Thanks to everyone who read, and as always reviews are appreciated.


Roddy kind of wanted to fling a chunk of rosin at Monroe's head right now, and never mind that Monroe's reflexes had to be at least as good as his and throwing things at a Blutbad wasn't an act that lead to heath and long life for little rats anyway.

Plus there was the whole bit where Monroe wasn't anywhere near the trailer.

But even if it was tolerable for cello, this section of bowings was brutal for a violinist, and it was in the middle of a seriously tricky phrase on the fingering side too.

He put his violin down, wriggling his fingers as he tried to figure out a way to alter the phrasing that wouldn't actively clash with what he and Monroe had agreed on yesterday. It was one of the transition parts between violin and cello lead, but there just didn't seem to be a good way to bridge the two parts that didn't leave the last slur on his side sounding rushed. It looked like it should work, and if his bow was a few inches longer it might, but as things stood it just wasn't happening.

He stretched and did a quick roll of his shoulders before sighing and tucking his violin back under his chin. He'd try again, half-speed this time, and maybe that would show him something new. And if he couldn't clean it up over the weekend he'd ask after Tuesday's practice and see if Monroe either knew of a trick that he didn't or if they could come up with a better sequencing that left him something to work with. Monroe was pretty cool about that kind of thing.

And if that didn't work there was always rosin.

He hadn't quite reached the trickiest bars when a buzzing interrupted him, and he scowled as he set his violin aside again. As many times as he'd complained to Dad that he could do both a summer job that helped out with the bills and keep up with his music—Dad vehemently disagreed, but plenty of kids who weren't his spoiled, rich classmates managed just that and Roddy figured that he was at least as smart as any of them—he still didn't like having his practice sessions interrupted.

That wasn't the house phone, though, it was the cheap pay-as-you-go thing he'd picked up when he first started DJ'ing since Dad couldn't forbid what he didn't know about, and given that Roddy was already low on cash and still didn't know what was required for summer concert-wear, he wasn't going to ignore it.

He eventually found the phone in a pile of blankets, a familiar number scrolling across the screen, and he put it to his ear. "Hey."

"Hey, man," Sammy greeted. "Up for a gig tomorrow night?"

"What, where, and when?" Roddy asked. He generally liked Sammy the best of all the people he DJ'd for—if nothing else, Sammy was way better with a gimmick than any of the others and even if it meant spinning with his head in a bucket at least keeping his identity a secret had kept people from harassing him when he wanted to take a break and do some dancing himself—but it was never a good idea to agree to anything that the guy suggested without details. Preferably a lot of them. Roddy still had nightmares about that house party.

Sammy heaved a sigh. "The usual spot, the usual thing, nine o'clock. Probably nine-thirty or ten before you're on. Come on, man, it's me."

Exactly. "The usual crowd?" Roddy checked.

"Who else would show?"

That meant that it was likely to be pretty clean, too, or at least as clean as a rave ever was. Another benefit of working for Sammy over some of the other guys, he liked making money but he was way more sensible about it than most. At least usually. Different reasoning maybe, and without throwing in the need to avoid pissing off the local Grimm or worse the Grimm's Blutbad friend, but it was as much in his best interests to avoid cops looking to make drug busts as it was in Roddy's. "What's the rate?" Roddy checked.

"Two for the night. You in?"

Roddy nodded to himself. Even if he could use the suit that he already had for the summer orchestra concerts, there would be a million odd fees that would start popping up as soon as school started again. Things that his scholarship somehow didn't cover and that he hated asking Dad to pay for since he knew full well that the extra money just wasn't there. He might as well start saving up now.

Besides, he'd started laying down some new stuff earlier this summer and hadn't gotten a chance to do much with it yet. This was as good an opportunity as any. "Give me an hour or two tomorrow afternoon to work through a couple things?" he asked.

"I'll have the gear there at three, you can do what you want after that."

Knowing Sammy three would be more like five and he'd expect Roddy to babysit the equipment after that while he went out and did whatever until the party started, but Roddy was okay with that. People wouldn't start showing up until eight-thirty or so at the earliest which would give him plenty of time with the turntables. "I'll be there."

"Great." There was a click when Sammy disconnected, and Roddy tossed the phone back down onto his bed and made a mental note to tell Dad that he'd be out for a while tomorrow night. Dad wouldn't like it, but he'd long since accepted that Roddy needed more of a social life than he did.

Even if Roddy wasn't about to tell him what 'social life' mostly meant these days, especially Sarah had been shipped off to Mars or wherever her aunt's place was last spring and he hadn't heard a word from her since. And it wasn't like his quantity of other friends had increased significantly recently.

He shook himself and picked up his violin again. He'd work through this section until he had it or had confirmed that it wasn't going to happen and they needed to look at the markings again, go feed the newest batch of rats, and then maybe take a walk down to the warehouses and make sure that nothing had changed in the month or so since he'd last been there. One of the reasons that almost everything on that side of Front Street was abandoned was because despite the owners' best efforts the lower levels of the warehouses still tended to flood when the river ran high—digging out basements had been a pretty remarkably stupid idea—and the last couple weeks had been rainy.


Roddy bounced lightly in time to the music, transitioning on the beat smoothly into a new track, and when it settled just how he'd heard it in his mind he marked it up quickly. This song really belonged at the end of a set, though, not in the middle, so he was going to have to cut something else into that middle section to stretch it out and keep the whole thing from feeling awkward.

He had a selection of clips for that, though, things he'd already picked out that he liked but hadn't found a use for, and if the best he could find was one he'd have preferred to make an opener elsewhere he could always try that out later. For now it fit in pretty well here.

He backed everything up again and ran through the whole thing, and if it was still a minute or two shorter than he'd typically want a set to be, that wouldn't stop it from making a good opener for the night. He'd do a couple sets to get people moving before he took any breaks himself anyway, and having something totally new at the beginning was always good.

Breaks.

Shit.

He grabbed his pack, opening the bottom pocket, breathing a sigh of relief at the pair of unopened water bottles he found there. They'd probably been there since the last time he'd spun, but whatever, water didn't go bad, and while it usually wasn't an issue where Sammy's raves were concerned, he was very leery of drinking anything that he hadn't brought himself. A couple candy bars were one thing, but drinks were way easier to spike, and even if Wesen brain chemistry tended to play hell with most drugs targeting humans, 'play hell' wasn't the same thing as 'prevent from being affected at all.' And alcohol affected him about the same way as anyone else, although it generally took higher quantities given his metabolism. No sense being stupid.

He scanned through his next two sets—since he had something totally new first he was okay with repeating a few things immediately after, and both of those were pretty popular without being overplayed—and then brought up another of the new tracks.

This one was was more of a rough cut, he hadn't spent as much time on it as he probably should have if he was going to be playing it for a crowd in a couple hours. But whatever, he did have a couple hours, and it was probably in the worst shape of all of the new stuff so if he could get it worked out...

He'd cleaned that up to his satisfaction and was moving on to the third of his new sets when...well, it was almost more of a sense that someone was in the building than anything that he specifically heard, and he cut the music immediately and woged. There was no one around to see him right now, human or otherwise, and he his ears and nose were far sharper once he was shifted.