Chapter 11

Ashley was right. Deirdre had talent. Or potential, at least. Phyllis considered. If Roxy had been the Misfits' sole guitarist, then the girl rocking it on stage would be out of the running. Oh, she was good, but if this was her best, then she wasn't nearly good enough. But it wasn't as though Phyllis didn't play herself. Sure, she'd played rhythm to Roxy's lead, but she'd let Eric talk her into that when he'd signed the band.

"You don't want to spread yourself too thin. If you're the main vocalist, why not let Roxy take lead guitar?"

She'd protested initially, not wanting to share the spotlight with anyone, even a fellow band member. Eric, though, had noticed early on that while she had the spirit, the talent, and the simmering ambition to do both, she hadn't had the willingness to commit to extended rehearsal time. Jamming with the band was fun. Putting in extra hours and training on her own time was work. Worse. It was boring work. She'd lasted less than a week before she'd backed down and admitted that Eric had a point, though she'd played the altruist and sweetly told Roxy that she was going to give her a chance to shine—if she could hack it. And Roxy had. The girl might not have been able to read sheet music—or much of anything else back then—but she'd had an ear that would have turned Phyllis's hair green with envy if she hadn't already been dying it that way…

"Well?" Ashley asked eagerly, breaking into her thoughts, as Deirdre finished her song, "what do you think?"

Phyllis hesitated. "It's a possibility," she allowed. "But don't say anything to her yet. I need to make a couple of phone calls."

Stormer wasn't just the band's keytarist. She also wrote and arranged their songs. If there was a way to rearrange the guitar parts so that she could take over more if Deirdre wasn't up for it… Phyllis rubbed her forehead. She really didn't have time to go scouting nightclubs or hold auditions. Deirdre was good. Maybe not great, but maybe just good enough. Good enough to make me look better, she thought, as a hint of her old attitude flared up but almost immediately settled down again. "I'll let you know, kid." She rose to her feet and exhaled. "C'mon. Let's check if Jerrica's free yet."

"You okay?" Stormer asked, resting a hand on Kimber's shoulder. "You've been quiet all day."

Kimber covered her bandmate's hand with her own. "Yeah, I guess. Being away from Jerrica… being away from the States for this long… It's just, I've felt so much… freer. To be who I am." She squeezed Stormer's hand. "To be who we are."

"We've still had to be discreet," Stormer pointed out. "Even here. We may be able to pick this up without needing a brown paper bag," she said, digging a copy of Diva out of her suitcase, "but then there are still plenty of people who want to keep us in the closet and then set fire to it. Being in another country might feel like we don't have to be as careful, but if the press were to find out…"

"I don't think most of them would care," Kimber said. "We're not that big."

"Yet," Stormer smiled. "But we're getting there. The benefit will probably help."

"True."

Stormer sighed. "You're worried about how Jerrica would react if she knew."

"I…" Kimber shook her head. "I'm worried about how she might react. I keep picturing telling her in my head and sometimes she's fine with it and sometimes she's… not. Anyway," she sighed, "it's not like she's never kept secrets from people she loves. Or loved."

Stormer blinked. "Should I ask?"

Kimber smiled. "Not yet. Maybe someday. Which," she heaved a sigh, "is probably, coincidentally, the answer to the question of if I'm going to tell her about us." She hesitated. "Did you tell Craig?"

"About us?" Stormer shook her head. "I thought that should be something we did together. But he's known about me since we were kids. How about you? You tell Aja? Or any of the others?"

Kimber looked down. "Would you believe that until we got together, I didn't know? I like guys, too. That made it easier," she admitted. "Almost married one, if you remember—"

"Proves nothing," Stormer deadpanned.

"Proves there was a time when I was ready to do anything to get away from Jerrica, even if I knew it was a big mistake." She winced. "Hell of a thing to do to Jeff. I know that now. I had feelings for him; strong ones. Maybe I did love him. I know I thought I did. But there's falling in love with a person and there's falling in love with the idea of being in love. Now," she said, squeezing Stormer's hand gently, "I know the difference." She shook her head. "No, I haven't told any of the other Holograms. Not yet."

