Constance (Constance #1)(33)

Speculating which celebrities were secretly clones had become its own cottage industry. Palingenesis itself remained resolutely silent on the subject, neither confirming nor denying the identities of its clientele. It was speculated that a few desperate celebrities had taken advantage of Palingenesis’s strict nondisclosure policy to leak fake stories that they themselves were clones, hoping that the whiff of controversy might revive their flagging careers. In politics, it was a far dirtier game. Smearing opponents as clones was a tried-and-true method of discrediting rivals. Multiple conspiracy theories argued that despite the scandal in ’33, the US government still sponsored a classified clone program for key White House personnel. All the prospective candidates, from both parties, in the upcoming presidential election had signed pledges not to accept clone backups should they win in November.

The opening act came on stage and launched into their first number. They were surprisingly good, and the audience packed in tight and heads began to bob appreciatively.

“How’s the drink?” Jasper asked, almost yelling in Con’s ear to be heard.

“It’s good,” Con said, taking another small sip to placate him, and discovered it really was. But to be safe, she made herself stop there. Breakfast had been her only meal today—only meal ever, technically—and this body had never experienced alcohol before. She probably had the tolerance of a wet kitten.

Jasper said, “Anyway, can’t tell you how bummed out I was when that Weathervane show fell apart. Been trying a long time to get you back here, and we were this close. Man, it was so good to finally see you play again. Really play, I mean.”

“What do you mean, ‘finally’?” Con asked. She knew for a fact that he’d been to at least a half dozen of her shows.

“I was there that night,” he said. “I saw you.”

“Saw me? What night?”

Jasper struggled to remember the date. “Sometime after Christmas. You and Weathervane at the Chandelier? I think.”

The Chandelier had been the second gig on Kala Solomon’s list, the night of the twenty-seventh. It might be ancient history for Jasper, but it was fresh in Con’s mind.

“You were . . .” Jasper Benjamin was never at a loss for words, but he trailed off. He could be pushy and loud and irritatingly oblivious, but his saving grace had always been that, at heart, he was a fan first and a club promoter second. When he talked about music, he turned into a big kid who just loved music. “It was one of the greatest shows I ever saw. And I’ve seen them all. You were like a bomb going off that night. Place was only half full, but no one could take their eyes off of you.”

“Okay, easy, killer,” Con said, feeling a little too much like buttered bread.

“I’m serious,” Jasper said, adopting a serious voice to prove it. “No offense, but I’ve seen you a lot the last few years, sitting in with one band or another. I always got the impression that you’d rather be just about anyplace else. But something happened that night. It was like a switch had flipped. I only ever saw Awaken the Ghosts that one time you guys played here, but it was like that again. Gave me chills, girl. And then you did that new song during one of the encores.” He mimicked an explosion on either side of his head with his hands.

It surprised her that Jasper, for all his bombast, was so observant. She thought she’d done a better job masking how conflicted performing often made her feel. It made her curious to know what song she’d sung.

“Don’t know the name,” he said. “You came out with just Kala and played some new song you’d been working on. Her on bass, you on guitar. That was it. Haunting. Tried to score the audio off the board op, but alas, he wasn’t recording that night.”

Con had written so many songs in the past three years that she couldn’t begin to guess which one it had been. But the fact that she’d sung any of them was almost more stunning than the news that she’d gotten married. She didn’t play old Awaken the Ghosts songs anymore, and she definitely never, ever played her new stuff. What had changed?

“You know I only booked Weathervane for the New Year’s Eve show because of you,” Jasper said. “Seeing you really go for it? I had to have you play here.”

“And I agreed to it?”

Jasper put a hand to his chest as if he’d been mortally wounded. “Yeah, you agreed. Shocked the shit out of me, I’ll tell you that.”

“So what happened?”

“Couldn’t tell you. The band got through sound check fine. But then you kind of lost your shit. I thought that guy you were with was going to take a swing at me. Had to have Anzor here show him the way out. Then, way I heard it, your boy took you back to Virginia with him and you just never came back. Man, Kala Solomon was live ordnance when I told her it was a no-go without you.”

“I heard,” Con said, understanding now Kala’s outrage at her this morning. This husband of Con’s was growing more impressive by the moment. She’d barely finished swallowing the outlandish fairy tale about her original falling in love and getting married in the last eighteen months. Now she was supposed to believe that somewhere between December 26 (when she’d done her last refresh) and New Year’s Eve, this Romeo had completely upended her life—must have been quite the whirlwind romance. Who was this man among men?

“So what did you want to talk to old Jasper about anyway?” he asked, referring to himself in the third person because of course he did.