The Gift

Chapter 27

Wisty

EVEN WITH THE KING of the Weasels in my band, I totally understand why people want to become rock stars. There's no other rush, no other feeling like it. This cavern has a natural reverb that seems to transform my voice into a chorus of hard-rocking angels. It's like an out-of-body experience.

And then I realize I'm playing the audience, too. Hundreds, make that thousands, of people are moving to my rhythm, to my melody, to my words.

Well, not all "my" words.

After I finish the first song and I think my face is going to bust open because I'm smiling so hard from the euphoria, I let everyone know who wrote the words to the next number.

"This is for my brother, Whit, who wrote the lyrics and who unfortunately couldn't be here with us tonight."

I'm actually pretty glad Whit's not here, because I'd have to explain how I kind of copied the lyrics out of his journal when he was sleeping. I don't regret it, not for a second. I've wanted to put these words to music ever since I first read them.

"It's called 'The Fire Outside,' and it goes like this." I begin picking out a simple, clean melody.

Byron waits a few bars and sticks a bass line underneath. We are disturbingly in sync, I have to admit. Musically, I mean. Apparently he must have been a pretty good upright bass player in the school orchestra back home, and he's showing a surprising sense of rhythm here. With his shirt untucked and his hair kind of messy for once, he almost looks like he belongs at a rock concert.

Lighters are being held aloft, and a whole cavern full of people is swaying back and forth to the music we're making.

No sooner are Byron and I laying down the final chords when the six-foot-one poet himself appears at the back of the amphitheater. There he is! Whit is peering around intently, his head bobbing, as if he's trying to find somebody, and it's important.

Now he's sidling through the crowd toward the stage. He's shooting urgent looks at me and drawing his finger across his neck as a sign for me to stop the set, and pointing off to the dressing-room area to the left.

Something's definitely up.