Page 78 of Disharmony

He pushes his falling glasses up his nose. “Maybe not, but it still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“It’s not a crime to travel with your favorite band, is it?” I rebut with a snarl. “I’ll be right back.”

I stalk over to a broken vending machine to get away from Ted’s interrogation and text Cookie to let her know I’m not chained in a serial killer’s basement.

We’re in a town called Port Valentine, performing at a warehouse called The Smoker for a private party. I thought it was a joke when we pulled up outside. The building looks like it’s falling apart but, when we were guided through to where they were finishing constructing a stage and completing a sound test, I saw how the place could turn into something different at night. It’s way cooler than any venue you’d get in Meadow Springs and far from a polished arena tour.

None of The Smoker’s security questioned my age, something I’d worried about since Zed drew attention to it. The Basilisks know I go to Camp Harmony, but I don’t want them to think of me a child.

“Drink?” Ted calls over, holding up a can of warm beer. “Call it a peace offering?”

I roll my eyes. “Do you always bribe women with alcohol?”

Ted splutters.

“I’m kidding,” I say, snatching the beer and cracking it open before he changes his mind. No one waits until they’re of age to drink anyway. “Thanks.”

“How long have you been a fan of the Basilisks?” Ted asks. His eyes light up when he says their name. I recognize the look instantly. He’s a true fan.

“Forever,” I reply, sitting down next to him again. “Ever since I heard their album, Phoenix Rising.”

“That’s how I discovered them too,” Ted says wistfully. “They’re something special.”

After chatting about our favorite songs by the Basilisks, I decide to forget my earlier annoyance and realize he was only probing because of his care for the guys. He’s a big folk metal fan, a genre I’m less familiar with as I gravitate toward death metal and metal core, but he makes a few recommendations for me to check out.

Ted glances at his watch. The Smoker has come alive with music, and crowds are starting to fill out the venue.

I nudge my head in the direction of the noise. “Do they often play at private parties?”

“Not often,” Ted replies, “but the money was too good to miss. A rich guy paid three times their usual rate.”

The door to the backroom opens and a man in his early twenties enters.

“This will be him now,” Ted mumbles.

The guy wears an expensive suit, and a fresh tattoo of a rose silhouette covers the side of his face. He looks at us but doesn’t smile.

“Ted, I assume?” His voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “I appreciate you coming at the last minute.”

“You must be Zander.” Ted stands. He wipes his sweaty hand on his worn jeans and holds it out. “Nice to meet you.”

The man, Zander, looks at it coldly and doesn’t move to shake it.

I breathe a sigh of relief as Zed emerges from the dressing room to save the awkwardness.

“Zed!” Ted greets him enthusiastically and makes introductions. “This is Zander, who is throwing the party.”

“We look forward to your show,” Zander says. “I’m grateful you could attend at short notice. It’s my cousin’s birthday, and you’re one of her favorite bands.”

“We’re happy to be here,” Zed says.

“I was hoping to introduce you,” Zander continues. He makes it sound like a question when it’s really a statement.

Zed nods. “Of course.”

As if on cue, the door behind Zander opens and a second man ducks to fit through the door. His bulging muscles are covered in ink, and he looks like he could break your nose with a single glance. Are they in a gang or something? Suddenly, I don’t feel as good about seeing the Basilisks perform if this is the type of people who are organizing the event.

The large guy beckons for someone to follow behind him. My heart slows as the birthday girl shuffles awkwardly inside. I’d guess she’s around sixteen. Her half-shaved head is dyed purple, her eyes are wild, and she’s got the biggest scowl on her face.

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