7 o'clock Monday morning found the campus confettied with dozens of Xeroxed flyers. The original had been incredibly colourful (Sera was the artist, after all), but the copy machine in the teachers' lounge only did black and white. The end result was a swirl of various shades of grey, white and black on the greyish-white staple copy paper. In elegant Merced font it said:

Silver and black eyeliner spirals sprouted from the edges of her eyelids and spilled gracefully down the sides of her face. Against the pale skin and black hair, it was definitely striking. Very nice work. Sera smiled approvingly. Her roommate was actually using a colour scheme that wasn’t 100% black. Would wonders never cease? Easy black – ‘why do you always wear black?’ ‘So I don’t have to think about what to wear in the morning’ – and elegant silver. She wore her black jeans and trademark black vest, of course. When did she ever take them off? Under that was the shirt Sera had made for her birthday last year. It had started out as a plain black tank top, but she had coiled it up and spray painted it metallic silver. The end result was a black and silver spiral reminiscent of the Milky Way. Black Docs, silver laces. A sprinkling of silver glitter Sera had thrown over her when she wasn’t looking. No makeup except for the eyeliner – she was pale enough without it and most makeup did not let her face breathe – and polish.

Mary Death looked in the mirror and smiled a genuine smile. To Hel with the anorexic models of Hollywood and the sunshine girls of teen magazines; she looked good.

“You look nice,” Sera commented from across the room. Next to Mary, she was a gypsy riot of colour. She was wrapped in a loose, tie-dyed sarong skirt and top, close to a dozen silver bracelets stacked on her slim wrists. Under her sandals, she wore rainbow-striped toe socks and anklets chiming with tiny bells. Short, red-brown hair was simply pushed back behind her ears. In San Fran, ’69, Mary thought, no one would give her a second glance. Born a few decades too late, that was Sera.

“Thanks, so do you,” Mary replied absently. Tonight’s plans were tangling her thoughts and knotting her stomach with anxiety and impatience. ~Time to go, let’s go, have to get there.~

“Sam’s waiting for us in the lobby. His roomie is coming.” Mary nodded vaguely, not quite paying attention. “He has a car.” That caught her attention. The thought of having to lug Sera’s keyboard – supposedly light weight or not – to the club was not something she had been looking forward too.

“Wonderful. I guess that’s a hint that it’s time to go?”

“Subtlety isn’t my forte, eh?”

“Nah,” she answered as they headed out. “But who needs it anyway?” Mary locked the door and they took the elevator down to the lobby. It was almost show time...

The case was a slim rectangle of lacquered black, smaller than a wallet. A rose, shiny red as a fresh cut, was set into it. Thin, steady fingers opened the case and removed one long black cigarette. The girl calmly lit up and inhaled deeply. She was going to stay calm. It would not be until she got on the stage that she would be nervous. By then, of course, it would be too late.

Mary Death quietly sat in a folding chair in the Dive’s back room and smoked her way through two clove cigarettes while going over the songs. ~First Ritual, then See, then Maidens and Fools, Music of the Night…~ The smoke coated the insides of her mouth and throat until all she could remember was the taste of ash and spice and sugared paper on her lips. She was not nervous. They would be fine. This was nothing. It was only their first show. Nothing special.

“Those things will crystallise your lungs, you know?” Sera said from across the room.

“So it’s crystallise or melt. At least this way, it smells nicer.” Sera shrugged and went back to her flute. The notes fell in a liquid silver stream to the floor. It was the harmony line from “Ritual Night,” their opening song. Lovely. Maybe this really was going to work.

A random techie, an anonymously pale figure swathed in black, ducked in. “Hey, guys, you’re on in five.” He grinned at the three. “Break a leg and all that.” The five minutes whirled away like the last days of summer as they, stretched, picked up their respective instruments and in general tried not to lose it. Mary Death looked at Sam and Sera, smiled and said the three talismanic words of rock. “Let’s do it.”