"Maybe someday?" Stormer asked.

Kimber smiled. "Someday. No maybe about it."

Deirdre's mouth gaped open. "You want me to perform with the Misfits," she repeated, scarcely believing her ears.

Phyllis nodded. "That's about the size of it. I can have the agreement drawn up this; you can show it to whoever you want. There's no money, but you'll be seen. If you want to go pro after this, you'll have a leg up. And if you don't, it'll be something you can look back on."

"I… I…" She hesitated. "Is it okay if I take a couple of days to think about it?"

"Not longer," Phyllis warned. "If you say no, I've got to keep looking and I want to make sure we've got someone slotted before we start rehearsing."

"Got it," Deirdre nodded. "And thanks." She gave the two women a quick smile, before she left the room at a run.

Phyllis turned to Ashley. "That's generous of you, I gotta say," she remarked.

"Why?" Ashley laughed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, if she's joining with us, she probably won't have time for your Starlight group, right?"

Ashley blinked. "B-but I heard that Kimber and Aja are going to be performing with their new band for some numbers and with Jem for others."

"Yeah, Stormer too," Phyllis nodded. "But we're seasoned pros. Deirdre's good, but it's going to take some work to get her ready to keep up with us. She have a day job?"

"Yeah," Ashley nodded back. "She shelves books at her college library."

"She's a student, too," Phyllis said.

"Well, the benefit won't be until summer."

"Rehearsals will probably start right in the middle of finals. Is she taking summer classes, too?"

"I… don't know," Ashley admitted.

Phyllis sighed. "Well, I'll make sure she does before she signs the agreement. Honestly, kid? I've done it all: rocker, student, social worker… Each one's tough on its own. Combine any two and it's about three times harder. Luckily, nobody's got to do all three. Anyway, if she's not taking summer classes, it'll be easier. If she is, we'll try to work around them. But if you think she's going to have time to jam with two bands, plus prep for finals, plus probably hold down a part-time job? Something's gotta give and it's probably going to be the amateur band. Up to her, but if you do the math, there's really only one decent solution. Tell me I'm wrong."

Ashley shook her head. "You're not." She sighed. "Now I'm wishing I'd never talked her into holding auditions. There are going to be some disappointed girls around here if she says yes." She smiled sadly. "But seeing as I practically threw you at her, the last thing I want to do is make her feel guilty if she does."

Jerrica's eyebrows were climbing higher, as Phyllis updated her on the situation. "It's too bad about Roxy," she said finally. "I thought she was in a better spot, after you guys disbanded."

"She was," Phyllis sighed. "But unlike me, she didn't have a bunch of accountants helping her draw up a budget she could live with. Might take a while to blow that much cash, but," she sighed, "I burned through more. It just happened to be Daddy's."

"I didn't mean to bring up old memories," Jerrica said.

"You didn't. That was all me."

"Are things okay with her daughter?" she asked. "If you need some time to yourself, I know a couple of my older girls babysit. I can ask."

Phyllis shook her head. "Hana May's fine," she said, a bit of warmth stealing into her voice. "Once we get into rehearsals, I might need to take you up on that, but for now, I'm pretty good." She laughed. "Seven years ago, would you have pictured us having this conversation?"

"Not in a million years," Jerrica said with fervor and Phyllis laughed.

"So," Phyllis said, "no objections if Deirdre wants to jam with us?"

"Even if I had any, she's old enough to decide for herself," Jerrica said firmly. "What's the situation with Jetta?"

"Riot doesn't see any issues with her visa. Two of her band members, apparently, have some sort of criminal record. He told me it doesn't look serious enough to keep them out of the country, but it means more paperwork." She rolled her eyes. "Glad I don't have to deal with it."

"But he's keeping you in the loop?"

"Whether I want him to or not." She noted the look on Jerrica's face. "Fine, yes, I know I need to know this stuff. I just wish I could go to sleep and wake up and it would all be taken care of! But," she sobered, "since I know it won't be, I guess I better keep up with what's going on." She shook her head. "If this is what being a grown-up means, it stinks."

