it, like, an actual guest room?”

“I’m gonna be mean and say that I don’t really want to have that many guests,” Thekla says. “That’s not on my wishlist. Maybe we get a pullout couch for emergency crashing, but for me, this is our little hiding place. I never loved hosting. Um.” She glances at Evan. “With exceptions.”

He chuckles. “I have a feeling we’re just going to end up filling it with instruments and books.”

After the second time his bass was taken from him, Evan concluded it was time to get a backup. He’s bought a lightweight, cream-colored Reeve Studio Limited, with a slim neck and two plastic soapbar pickups. It has a modern control panel full of active electronic toggles and EQ knobs which Evan’s never touched. But if he dimes the pickup selector and closes his eyes, it sounds just like his precision, and after that chunky plank of wood, it’s lighter than air.

He likes it, but he doesn’t love it. He misses his prelate. In quiet moments, he explores the dull pain of its loss like prodding a toothache.

“My final verdict is that extra space is the opposite of a problem.” Kell puts a mitt into the circle. “I say we jump.”

“I’m in.” Evan mirrors the motion.

“Same.” Thekla sticks her little hand in alongside theirs. “I’ll find Dalma a replacement Kamiyon for the goblin house. Operation Trio Terrace is a go.”

Piter promises to send the lease tonight. “And please tell Sy Benefice hello from us.”

“Sy Benefice. I never knew he had a nickname.” Kell smirks as they return to street level. “Every time I use our elf’s nepo babydom, I feel dirty after. But this time it’s worth it.”

“I’m texting him now. It’s about time to hit the studio.” Thekla’s got her phone out. Evan holds the front door for her. “Thanks, boo. You guys want to grab coffee before we meet Rahul?”

“I’m just going to steal from his yerba cave,” Kell says. “Those shits are addictive.”

It’s great to be working with Rahul again. The zen-master recording engineer is bursting with ideas for how to get their songs down on tape. They’re working on Vampire Facial, taking Anise’s suggestion to heart, and he’s running Thekla’s voice through these amazing filters on the verse that pour her right into your ear, ASMR-style. He flashes out to a batcave reverb on the boisterous chorus.

Evan’s in the drum gulag again with Kell, and there’s no other place on Earth he’d rather be. He’s played with more than a few drummers, but never anyone like Kell. She is a fantastic musician, solid as a metronome and with phenomenal endurance. Her fills and improvisations are loud and bombastic cascades; she never drums like anything but herself. He supposes that if she was at the kit for most genres—most bands, even—she’d stick out like a sore thumb, take up too much space, but she’s Legendary’s irreplaceable heart.

It’s never stopped being a thrill, locking into her rollicking rhythm; That same crystallizing bliss he felt on day one, he feels every time. That same eye of the hurricane.

That lift.

But Evan’s learning about a whole additional layer to making music when your bandmate is your lover. He’s never been much of a dancer, and he doubts he ever will be. But there’s a dancer’s intimacy in the give-and-take of the lead, the rise and fall of their volume. The flourishes and switch-ups they toss to one another are brief flirtations. The way she makes him move to her beat, and vice versa, is loaded with sensual meaning.

These days, now that he’s allowed to, his appetite for staring at Kell’s body is unquenchable. The orc is a living work of art, every muscle a graceful brush stroke below her intricately tattooed skin. He’ll catch her out of the corner of his eye doing something unremarkable, scratching her stomach or stretching her shoulder out, and be struck dumb by her honed-edge beauty. He watches the sweat trickle down her neck as they finish their third runthrough and she sees his attention, grins lecherously and fans herself with the lip of her shirt to flash more of her milky pale chest at him.

“Now that was a take.” This from Rahul over their headphones. “That had the heat in it. Y’all want to come out and give it a listen?”

“Uhh.” Kell glances at Evan, who gives her a little shake of his head. “Give us a couple minutes, okay? You can get recording on Thek and Sion’s bits. We’ll listen from here.”

“You got it.” Rahul spools up their playback and starts harvesting takes from the goblin and the elf.

“Hey. Ev.” Kell pats her thigh. “C’mere, lover boy.”

