Page 6 of Dark Verse

With him usually on bass, I sometimes forget he has such a powerful and resonant solo voice. He and I switch positions once more, and I lean into the microphone, ready to truly begin tonight.

“Good evening, everyone. I want to welcome you all once more here tonight for this celebration. We are Knox Knight and the Nightshades.”

As I speak, more people turn towards us and float towards the space in front of the stage. I count off, and the three of us begin playing our standard set of cover songs. The music begins to focus my mind, that untethered feeling subsiding as we play through two oldies and a newer hit. The crowd seems to love each one, the movement constant on the dance floor. As the third song ends and the clapping dies down, I lean into the microphone to speak again.

“Thank you, everyone. And thank you for allowing us to share this very special day with you. Again, we are Knox Knight and the Nightshades. I’m Knox. To my left on lead guitar is Octavia, and to my right, Zeke is on bass.”

“Wait,” a male voice reaches me, “Did you say Knox Knight and the Nightshades?”

Looking for the speaker in the crowd, I realize it’s the groom. Tall, long blond hair, an enormous smile splashed across his face.

“I did.”

“Shit, Will’s going to be pissed he missed you.” He begins to approach the stage, and the crowd quickly parts for him. “One of my best friends, Will Krammer, he’s a huge fan.”

Nodding, I say, “It’s always nice meeting a fan.”

“He’s not here, unfortunately.” The man continues, “Raven pulled this all together so fast he wasn’t able to get off work.”

“We’re local, so he could always come to a show in the next few weeks,” Via says, pulling the groom’s focus from me.

His face lights up further. “Awesome!”

He begins to pat his chest and legs where his pockets are, clearly looking for his phone.

“You and Knox can exchange numbers,” Via says, her eyes telling me to act. “We can let you know when our next few shows are.”

Our eyes argue for about ten seconds before I reluctantly pull out my own phone and hand it to him. He finishes typing quickly and hands it back to me. At once he’s distracted by another guest and turns away from me.

“I don’t like giving out my personal information to fans,” I say to her, making sure the mic doesn’t pick up my lowered voice.

“First, he never said he was a fan. His friend is a fan. Secondly, do you know who that guy is? That’s RJ Cage. He plays for the NHL. That’s a connection you’re going to want.”

I shrug.

“Never heard of him.”

“Well, he’s heard of you. That’s the important part here.”

I open my mouth to argue, but think better of it. There is no point in re-litigating the need for good fan relationships here. She and I have gone back and forth about our need to build a vibrant social media platform that extends into real life. I love and appreciate our supporters, but I’ve never been a fan of showing the more intimate parts of my life. If it’s not happening on the stage or in the studio, I just don’t care for people outside my circle to know what’s happening in my day-to-day.

But I sigh internally and move past that feeling of discomfort for now.

I came out here to help the band while Cash is out, and starting an argument in front of the party is not the way to do that. So instead, I turn back to the crowd in front of me and focus on the fact that I’m getting to play music with my favorite people. That’s worth any little annoyance I might be feeling in the moment.

I start scanning the crowd once more, looking for that wedding planner.

CHAPTER THREE

RAVEN

I KEEP my head on a slow-moving swivel as I observe the festivities around me. The speakers are well placed, covering the large, wide space evenly with the upbeat music the band is playing. They started a little messily, but they seem to have found their groove an hour into their four-hour set. The smells of a party in full swing surrounds me. Cooking meats, browning sugars, various liquors, the unmistakable smell of hundreds of different colognes and perfumes coming together. It’s a smell not so very different from my day job. The one major difference, of course, is that I know at least half of the nearly four hundred guests here. That fact makes pure observation of the goings-on a difficult task, as familiar faces pull me aside for conversation.

Eve Adams, a partner at Mom’s law firm, looks thrilled to see me when she spots me near the cake table.

“Raven, it’s wonderful to see you!” she says, pulling me into a friendly hug. “This dress is so flattering on you!”

“Thank you. It’s great to see you, Eve. How are things at the firm? How’s Alan?”