The Enchanter Heir by Cinda Williams Chima

from Natalie. She’d taken him on as a project ever since his meltdown in Gabriel’s office. He’d been missing a lot of classes since Jeanette died, and when he came to a class, he often slept through it. Natalie suspected depression. Jonah suspected she was right, although, in his opinion, depression was a perfectly reasonable reaction to their situation.
    They cut across the street, dodging traffic. They were coming up on Club Catastrophe. Music poured from the front door, and an easel out front displayed a sign: 
    Teen Night
    Tonight Featuring Fault Tolerant — live and in person .
    They entered through the rear door, threading their way through a clutter of cleaning supplies, extra furniture, and paper products. They found Mose having a smoke amid the flammables. He’d driven the equipment van over, because he never would have made it on foot.
    Mose was prone to self-medicating and looked the part— he was as gaunt as an end-stage addict, pierced to the max, every inch of exposed flesh covered in Gabriel’s ink therapy. Like a prayer to the gods that had gone unanswered.
    Jonah couldn’t blame Mose for wanting to blunt the edge. A seer savant, Mose had the gift of seeing death coming before it arrived. He’d become a key asset to Safe Passage, the hospice program at the Anchorage. He and Jonah were a team. Like Dr. Death and his front man.
    These days, Mose sat during their sets, and his voice had weakened considerably, but he was still the best singer in the band and he was a demon on guitar.
    Maybe “Last Legs” would be a better name for this band, Jonah thought.
    Mose lit up a little when he saw Jonah. He sat up a little straighter, finger-combing his hair. “Hey, Jonah! If I’d known you were coming, I’d of worn the good clothes.”
    “Hey, Mose,” Jonah said, doing the old fist bump. “What’s up?”
    “I’ve been meaning to mention this—I’ve been sorting through some stuff, need to simplify, know what I mean? I wondered if you had room in that palace of yours for my vinyl collection.” Mose had a stellar collection of vintage vinyl, and a sweet turntable to play it on.
    “Your vinyl? No way,” Jonah said. “That is not what you get rid of. If you’re short on room, put your bed on the curb.”
    “I don’t play them much anymore,” Mose said. “Can you at least come have a look, maybe pick out some tunes?”
    “Sure,” Jonah said. “If you want. We’ll call it a loan.”
    “How about tonight, right after the gig?” Mose persisted. Adopting a throaty, seductive voice, he added, “Wanna come to my place and listen to some records?”
    “Tonight?” Jonah hesitated. Mose always flirted with him shamelessly, but there was a desperate undercurrent in his voice that hadn’t been there before.
    “Don’t you think you’ll be tired, after the show?” Alison said, over Jonah’s shoulder. Jonah jumped. He’d forgotten she was there. “Who knows how late it’ll go.”
    “Please,” Mose said, looking Jonah in the eyes.
    “Sure,” Jonah said. “After the gig.”
    “You good, Mose?” Natalie put a hand on his shoulder and leaned down to look into his face.
    “Me?” He grinned wickedly. “I’m always good.”
    Natalie chewed her lower lip. She wasn’t buying it.
    “I’ll start setting up,” Jonah said.
    Music was blasting from the overhead speakers and the dance floor was crowded an hour before the official showtime. For Club Catastrophe, Teen Night was an add-on, a way to bring in customers on slow nights. They’d filled the rear of the room with billiards tables, dartboards, and vintage pinball machines to give younger patrons something to do.
    As soon as Jonah appeared onstage to set up, a faint cheer went up. Fault Tolerant had a following around town. They even sometimes opened for national touring bands that Gabriel booked into the Keep.
    Scanning the crowd, Jonah saw some familiar faces. Being walking distance from school, the club was a popular hangout for