The voice belonged to DeShawn Carter; he was the sound technician for the concert hall, notoriously finicky but the results were always worth it. The reason for this very rehearsal was so that he could check the sound for the soloists before the big night.
“You’re such an idiot. Mine is anoperavoice. I soar over orchestras every night.”
I assumed the second voice belonged to Paolo Mariano, the tenor who was the special guest at the Christmas concert. He was originally from Austen Heights but had made a big name for himself in the opera world. I didn’t know what strings Fred had pulled to get Paolo to perform with us, but he’d been gushing about it for weeks, and we’d all been looking forward to meeting the singer today.
Fred winced and pushed up from his desk, heading out to smooth things over. I picked up my violin and followed.
Paolo was a tall fae male with close-cropped black hair and a deep tan. I might have found him good-looking had he not been staring down at DeShawn with scorn-filled eyes. He turned to Fred and I, hands on his hips. “Can you believe this man wants me to use a microphone? Amicrophone! Sacrilege.”
DeShawn folded his toned, brown arms across his chest. “It’s non-negotiable.”
“You are no artist,” Paolo sneered. “You should quit now before everyone else figures out how worthless you are.”
“Maybe I will.” DeShawn’s voice was low and tense.
Fred placed himself between the two fuming men and spread his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not questioning the power of your voice, Paolo, but there will be a thirty-five member orchestra accompanying you, and a mic will help ensure that weget the balance of sound right. You wouldn’t want to drown out Anne, would you?”
Paolo gave me a side-glance that revealed my voice being heard was the very last thing on his agenda. He picked a piece of lint off of his bright yellow sweater.
“Paolo,” Fred said, frowning. “I see you’ve met DeShawn, our sound technician, now allow me to introduce you to the woman you’ll be performing with, Anne de Bourgh.”
Paolo’s attention caught at the mention of my last name, a response I was used to. He took my hand, his well-moisturized skin even smoother than mine, and bowed over it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Anne.”
I was tempted to snub him for being so rude to DeShawn, but I could hear Mamá’s voice in my head, reminding me that a de Bourgh should be above such petty bickering.
“DeShawn is brilliant at balancing the sound,” I said quietly.
“If that’s what counts as brilliant at apopsconcert.” Paolo sneered out “pops” like it was a dirty word, but it seemed like the crisis was averted.
Half of it, at least. I turned to DeShawn. “Please don’t quit. You’re so important to this show.”
He glanced at me and the anger on his face softened for a moment, but Paolo snorted loudly and DeShawn’s expression hardened again. “I’m not quitting, but I’m done for today. I’ve set everything up so you should be able to handle it without me, Fred.”
“Don’t you want to—”
“I amdonefor today.” He pushed his way out the side door, and honestly, I couldn’t blame him.
It was times like these when I wished I had my mamá’s ability to manipulate the emotional tone of the room. While she couldn’t directly make someone feel something, she could saturate a room with a particular vibe, thus making people moreinclined to feel a certain way. Complacence was her emotion of choice, but I’d also felt her blanket a room in calm, helping ease tension. And the tension in the main rehearsal area was palpable.
Fred gave Paolo a stern look. “Don’t think you’re not replaceable, Paolo. If you disrespect my team again, I won’t hesitate to get rid of you.”
Paolo raised his eyebrows. “That would be a pretty pickle to put yourself in.”
“Not at all. I’ve got someone on speed dial who would create just as much interest as you.” Paulo didn’t look convinced, and though I schooled my features, I figured it was a bluff as well. Surely Fred wouldn’t throw me together with a new partner this close to the big night. But he continued, “This is a holiday concert, not a Paolo Mariano concert. That means I want Christmas spirit and goodwill. If you can’t bring that, you’re out.”
Paolo sniffed, then grabbed his music from the top of the piano. “I’m going to go warm up,” he said. I tracked which practice room he went to but decided not to join him until he’d had a few minutes to calm down. Before I could settle back into conversation with Fred and get more information about this blind date, a knock sounded from the back door.
Fred opened it and Cecelia flounced in to the room, her upturned nose red from the cold. Her eyes narrowed as they met mine. “Hello Anne.” She hung her coat on the rack in front of the door and made her way over to us. The tips of her pixie cut peeked out under her beanie, her blonde hair shining in the light. She wore a deep burgundy blouse with three buttons undone, sleeves rolled just past her elbows in a deliberately relaxed touch. More like a model than a practical musician, she carried her violin case slung casually over one shoulder and sashayed across the room in her stiletto ankle boots.
“Hi, Cecelia.”
She and I had been fighting over position in the orchestra since we were in grade school. She often got the best parts, but on the rare occasions that I beat her out for a violin solo, she was quick to point out that being fae gave me an unfair advantage that her witch heritage didn’t give her. I wouldn’t put it past her to hex me if she thought it would get her what she wanted.
She turned her doe eyes to Fred. “If you don’t have time to work with me individually, that’s okay. I’ve got my part down.” She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe your time would be better spent helping Anne.”
“I have no intention of working withanyof you,” Fred told her firmly. “We’re all professionals here. As I said when I added this meeting to the schedule, this is simply a sound check. I’ll call you out one by one to come to the stage and play into the mic.”
“Why you?” Cecelia asked. “I thought DeShawn was the one who wasn’t happy with the sound at rehearsal.”
