Ari realized immediately that during this exchange, she’d lost her guide. She ran into the room filled with thrashing sound and slamming bodies, thinking she should be able to spot him, that he would tower above the rest of the crowd, but as soon as Ari’s eyes landed on the singer, she forgot why she was there, who she was looking for.

The singer was beautiful. Dressed in torn black leggings, an oversized white button down shirt, and a strand of pearls that contrasted with the big black boots that she stomped against the stage. Her hair black as midnight hung to her shoulder on the right side and was shaved to the scalp on the left. She swung it around wildly as she sang. Her voice was a lullaby, it was a wolf howl. It matched the jackhammer music and yet soared above it. Only snippets of the lyrics were audible. Something about purple flowers, red lips, silver teeth, grasping hands, and the choices made at the end of a long road. They were enough. They were everything.

Ari pushed her way through the throng of slamming bodies to get to the front of the stage, so she could look the singer right in the eyes. The singer gave her gaze to no one though, locking it on the hot yellow light that hung above her head as she finished her last song. Ari looked instead at her throat. There was a tattoo there, a black one that snaked up from her back. A hand. One that looked threatening, ready to pull the singer down and silence her, but as the singer tilted her head back to scream, she broke free. She stood there, throat pointed at the sky, or rather, the grimy ceiling of the club as the crowd shouted, clapped, and stomped.

When she returned the microphone to its stand, the spell was broken for everyone else. They trudged across the sticky floor in search of more beer or a cigarette. Ari remained transfixed. She watched the singer pack up with her band. Finally, she turned and Ari caught her eye and found her own voice.

“You were…amazing.” The word was inadequate. She stumbled around trying to find more. “You were the best thing—”

“Thank you,” the singer interrupted. Clipped, almost cold. “That’s not why you’re here, though.”

The singer was staring at the “X” on Ari’s hand. Ari couldn’t remember how that had gotten there or how she had gotten there, what she wanted or what the singer meant. “I…”

“Think. You’re stronger than the song, I can tell. Why did you come tonight? Who—”

“Yes! I was with…” Ari paused, not knowing how to explain her guide, but that wasn’t important. “I’m looking for my friend. Dee. I think maybe she used to come here. Do you know her?”

“Maybe,” the singer said before Ari could describe Dee. Then she asked, “How far will you go for her?”

“To the ends of the earth,” Ari answered immediately. “And if you can take me to her, I will give you anything you want.” She rummaged in her pockets, hoping to find something more valuable than a feather.

“I doubt that you’ll be capable of that,” the singer muttered, her deep brown eyes inscrutable. But before Ari could ask her what she meant, the singer cleared her throat and said, “Midnight tomorrow. I will come to you.”

***

The next day, Ari slept until the sun was high above the pines, the way Dee used to after sneaking in through the window. Ari didn’t remember how she’d gotten back to her bed, but when she awoke fully dressed with two feathers in the pocket of her leather jacket, the other strange parts of the night came back to her. She went out on to the porch where Gran was reading and sipping her homemade sun tea and asked her cautiously if she’d gone out last night.

“No,” Gran said, “I was asleep in my bed all night. Why?”

“I thought I heard you chanting,” Ari said. “About black feathers.”

“Black feathers are powerful things,” Gran mused. “There were three missing from altar this morning. I hope they’re used wisely.” She held Ari’s gaze for a moment before returning to her book and tea.

Midnight came without whispering or chanting or the sound of engines—in fact, it came without sleep. Ari was working on her part of the mural. She’d painted the tightly-packed buildings of the city, zooming in on one unassuming old house in particular, its doors open so you could see the stage. Ari’s brush hovered in the space where the singer would go, itching to paint her. But Dee does the people and Dee will be home soon.

The thunk of boots against the wooden floor startled Ari out of her thoughts and she whirled around. The singer stood in the place where Dee had stumbled so many nights. She was wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt, a black leather jacket, and that strand of pearls around her tattooed throat.