"Sometimes," Jerrica admitted and Phyllis snorted.

"Guess you'll be seeing more of me for the next little while," she said. "Hey, how's Emma doing?"

Jerrica smiled. "I think she's managing okay. Do you need to talk to her?"

"Not tonight. See ya."

When Emma entered the common room the following afternoon, the buzz of conversation greeted her, though not one of the dozen or so girls looked up. Emma didn't recognize all of them; either Starlight House had just taken in a bunch more girls, or at least four of them were from the neighborhood.

Emma winced. Crowds could go a few ways, in her experience: they might just ignore her and let her do her own thing. They might ignore her, even if she tried to strike up a conversation. They might make her the focus of their conversation… This was a mistake. She was going to turn right around and head back to her room.

"Just who does she think she is?" an angry voice rang out above the others and Emma froze. Great. Now they were going to ask her if she thought she was too good to associate with them. She just couldn't win.

"She thinks she's good enough to perform with the Misfits," another voice replied.

"Weren't they that group that always came second-best to Jem and the Holograms?" someone asked derisively.

"Yeah, well they weren't hiring and I guess the Misfits gotta take what they can get."

Emma felt herself relax. They weren't talking about her, after all. Her eyes darted around the room and caught Joellen's when the older girl looked up. Joellen smiled and waved her over. "Hey."

"Hey," Emma repeated. "What's going on?"

Joellen shook her head. "Turns out it's good you didn't audition; it doesn't look like the Starlights are going to perform after all."

"Oh," Emma said. She wasn't really surprised. The benefit sounded like it was for professional musicians, and she didn't think a few middle- and high-schoolers were really likely to be up there.

"Yeah, it's all Deirdre's fault," a girl a couple of years older than Emma interrupted.

"I don't know if I'd say it's her fault," Joellen said. "She got tapped to play with the Misfits, since their lead guitarist can't make it. This could be her big chance."

"Right," the other girl scoffed. "And any one of the Holograms would've left their band in the dust if a shot like this came their way, I'm sure. How can she be so selfish?"

"Actually," Joellen said firmly, "Shana did. That's why Raya joined."

"That's different," the other girl said unconvincingly. "Besides, she came back."

"And maybe Deirdre will, too."

"Not a chance."

Emma's mouth felt dry, but she heard her own voice saying hesitantly, "Does… does anyone else here play guitar? Or does someone have to?" Suddenly every eye in the room seemed to be trained on her, just like she'd been dreading. She took another breath. "When it's a school play, there's usually a piano, but not a guitar and somehow, it's all okay."

"Rock bands need guitars," another girl said, but she sounded uncertain.

"Who says?"

"Maybe we could find someone to replace Deirdre," someone else suggested.

"Hey, if the Misfits can replace their guitarist…"

"And if we can't find anyone, maybe all we need is someone on keyboard. Julie plays!"

The buzz of conversation began again, but with a markedly different vibe. Joellen squeezed Emma's arm. "Good thinking," she said with a friendly grin. "Now, if someone would only write another song to get rid of that earworm I can't get out of my head…"

Emma felt her hands starting to sweat. "I-I-I…" Time seemed to slow down to a crawl around her. "I'll think about it," she said finally. "Okay?"

Joellen beamed. "Sure."

"I don't understand," Wendy said, when John explained. "This girl is going to come here and I need to convince her that magic is real?"

"Real," John said, "and dangerous. It's hardly as though I'm asking you to lie, is it?"

Wendy shook her head. "No, but… why?"

"It's what Pan wants," John told her. "And Michael's life depends on it."

Wendy frowned. "He used me the same way, didn't he? Each time he sent you out into this world, he was dangling me as bait to keep you in line."

John raised his eyeglasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. "He hasn't held onto his power for this long without knowing the right tricks. Questioning him has consequences. If you're lucky, you're the one who faces them, rather than the person he's keeping back for… insurance."

