“You mean . . . sit with Vectra?” Ed Gemmell glanced fearfully over his shoulder. “I’d rather not.”

“Me neither,” Susan whispered. “But Esther would like it.”

“Come on, she can’t be that bad . . .” McGraw said.

But Ed Gemmell and Susan gave McGraw equally grave looks. Still. Susan loved Esther, and she didn’t want to upset her. Girding her loins of tolerance, she herded the other two away from the bar.

“If you’re really so into music, why don’t you support some of the bands that are just starting out?” Vectra was saying to Esther. She took a sheaf of flyers from her bag, and when she saw Susan, Ed Gemmell, and McGraw, she handed one to each of them. Underneath the logo of the pub was the tagline: One night, thirteen must-see bands.

“Thirteen?” Susan said. “That sounds like an unfeasibly large number to fit into one pub.”

“Or one evening . . .” McGraw’s slight frown spoke of frenzied mental calculation. “Fifteen minutes per band, allowing five-minute interludes for logistical stage management.”

There was something exceptionally pleasurable in seeing the effect McGraw’s comment had on Vectra.

“Am I supposed to be impressed by your mathematical agility?”

The spite in her voice was enough for McGraw to exchange a sympathetic glance with Susan before saying, “Only if simple arithmetic is something you find impressive.”

Correction: That was exceptionally pleasurable.

There was an awkward pause into which Esther leaped with an optimistic, “I guess it’s, like, a really short festival?”

“Grooty’s got it.” Somehow, even when agreeable, Vectra managed to be obnoxious. “This is the sort of thing you’ve got to do when you’re starting out. Some of us have to take the opportunity where we can get it.”

Each of them clocked the “us” at the same time, and Esther scanned the flyer for a clue. If she asked Susan later for independent verification on whether Vectra considered Esther a close friend, there was the evidence: absolutely not.

McGraw beat the rest of them to it. “Which band is yours?”

“Rutting Corpse.” Vectra pointed to a band listed halfway down the page. “It was supposed to be Rotting Corps, but they got it wrong on the flyer, so we’re leaning into it. Kevin’s stenciled a logo of someone having sex on a gravestone onto his bass drum, and we’re all going onstage dressed as sexy zombies.”

Somehow, Susan managed to refrain from displaying her allergic reaction to the phrase “sexy zombies.” It didn’t matter how little she liked Vectra; Esther liked her, and for one night only, Susan could keep a lid on it.

“So, what are your influences?” Esther’s inquiry was too keen, and Susan watched the exact second Vectra disengaged.

“No one you’d know,” Vectra said dismissively. “Your taste is too mainstream.”