Chapter 1 The Comedown
Turning Tides by A.S. Cayman
“Titan, you’re making yourself suffer needlessly. You know you need to taper.”
The words echoed down the hall. The response that followed was so low it was indiscernible from the den.
“The girl from Bluesky I told you about is here to audition,” Daniel explained.
There was shuffling, the click of a light switch, then the door closed. A moment later, Daniel returned. He settled back into the armchair and let out a sigh.
“He’s a good guy once you get to know him. Stubborn as hell, though, glutton for punishment, too. But we love him all the same.” He leaned forward. “So, what was your old band like?”
Augustine interlaced their fingers and looked away, trying to think of how to answer the question without implicating themselves.
Thankfully, the door opening once more took Daniel’s attention.
A tall, slender figure emerged, dressed entirely in black; jeans, a T-shirt, and mirrored sunglasses that made his expression impossible to read. Still, the way he carried himself suggested fragility.
“Augustine, this is Titan. Titan, Augustine,” Daniel said as the sulking figure entered the room.
“Nice to meet you,” Titan said in a level, almost robotic voice. His head hung down as if he were trying to hide his face.
This was the band’s frontman?
“Thank you for the invitation to audition. I was really excited when I got the DM. I almost didn’t believe it was real until the manager sent me the NDA,” Augustine replied.
They stood, offering a hand, but Titan neither took it nor acknowledged it.
Instead, he turned and folded into the sofa, sinking into an uncomfortable looking posture.
Daniel reached out his own hand instead, and Augustine shook it with relief.
“Apologies for the informal setup, and thank you for your flexibility,” Daniel said.
“Normally the label would run auditions like this, but after everything, we wanted to keep this in-house. Our guitar and bass players are still in Europe because their flight got delayed, so we’ll be recording this session for them, if it’s alright with you.
We’ll send them the footage so we can make a decision. ”
“That’s fine by me,” Augustine confirmed. “I’ve been following the band for a while, and I’ve really been looking forward to meeting everyone.”
Though Augustine didn’t know the guitar player or bassist, they also hadn’t known the former keyboardist—who they would be replacing if the audition went well.
“I know it’s unconventional, but with Neon Moon coming up, we need to get someone in quickly to start rehearsing. We tried our damnedest, but we can’t get out of the festival contract, so we have to play. And if we’re going to play, we need to play well,” Daniel said.
“Of course,” Augustine replied. They noticed Titan hadn’t even looked in their direction since sitting down.
Was Titan really so disinterested that he couldn’t be bothered to shake their hand?
Augustine had been studying Current Circuit’s work.
They had watched dozens of videos of their live performances where Titan seemed charismatic, possessing great chemistry with both the crowd and his bandmates.
At that moment, though, Augustine didn’t see anything that remotely resembled the stage personality from the videos.
“Good,” Daniel said, rising to his feet. “Let’s get started then, shall we?”
He led the way down the back steps to the studio, a dark wood geometric structure overlooking the rolling hills of a neighboring apple orchard.
Inside, Augustine was shown to a keyboard, standing tall on an ornate red-and-tan rug.
“So this is where the magic happens,” Daniel said, gesturing to the rehearsal space.
It was bigger than any Augustine had been in but still felt intimate.
The birch slats of the accent wall extended, wrapping around the ceiling.
On it were racks of gleaming instruments.
Everything was state of the art, sleek, but the warm colors and soft lighting made it feel cozy.
“It’s a bit of an upgrade from our starter—the basement of Eve’s grandparents’ house. Although we did line the walls with egg cartons to dampen the sound. We thought we were so clever, didn’t we?” Daniel asked.
Titan took a long inhale through his nose before nodding. “Yes. Those days were fun.”
Titan and Daniel sat down at the soundboard, familiar as pilots preparing for flight. Daniel opened his laptop and pointed the camera towards Augustine.
“Let’s start with a simple sight-read. Play through this.” Daniel’s voice was steady and professional. He handed a sheet to Augustine—a chart for “Amethyst,” one of the band’s earliest songs.
Augustine took the paper, conscious of their nervous energy.
They tried not to show the emerging tremors that threatened to give them away.