Evan comes around the cramped drum kit and climbs into Kell’s lap. She runs her fingers up his spine, scoots him forward so his hips are flush around her trim waist. “My man,” she purrs, her dark-chocolate orcish brogue evident. “I like how you’re looking at me today.”

“I like how you’re looking.” He brushes his lips against her upturned nose. Her thumbpad draws across his neck.

Evan lets Kell capture his mouth with hers, nestles against her and luxuriates in her powerful embrace. He’s fended for himself for years, he knows how to survive, but when he’s with the orc, he’s eager to surrender to her. He’s become addicted to this feeling: turning off the world and letting himself be coveted. They kiss slow and strong while they listen to their girlfriend belt her vocals through the insulated door. The stud in her tusk twinkles in the gulag’s dim blacklight. “Dude,” she says, quietly enough that they won’t be audible on the other side. “You ever think about how lucky we got?”

He rests his face against the curve of her neck, feels her tendons shift as her smile grows. “Every day of my life.”

One more take and they exit the drum gulag before they get too handsy for public function. It sounds as good out here as it did in there, but Thekla’s distracted by something that’s soured her expression. On their next break, Evan asks what’s up.

“Rahul mentioned that they’ve got another deal,” Thekla says. “With Masonry. And they’ve been at work while we’ve been on tour. Already a good chunk of the way through their sophomore album.”

“Mr. Carver has been busy,” Sion says. “I’ve asked Beaula how it’s going. Out of professional curiosity. ‘Well,’ she says.”

Evan sucks air in through his teeth. “It’s not like it’s a contest, right?” Feels hollow even as he’s saying it.

“Nah, fuck that.” Kell cracks her knuckles. “That’s a race. And we are winning it.”

“I’d sooner come out after and better,” Sion says.

“We are gonna come out before and better.” Kell’s grin is determined. She’s already in competition mode. It’s where she thrives. “I’m gonna get in touch with Conna, we’re gonna bring her to the next Shed rehearsal and see what we can do with that voice of hers. You all free tomorrow for that?”

Sion ahems. “None of us are free tomorrow, Ms. Falrak. We have an engagement.”

“Ohhh.” Kell snaps her fingers. “Right. Bard shit. We’ll be there, Sy.”

Sion blinks. “Please never call me that again.”

* * *

The ash elf spreads his notes across the West Hill studio’s floor, sitting cross-legged amid a great sheaf of papers. Evan recognizes torn-out pages from his notebook, side-by-side with highlighted photocopies and yellowed sheets of movable type.

“It seems very complicated.” Evan sits with Sion as he shuffles the sheafs. “Are there, like, specific rules you’re following?”

“At the moment, my focus is usually on simple reproduction.” Sion speaks around the cap of a ballpoint pen he chews as he ties off a bar of sheet music. “I have some early theories about how one might go about creating one’s own spells, but what we’re doing here is reconstructing and retrofitting.”

Thekla wanders over and curls up next to Evan while she tunes. “Jesus, Sion. I’m glad our job is just to play.”

Sion clicks his tongue. “There’s no just about it. Don’t let these calculations fool you. The music is the magic. The power has ever dwelt in us. In everyone who picks up an instrument and tries to make something of it. These lines simply take the energy and instruct it.”

“Here I thought you were the most magical among us.” Kell puzzles out his explanation. “You’re just the biggest nerd.”

“Incisive as always, Falrak.” Sion gathers his pages and arranges them on a music stand. His stratus gleams below the studio’s harsh fluorescents. “Very well, everyone. One more step.”

He moves to the studio door. He slides a latch shut across it (was that there last time? Evan can’t remember) and pulls a small silver padlock from his back pocket. This he clicks into place over the door.

“You want to tell us what that’s about,” Thekla says, “or do you get off on secrecy?”

“What do you think it’s about?” Sion prompts.

She takes her glasses off and hooks them on the collar of her shirt. A squishy little crescent of cleavage pokes out of the weighted-down neckline. “I think you think this spell opens locked shit.”

“That’s a very interesting theory, Thekla Kamiyon,” Sion says. “Let’s see what happens, shall we? Whenever you’re ready, Evan.”