Augustine took the paper, conscious of their nervous energy. They tried not to show the emerging tremors that threatened to give them away. They’d been practicing the Current Circuit discography for weeks, but performing for the creators of the work was different. Still, there was something exciting about the challenge. To Augustine, the piano had always been a constant. It wouldn’t fail them now. They steadied themselves and set their fingers on the keys.
Daniel pressed record.
The chords came surely, each measure flowing into thenext. Augustine was cautious, keeping their eyes on both the page and the keys, but the music carried them forward.
When the final note finished, Daniel’s voice filled the space again. “Nicely done. That was solid work. Do you have another piece prepared?”
Augustine could have played any track from memory, knowing all their albums inside and out, but curiosity tugged at them. This was a chance to make a statement. They decided to take a risk.
“You haven’t said much,” they stated, looking at Titan. “Is there something you’d like to hear?”
For the first time, Titan looked at Augustine squarely. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “Do you compose? Could you play something original?”
Augustine thought of Eve, the late keyboardist whose name appeared in most of the songwriting credits. They began to suspect that their position could extend beyond filling a spot at Neon Moon. Perhaps it was about carrying on a legacy, helping to define a path of continuation, a new sound.
“I do,” they answered simply.
Their fingers returned to the keys, and a melody bloomed. It began tentatively, then built with confidence, energy, passion. Augustine poured themselves into the performance, disappearing into the music. Everything else fell away, the nerves, the watchful eyes. This was theirs. It was just them and the keys as if the audition no longer mattered, and the only approval they needed was their own. And yet, anyone watching could see it, too. Augustine had something undeniable.
When the song ended, their focus flicked to Titan, then to Daniel, whose eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape. Both men rose to their feet—an involuntary standing ovation.
Then, just as quickly, Titan fled the room. He moved faster than Augustine thought he was capable of. The doorslammed on his way out, piercing the silence. What just happened?
“Well, okay,” Daniel said, turning back to Augustine. “That was brilliant. Really. Thank you for your time.”
“That’s it?” Augustine asked, shocked that it was over so quickly.
“A bit of a rush job, but I think we got everything we needed. We’ve seen your videos. We know you’re more than capable. It’s just a matter of chemistry at this point,” he said.
Of course they weren’t a good fit. They were too bold too soon. They should have just stuck to the script, played it safe. It was foolish of them to get their hopes up. This was a waste of time.
“Oh. I wish you well on your search then.” Augustine rose and started for the door, feeling their cheeks flush with frustration.
Just as they were about to follow Titan’s path, Daniel spoke up.
“I didn’t mean to sound like I was counting you out,” he said quickly. “I just mean, it goes both ways. We didn’t exactly put forth the best foot today. Sorry about that.”
Augustine wasn’t expecting an apology. They understood messy artist personalities and band dynamics. And yet, there was something so alluring about Current Circuit. Even after Titan’s reaction, they still wanted in.
For them, playing music alone was fulfilling, but they wanted to know what it was like to be part of something. They’d never been in a group before. Augustine wanted to jam, to riff, to harmonize with someone. To be in a space with others where they could teach and learn. To find a home for their sound somewhere they could grow creatively, experiment, and be themselves. They wanted it to be here, with Current Circuit. Because, despite its flaws, it was something special.
“It’s okay,” Augustine said as their scowl softened into something more sly. “I just usually associate people running away with not liking my performance.”
* * * *
Chapter 2: Turning Tides
Augustine heard the melody from the hall. It was a somber tune in 6/8 time, its minor modulations swelled and receded like breath. The pedal held the melancholy, while the harmonies overlapped like crashing waves.
The tall windows were cracked slightly, letting crisp autumn air into the parlor. Titan didn’t notice Augustine approaching. He was focused on the song, restarting the measure each time he faltered. When he paused to write on his sheet music, Augustine took the opportunity to join him on the bench.
Back to the keys, Augustine faced the window overlooking the orchard that stretched for acres. The sun’s angle bathed everything in amber.
“It’s called golden hour,” Titan said, still playing.
“Your song?” Augustine asked.
“No, I mean the light.”