They’d been practicing the Current Circuit discography for weeks, but performing for the creators of the work was different.
Still, there was something exciting about the challenge.
To Augustine, the piano had always been a constant.
It wouldn’t fail them now. They steadied themselves and set their fingers on the keys.
Daniel pressed record.
The chords came surely, each measure flowing into the next. Augustine was cautious, keeping their eyes on both the page and the keys, but the music carried them forward.
When the final note finished, Daniel’s voice filled the space again. “Nicely done. That was solid work. Do you have another piece prepared?”
Augustine could have played any track from memory, knowing all their albums inside and out, but curiosity tugged at them. This was a chance to make a statement. They decided to take a risk.
“You haven’t said much,” they stated, looking at Titan. “Is there something you’d like to hear?”
For the first time, Titan looked at Augustine squarely. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “Do you compose? Could you play something original?”
Augustine thought of Eve, the late keyboardist whose name appeared in most of the songwriting credits. They began to suspect that their position could extend beyond filling a spot at Neon Moon. Perhaps it was about carrying on a legacy, helping to define a path of continuation, a new sound.
“I do,” they answered simply.
Their fingers returned to the keys, and a melody bloomed.
It began tentatively, then built with confidence, energy, passion.
Augustine poured themselves into the performance, disappearing into the music.
Everything else fell away, the nerves, the watchful eyes.
This was theirs. It was just them and the keys as if the audition no longer mattered, and the only approval they needed was their own.
And yet, anyone watching could see it, too. Augustine had something undeniable.
When the song ended, their focus flicked to Titan, then to Daniel, whose eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape. Both men rose to their feet—an involuntary standing ovation.
Then, just as quickly, Titan fled the room. He moved faster than Augustine thought he was capable of. The door slammed on his way out, piercing the silence. What just happened?
“Well, okay,” Daniel said, turning back to Augustine. “That was brilliant. Really. Thank you for your time.”
“That’s it?” Augustine asked, shocked that it was over so quickly.
“A bit of a rush job, but I think we got everything we needed. We’ve seen your videos. We know you’re more than capable. It’s just a matter of chemistry at this point,” he said.
Of course they weren’t a good fit. They were too bold too soon. They should have just stuck to the script, played it safe. It was foolish of them to get their hopes up. This was a waste of time.
“Oh. I wish you well on your search then.” Augustine rose and started for the door, feeling their cheeks flush with frustration.
Just as they were about to follow Titan’s path, Daniel spoke up.
“I didn’t mean to sound like I was counting you out,” he said quickly. “I just mean, it goes both ways. We didn’t exactly put forth the best foot today. Sorry about that.”
Augustine wasn’t expecting an apology. They understood messy artist personalities and band dynamics. And yet, there was something so alluring about Current Circuit. Even after Titan’s reaction, they still wanted in.
For them, playing music alone was fulfilling, but they wanted to know what it was like to be part of something.
They’d never been in a group before. Augustine wanted to jam, to riff, to harmonize with someone.
To be in a space with others where they could teach and learn.
To find a home for their sound somewhere they could grow creatively, experiment, and be themselves.
They wanted it to be here, with Current Circuit.
Because, despite its flaws, it was something special.
“It’s okay,” Augustine said as their scowl softened into something more sly. “I just usually associate people running away with not liking my performance.”
* * * *
Chapter 2: Turning Tides
Augustine heard the melody from the hall. It was a somber tune in 6/8 time, its minor modulations swelled and receded like breath. The pedal held the melancholy, while the harmonies overlapped like crashing waves.
The tall windows were cracked slightly, letting crisp autumn air into the parlor. Titan didn’t notice Augustine approaching. He was focused on the song, restarting the measure each time he faltered. When he paused to write on his sheet music, Augustine took the opportunity to join him on the bench.
Back to the keys, Augustine faced the window overlooking the orchard that stretched for acres. The sun’s angle bathed everything in amber.
“It’s called golden hour,” Titan said, still playing.
“Your song?” Augustine asked.
“No, I mean the light.”
“What’s your song called?”
Titan kept his eyes on the keys. “‘Turning Tides.’”