Arthur was about to intervene—regardless of the lie they were attempting to pull off, David was still a child, and his comfort was of the utmost importance—but Lucy got there first. He held out his hand, wiggling his digits. David hesitated only a moment before closing his hairy fingers around Lucy’s. “He’s great,” Lucy said. “I wouldn’t take you to see someone mean, unless we were getting revenge.”
David nodded, looking relieved. “Okay. Thanks. Still trying to get used to all of this.”
“And,” Lucy said, “I told J-Bone that we’d come and visit today, and he promised to set the air conditioning as cold as it will go so you don’t get too hot.”
“Why?” David asked.
Lucy rolled his eyes. “Because I want you to listen to dead-people music with me, duh. Oh, and one other thing: when we go in, we need to say ‘righteous’ a lot. That’s what J-Bone does, and he knows everything that’s cool.”
“He doesn’t know me,” David said nervously. “So he doesn’t know everything cool.”
Lucy gaped at him. “That … that meant two things! Holy crap, where have you been all my life? Come on, I can’t wait for J-Bone to meet you. It’s gonna be righteous.” He tugged David down the sidewalk toward the door.
“How odd,” Miss Marblemaw said.
“What is?” Arthur asked, glancing back over his shoulder at her.
“That an adult like David would be so concerned with meeting someone new. One might even say he acted … childlike.”
“Yes,” Arthur said. “I suppose that’s what happens when you’ve lived your entire life being told you’re a monster. Strange how that works. Trauma, as you’re hopefully aware, manifests itself in different ways—some big, some small—and can extend across a lifetime. The fact that you’re trivializing it says more about you than it does about him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a desire to hear some dead-people music.”
He felt her gaze boring into his back.
“Far out!” J-Bone said, suitably impressed at the sight of David’s retractable claws. “Like, knives on demand. Bet you never have to worry about finding something to cut your bagels. Talk about a blessed life.”
Lucy and David stood in front of J-Bone, a tall and lanky fellow who grinned down at them as he leaned against the counter. For reasons known only to him, J-Bone wore a paisley scarf over a red robe with golden tassels, his long gray-and-black hair pulled back into a braid that rested on his left shoulder. Pink plastic sunglasses sat atop his head, one of the lenses missing.
When Arthur entered the shop, J-Bone lifted the bottom of his robe to reveal orange socks with little red flames on them. “Big Bird!” he cried. “Check out my feet gloves. Thought you’d get a kick out of them.”
“I do,” Arthur said. He extended his leg, placing his foot next to J-Bone’s to show off his purple socks adorned with tiny black records.
“Sock bros!” J-Bone cheered, pulling Arthur into a back-slapping hug that Arthur returned in kind. He was about to pull away when J-Bone stiffened as the door opened, the bell overhead tinkling. “Who’s the square?” he whispered as he stepped back.
“That’s Miss Marblemaw,” Lucy said. “She’s here to make sure Arthur and Linus aren’t sacrificing us in a blood ritual. She works for the government.”
“That right?” J-Bone said, scratching his jaw. “She got a warrant?”
“A warrant?” she asked. “Why would I need a warrant?”
“Uh, no reason,” J-Bone said, eyes darting side to side. “If you happen to see certain … glassware for sale, it’s for tobacco and nothing else.” As if he thought he was invisible, he reached back and grabbed a pungent glass pipe, shoving it in his pocket.
“Yes,” Miss Marblemaw said. “By your appearance alone, I’d have thought the same thing.”
“What’s that for?” David whispered to Lucy.
“Grass,” Lucy said. “Linus said J-Bone likes lawns.”
“Oh. That … makes sense. I think?”
“Hey, little devil dude,” J-Bone said, bending over, hands on his knees. “You’ll never guess what I got in.”
Lucy’s eyes widened as he began to bounce on the tips of his toes. “You didn’t.”
“Sure did,” J-Bone said. “Ella Fitzgerald. Billie Holiday. Live at the Newport Jazz Festival.”
“No. Way. The one where Ella did ‘Air Mail’ and—”
“Gave a scat performance to end all scat performances? That would be the one.”
Lucy threw up his arms. “Yes! Yes. Finally! You know, anytime I want to wipe out the entire universe, I remember that humans made music and then I think that maybe, just maybe, you weirdos have something to offer after all.”
“Gnarly,” J-Bone said. “I’m totally down for saving the universe through music. Like, there you are, this little bundle of rockin’ chaos, and then there’s me, the savior of all mankind. Take that, Dad!”
“Yeah,” David said. “Take that, J-Bone’s dad!”
“I like the cut of your jib, hairy dude with knife hands,” J-Bone said. “To the record player!”
“To the record player!” Lucy cheered, adopting J-Bone’s gait, a sort of slide-n-sizzle, more dancing than walking. David attempted admirably to do the same, but ended up skipping instead, following J-Bone and Lucy to the left wall, where three record players had been set up for patrons to listen to music while they shopped. Going to the cabinet underneath the middle record player, J-Bone pulled out a gold-and-brown sleeve, Ella and Billie in profile on either side. “Some other killer jams on here,” J-Bone said as he pulled the record out. “Ella covering the Gershwins, Duke Ellington. Billie’s got Herbie Nichols on the piano for ‘Lady Sings the Blues,’ and it’s so cool, it’s like ice.”
“Like me,” David said.
J-Bone blinked. Then, “Hell yeah, little hairy dude with knife hands. Exactly like you. In fact, you might even be cooler than that. You know, being a yeti and all. Fun fact! Thought I met a yeti once, but it turned out to be a hairy footstool. To be fair, I was extremely high on—”
Arthur cleared his throat pointedly.
“—life and all it has to offer,” J-Bone said easily. “So it was an honest mistake.”
“Yeah, it happens,” David said. “I mean, that’s righteous.”