Excerpt: A Hunter's Fire

Equine Fire had been the first, and it showed. The cover art was sophomoric in comparison to the two later ones. Fire featured the band members in various stages of dress (or undress, Aileen supposed. It would be just as appropriate.). Here, Brandon Nowicki stood without a shirt on, his bass guitar strapped across his chest. Opposite him stood Penelope Kim, one leg up on a guitar amp, her drumsticks stuck in her pitch-black hair. Fisher Lewis had his arms out like Jesus on the cross, but his guitar was slung behind him and he was wearing cowboy boots. James Adler and Gabrielle Kelley lay on the edge of the stage, their hands pressed together behind their heads. He wore a trench coat of heather grey. Her dress was ripped at the shoulder and thigh.

And then they had done Call of the Silver Eagle. It was much more fanciful and pictures of the band had been confined to the story-like liner notes that showed all five of them as an illustrated band of gypsies searching for the Holy Grail. The cover was instead an abstraction of silver script and ocean cliffs. Aileen was not the only one who had spent many hours poring over the nuances of the illustrations, looking for the pictograms that were hidden there. Supposedly it had been James’ idea. Hiding messages in plain sight. Letting only those who were worthy of the search an insight into the band’s mind.

Harbors of Memory was undoubtedly the best of all worlds. Aileen’s copy was well-loved, the corners soft and a long scratch across the back cover. The cover art was a Viking ship on rolling green waves, the pinks and purples and oranges of a sunset glowing on a distant horizon. But it was the interior art that was famous. Open it up and you got a full picture of Gabrielle Kelley clad only in scarlet ribbons. Her rich, dark hair tumbled down her bare back. Her gaze met yours with secret intimacy. The full mind-blowing color of her presence was amazing. Aileen had seen this picture on boys’ bedroom walls, in record shop windows, even tattooed on people’s bodies.

Her mother was a work of art, there could be no doubt.