The buzzing hum of conversation in the dim club did not slacken until the lights went even further down and the back row of blue striplights went up. They outlined the three musicians, but kept the details fuzzy. In the indigo shadows, a ghostly line of flute threaded out from the stage. It wrapped around the whorls of the audience’s collective brain and spun it 180 degrees to the left. The drums kicked in next, slow and hypnotic, building up in tempo. It felt ancient and archetypal, striking a hidden chord somewhere deep in the audience. Soon, and without really realising it, their pulses matched the beat of the drum. When the first strummed guitar notes rose out over the stage, the magic really started. The acoustic notes sounded out strong and hard, hanging in the air like an echo across a canyon. Two voices, one dark crushed velvet and the other golden gravel, rose up in the chorus. “Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate-“

“Ritual Night” was one of their very first songs, adapted from Sera’s chants and Mary’s poetry. Mary opened up with it at every practice for the drums and the flute and the words; they always made their bloodstreams flow in the same beat. She doubted anyone in the audience really understood the lyrics, but that was not really the point. When they did “Ritual Night” the lines of energy between them stood out, vibrated and hummed. Magic.

“Singsong chant in darkest night, incense and candles burning bright,” the words, as familiar as an old friend, spilled out of her as Sam kept the chorus low in the background. The music flowed over her until all that was left was notes and octaves and verse. “Earth’s the one that bore us all, while Air spreads our call.” Where her fingers touched the frets and strings, where the acoustic pressed against her body, guitar and flesh seemed to meld together. One being, instrument and body. Why not? If the body is an instrument… “Enter the circle in Fire’s glow, Feel the water flow and flow. Isis, Astarte-“

When the song came to a skirling end, the first two rows of striplights came up, bathing the stage in cool, NoColour Blue light. "How are you guys doing tonight?" The singer asked, voice thick with exhilaration. The girl was a slim, pale kid with long, spiky black hair halfway to her waist. She was dressed in black Doc Martens, black jeans and a black and silver tank top under a black leather vest. It had to be incredibly hot under the lights, but she didn't seem to notice. She just grinned and let her guitar hang from the strap around her shoulders. "Welcome to the Dive. We are the Random Pagans, your entertainers for tonight. I'm going to take a moment to introduce the band, and then we'll get right back to the music. My name is MaryDeath - and yes, that is my true name, and no, my parents weren't hippies, sadly, sadly. I'll be your main singer tonight, and most of the songs you'll hear came from up here-" she tapped her forehead. "So you can direct any complaints to me. Now behind me, on the drums, is the lovely and talented Sam." The drummer was a tall, almost normal looking kid dressed in jeans and a loose, white Ren shirt. He pushed back long gingery hair out of his eyes and waved to the crowd. "Sam's been doing drums for… well, since the first trimester at least. And to my left - or is that your right? Ah well - is our ever bright and oh so musically inclined flautist/pianist/violinist and master of almost every instrument known to man. I give you - and do bring her back when you're done or Sam’ll get cranky- the marvellous Sera."

"Hey, are you guys having fun yet?" The girl asked loudly. She was a short, fragile-looking girl in a tie-dyed sarong and top. She beamed out at the club with a sunny smile.

"Of course they are. Okay, that's the band. If you like the music, check with Kinsey up at the bar; he has a couple copies of our CD on sale. So without any further ado, let's get on to the show."

With that, they launched into the rest of the first set. First up was "Make You See." Mary sang it, screamed it, whispered it, while Sera pounded out the melody line on her keyboard and Sam beat the drums into a frenzied rhythm. Gods, what an energy rush! She wanted to grab the mike and dance with it, send every limb thrashing to the music. But she had to hold on to her guitar, keep the notes flowing down and out. A quick pang shot through her - if Kris was here, she wouldn't have to - but she brushed it away. They were doing fine. Just fine.

Better than fine, she amended as they slid effortlessly into “Maidens and Wizards and Fools.”

“There once was a girl dressed in socks with toes
And what she would do, Lord only knows!
Down by the river in the pale morning light.
Living her dreams of the night.”

“Now dream a sweet dream or dream of lust
Dream forever, but dream you must
Or dream of a terror and live your dream
And dream your life away.”

“She longed for the boy dressed in denim and gold
And relished a life in the tales that he told.
Of white charging stallions and castles and jewels
And maidens and wizards and fools.
One night, the girl had a realistic dream
Her dream world was real, her real world was dream.
And down by the river, the very next day
She went and she vanished away.”

“No one knows where our girl could be
Though some people say in the mornings you’ll see
Down by the river, ‘mid castles and jewels
Are maidens and wizards and fools.
Now dream a sweet dream or dream of lust
Dream forever-“