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Then Avalon removed the blanket.
There were many unusual objects in Everlost, with unusual properties. While there were things that had crossed that had made Jix raise an eyebrow, there was nothing as strange as the object beneath the blanket. He wasn’t surprised that it had crossed—what was bizarre was how it was being used.
The object was an old-fashioned jukebox. Jix had seen them before in the restaurants and bars that tourists visited. The old ones used small vinyl records to play music; the new ones had CDs or digital files, but still were made to look old. This was the real thing: a classic round-topped machine built in the 1950s with lots of chrome and neon—red, yellow, and green—the same colors as their war paint.
“Now I’ve seen everything,” said Jill, and one of the guards shook her. “No talking once Wurlitzer is revealed!”
The device, which did bear the company name “Wurlitzer” sat patiently waiting for someone to select a song. But of course, the songs were not free.
“Mighty Wurlitzer, we beseech thee,” chanted Avalon. “Answer us what we ask.”
“Oh, brother,” mumbled Jill, and was shaken again.
Avalon deposited an Everlost coin into the slot. It rattled down into the machine’s mechanism and jangled as it dropped into the coin box. Then he asked his question. “What shall we do with these two prisoners?” Then he pressed a selection button.
Wurlitzer whirred and spun through a number of records.
“How fair is it,” Jix said to his guard, “if he gets to choose the song?”
“Don’t matter what he chooses. Wurlitzer’s got a mind of its own.”
The jukebox finally settled on a song, and through its little window, Jix could see a 45 vinyl record lifted up and dropped on the turntable. The needle moved toward it, the record popped and clicked, and an old crooner’s voice began to sing:
“Please release me, let me go . . .”
The crowd breathed a singular moan and Avalon turned to them. “Silence!” he shouted, as pompously as he could. “Wurlitzer has spoken.”
The guards immediately removed Jix’s and Jill’s bonds.
“I’m glad Wurlitzer didn’t play ‘Fly Me to the Moon,’” said Jill.
As the song continued, Avalon came up to both of them. “I suppose Wurlitzer doesn’t care about keeping you until we get your stupid bucket of coins,” he said. “You’re not important enough to him.”
“How do you know it’s a ‘he’?” Jill asked snidely.
“Shows how little you know,” Avalon said. “For your information Wurlitzer can be a boy or a girl. It all depends on who’s singing.”
When the song ended, Avalon covered the jukebox and the warriors went about their normal business of entertaining themselves much the way Mary’s children had—but the Neons’ games and conversations were wilder and ruder.
Avalon, resigned to Wurlitzer’s decree, said, “All right then, you’re free to go.”
And to Jill’s absolute horror Jix said, “I prefer to stay.”
“What?!”
“You go if you want,” Jix told her. “I want to learn the way of Wurlitzer.”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
“I don’t joke like that.”
Avalon smiled broadly, exposing what looked like railroad tracks in mud. “You want to be one of us?”
Jix didn’t answer, but Avalon took his silence as acceptance. “All right, then! You won’t regret it.” He looked back at the blanket-covered jukebox. “See? There was a reason why Wurlitzer chose to let you go. It was because he knew you would stay.” He looked at Jill, in mild disgust, then pointed to one of the guards. “You—take her upstairs and throw her out.”
“No!” said Jill, clearly furious at Jix. “I guess I can stay for a while. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got anywhere better to go, right?”
“All right then,” said Avalon. “But you don’t get war paint until you prove yourself worthy.”
