A Girl's Guide to Guns and Monsters - Martin Harry Greenberg [80]
This sounded like something more drastic.
Holly shook her head. A tear bubbled up at the corner of her eye. “If it happens again, I won’t sing any more. Not in this town anyway. But this is my home. My fanbase is here. This is the heart of my music. What am I going to do, Tess?”
I gulped. What could I do other than keep my eyes and ears open? Without Scrap’s nose for magic and otherworldly critters I was psychically blind.
“I won’t sing tonight, Tess. Not if that thing is out there.” She shook her head, the hair swishing back and forth reminded me of a horse flicking flies away.
That triggered a different memory that came and fled before I could latch on and reel it in for examination.
“You can sing, and you will, Holly.”
“But . . . but.”
“Let me be your eyes and ears. Let me prowl the crowd for the first set. If I see something, or it starts happening, I’ll tell you on break. If not, I’ll come on stage and watch from behind you. I can bang a tambourine and sing on the chorus while I watch for something unusual. Once I’ve identified the culprit I can get that hunky bouncer at the door to deal with it. Just don’t sing the battle song. That builds more energy than most humans can absorb.”
Or maybe I’d try something with the pen. I had to know the creature’s true name to make it work though.
From the main floor came a rhythmic thumping of feet followed by a chant of “Hol—ly, Hol—ly, Hol-ly.”
Holly checked her locket watch—nothing on her wrists to interfere with the harp. “Show time. Wish me luck.”
“Break a leg.” Superstitious? Me?
You bet your life I am.
Holly opened her set with some low- key ballads and love songs. A little melancholy, like her mood. The crowd stirred a little but didn’t become involved. A few sang the sweet choruses with her, eyes closed, imaginations running.
I circled the room three times, weaving a maze among the tables. I waved at an acquaintance here, nodded to a half-familiar face there. No one stood out as more avid than anyone else. My eyes slid over costumes, fairy wings, and elf ears, vaguely Renaissance and medieval garb. In Portland on a Saturday night, people embraced the weird. Nothing unusual.
The next time I came near the stage I nodded to Holly. She ramped up the tempo about three notches. Her fingers flew over the harp in a happy jig.
Someone pounded on a table, adding a drum beat to the dance music. Three couples stood up and began prancing along the aisles until they reached the open pit—the area just in front of the low stage. I’d seen all three couples do much the same thing at other of Holly’s performances.
A reel followed the jig, and then another lively dance tune. Four single women and a couple of men joined the dancing. I noted more gelatin elf ears and semi-costumes, knickers and vests, peasant skirts and flowing blouses. Part of the Keep Portland Weird movement. They showed up everywhere.
Holly signaled for me to join her. I skipped up the two steps to the stage and took my post to her right and slightly behind her. Then she handed me a mike and introduced me. At least I got a round of applause from the patrons who recognized my name.
I hummed as Holly played the opening chords to “Blowing In The Wind.” We leaned our heads together and crooned, “Where are all the aliens? Gone to Roswell every one.”
We got some laughs. I scanned the crowd. A young man with long black hair and white skin the color of my pearls almost rolled on the floor with paroxysms of laughter.
It wasn’t that funny.
I kept my eye on him as Holly launched a new round of bawdy sea shanties and drinking songs. Mr. Black Hair got up to dance this time. He reared his head so that his thick tresses flew back like a mane. His hands came up, elbows bent in imitation of a four legged critter standing on his hind legs, not knowing what to do with the front ones. I couldn’t see his feet, but he stomped and made a lot of noise as if he wore heavy boots.
The image of a horse rearing and prancing in glorious celebration of freedom on the open range flicked across my memory. This was the image