Chapter 16 #2
Taylor watches them, flushed and breathless, while Abigail stays put, taking in that she isn’t crazy and she was the only one seeing the song’s full potential.
"That song is pure dynamite, girl," David goes on, "though we need to work on the arrangements," he says, looking at Abigail. "The chords you’re playing are pretty, but with the subject you’ve got, we could do something way more powerful."
Abigail comes over from the table, planner open and pen in hand.
"David’s right," she says, jotting notes as she speaks. "We also need to adjust the entrance timings. The intensity has to build gradually up to the bridge’s climax."
"And what do you think about the ending? Can we leave it like that?" Taylor asks, looking straight at her.
"Too abrupt, in my opinion," Abigail replies without blinking. "It needs a slower outro, something that leaves the audience wanting more."
"I agree," David comments.
"Okay," Taylor nods, aware that everything Abigail and David propose will only make her song better.
Over the next three hours, they work only on "Tongue of Fire." David suggests chord progressions that make the song sound rawer and more powerful. James adds bass lines that complement the Andalusian rhythm without smothering it, something that fascinates Taylor, while Lucas experiments with patterns that highlight each change in intensity, but it’s Abigail who directs the whole process—she’s the one who proposes the tweaks that keep Taylor from running out of air as she sings and at the same time lift her voice until it gives you chills.
"Again," Abigail orders.
Taylor repeats the same verse without rest until she finally finds the exact tone Abigail wants to hear, matching the moments where her voice should break, perfecting every breath.
"How does it sound?" Taylor asks in a break.
Abigail has the planner in her hands and Taylor moves to her side, leaning on the table.
She notices the top of the first page where it says "Tongue of Fire," and underneath it’s packed with notes—things Abigail has jotted down and crossed out as they’ve corrected.
Taylor decides she likes her handwriting too, even though she struggles to make out most of the phrases.
She also likes her hands, delicate and elegant as they move when Abigail points to a line with her pen, while Abigail inhales that scent Taylor gives off—that soft perfume she always wears, mixed with stage sweat—which results in an elixir Abigail is becoming addicted to.
"The line "You know I’m yours" should sound more intimate," she says, glancing at Taylor sidelong.
"Lower?" Taylor asks, trying to get a sense of what she wants.
"No. The pitch is fine, but you should sing it like you’re telling a secret, like something that shouldn’t be confessed."
Taylor looks at her and, there, with no music, nothing, very close to Abigail’s ear, she sings it.
"Like that?" she asks, staring at Abigail.
"Better," Abigail nods, feeling Taylor won’t stop provoking her, "but now the contrast with the final chorus has to be more brutal. Like you’re going from a whisper to a roar."
Taylor smiles and heads back to the stage.
And that’s how the rest of rehearsal goes, polishing every detail Abigail mentions until the song becomes something far beyond what Taylor had imagined when she wrote it in her room.
It becomes a declaration of war, a confession, a seduction, and a threat, all at the same time.
And Taylor is elated, glancing at her brother in search of a sign of approval, but Ethan hasn’t opened his mouth this rehearsal, for better or for worse, like a piece of furniture, casting a shadow over his sister’s joy.
Abigail has been watching him all afternoon, weighing whether to throw him out of the space once and for all, but she—though she wouldn’t jump for joy because she’d sooner rip out an eye—is genuinely happy for Taylor and that damn song that will be the death of her sanity, and she’s not going to give Ethan any spotlight on a day that belongs only to his sister.
"This song is going to slay at the festival," David says as he puts his guitar away at the end of rehearsal. "The crowd’s going to go crazy, girl, seriously," he adds, slapping his huge palm against Taylor’s.
"Thanks," she says, and Abigail notices she’s suddenly diminished, as if her brother’s ignoring her were affecting her more than it should.
"It will," Abigail says, coming over to the group, speaking with such certainty it’s impossible not to believe her. Taylor turns toward her. "You’ll roar on the stage and the whole crowd will adore you."
Taylor feels her heart leap into her throat.
She wants to hug Abigail, but she knows she can’t.
Still, she’s deeply grateful for this moment, for the words Abigail just gave her, even though Abigail has barely looked at her for a couple of seconds before turning her attention back to the whole group.
"Tomorrow we’ll devote the entire rehearsal to this song; we need to finish polishing it," Abigail decides. "And you, Taylor, sing it in the shower, sing it while you eat, while you walk, and while you do whatever it is you do when you’re not here. I need you to learn it at record speed, to be able to jump in mid-song without messing up or keep going if something interrupts you, but do it to yourself, mentally—we have to take care of that voice and we can’t strain it more than we should. "
"Okay, no problem," Taylor says.
"Good. Then everyone go rest. We’re done for today," Abigail says, turning to grab her things and head out.