Page 48 of Ember

“Record them? Why not just download them?”

“I just dated myself.” I laughed. “Back in the dark ages, my precious sweet omega, you had to wait for the radio DJ to play your song, and then you hit record on your cassette player.”

“Ohhh, so you’re old then,” Ember said, sounding awed. “I didn’t realize you were ancient.”

“Hey now.” I couldn’t stop another chuckle. “I’m thirty-five. Not that old.”

“Uh-huh, Gramps,” Ember said. “You got me by eleven years.”

I rubbed my face. “I’m not quite robbing the cradle.”

“You’re almost there,” she said brightly. “So back when you invented fire, you had to make your own mixtapes.”

“Exactly.” I took a sip of my Coke, taking the straw out. I didn’t like straws, at least the bendy kind. I could never trust them to stay in the same place. “After a few years of dealing with my mixtapes, my parents found a studio that would let me inside. It was like I found my home.”

I still remembered the incandescent feeling of walking into a studio, of being able to touch so many things. The faders, the equalizers, it was like I was always meant to be there. “I found out this was how music was made. Through recording voices, instruments, and then blending them all together. It was like magic.”

People passed our table, one of them an omega bringing the too-sweet scent of roses. The click of silverware on plates added to the audio cues of the restaurant.

Ember cleared her throat. “If I’m honest, I’m still fuzzy on what an audio engineer does outside of ‘make the song.’”

I touched the menu again, for something to do with my hands. “It’s okay. Most people don’t know either. Basically, when someone like Rian is singing or playing guitar in the studio, we record those tracks.”

“Right.” Her chair squeaked and I wondered if she fidgeted like Rian did.

The waiter came back and brought our food. After telling him, once again, we were super great, we kept talking. “An audio engineer takes those tracks and layers them together.”

“Ohhhhhhhh.” Her voice lit up with understanding. “Youcoulddo your own dubstep.”

Warmth bubbled up inside me. She was delightful, utterly delightful. “I can and do sometimes. Mostly we record artists and do some layering on their tracks. Make the song soundcrisper, bring out the pitch of the singer’s voice, that sort of thing.”

Another group of people passed by the table, along with the same sickly-sweet rose scent. Ember growled.

I looked around, wondering what cue I’d missed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Ember sounded disgruntled. “You went to college for audio engineering?”

“I did.” I strained my ears, trying to hear if someone was arguing. “I also learned to play the piano, the guitar very badly, and the theremin.”

“Ooooh, that’s the weird instrument Evermore West uses?” Ember sounded happy again. “That sort of haunting wail on ‘Echoes Afloat’ and ‘The Lantern Sea’?”

“That’s the one. I only need my hands to play it.”

“How did you—” Ember growled again, sounding possessive, and her scent got bitter.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she huffed. “I’m sittingright here, and this omega chick keeps making goo-goo eyes at you.”

Pleasure flushed over me. Not that some other omega was flirting, but that Ember sounded so possessive about it.

“It’s fine,” Ember said quickly. “She’ll get the hint.”

“Is that the rose scent?”

“Yes,” she muttered.

“Scoot your chair closer.” I gestured at myself, annoyed I didn’t check how much space was between us earlier.

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