Wendy pressed her lips together firmly and nodded. "What must I do? I can't introduce myself and then tell her, 'Oh, you should know: magic is real, and it's a nasty business, so steer clear'. They'd lock me in Bedlam."

"That sort of doesn't happen nearly as often as you'd think anymore," John told her seriously. "Not if you're no danger to yourself or anyone else. Now, if you were to try to leap off the roof and told the person stopping you it was because you'd copped a handful of pixie dust and could fly, that'd be a different matter, of course."

"Rather," Wendy agreed. "But how am I to steer the conversation in the right direction?"

John shrugged. "For now? I shouldn't worry. She'll call on you sometime next week. I've told her you're not used to Los Angeles and you're quite nervous about going out of doors."

"That much is true," Wendy muttered.

"I know," John's smile was sympathetic. "She's going to take you about and show you the sights; not to mention the route you'll need to take to get to school or the mall."

"In a motorbus?" Wendy asked, perking up slightly. "I've never been on one of those."

"You'd never used a computer until a few days ago either," John pointed out. "Can't say I saw you get this excited about it."

Wendy smiled. "But John, I'd always wanted to go in a motorbus, even in London. I can't say I ever had any desire to use a computer. Besides," she said, "I do believe a motorbus is a great deal easier to understand."

John chuckled. "Well, be that as it may, I'm sure that at some point, you'll find a way to bring magic into the conversation. When you do, be certain to stress the danger." His gaze was serious. "Just as Baelfire tried to do for you, all those years ago."

Wendy's smile froze and then dropped away entirely. "Yes. Of course."

"She wasn't wrong," Techrat rasped in Phyllis's ear several nights later. "I found the newspaper article on microfiche; newborn girl was found by a seven-year-old boy in Maine in October 1983. Both taken into foster care. Parents never found."

"Both," Phyllis repeated. "What happened to the boy?"

"He gave his name as 'Pinocchio,'" Techrat chuckled. "They never got another one out of him, but the boy wandered into a diner in the middle of nowhere. A waitress called social services, and when they got there, the kid was sitting in booth having breakfast. The social worker entered his name in the records as August Booth—when he was asked his date of birth, that was what he gave: no day, no year."

"Better than Pinocchio," Phyllis snorted. "But not by much."

"Agreed. He insisted the girl's name was Emma."

"Brother and sister?" Phyllis asked.

"Nobody did DNA testing, but the boy denied it and blood tests showed they came from different parents." There was a pause.

"Techrat? Still there?"

"Yeah," the raspy voice replied. "Interesting…"

"What?"

"Both children have rare blood types. Different ones. In Emma's case, there's an antigen present that's only been found in about a dozen cases worldwide. August's seems to be unique."

Phyllis shrugged. "Interesting, but not relevant. Science journals aren't exactly my favorite sort of reading material. Out of curiosity, though, got an address for this guy? It's a longshot, but maybe he remembers more than what's in the report you're looking at."

"Sorry," Techrat said. "Two months after he was placed in the System, he and three other kids ran away from the foster home where he and Emma had been sent. Over the next eleven years, two of the others surfaced, but nobody ever found a trace of him."

"How hard did they look?"

"Not in the reports," Techrat sniffed. "But a kid with no family, no records… He didn't leave much of a trail to start with."

"Lovely. That all you got?"

"No," Techrat said slowly. "It's not."

Phyllis waited. "You done milking the suspense, yet?" she asked after a minute of silence that felt far longer on the phone.

Techrat coughed. "Believe it or not, I wasn't trying to. The diner where those kids were picked up? About a week after that, another kid showed up at that truck stop. He was babbling on about a town that's not on any map and a missing father. His uncle turned up to claim him and search parties combed the area looking for the him, but to this day he's never been found. It's forest and woodland up there. People get can get lost easy enough, sure. All the same, that's plenty weird for a few square miles of Maine wilderness, and your little foster girl? Looks like she was found right at the middle of it."

A/N: So, you ever write a story thinking it's going one way and then the characters had other ideas? Yeah, same here. I thought this was going to be genfic. I really did. But somehow, Kimber and Stormer wanted to take this in another direction and here we are.