Qebhet placed her hand in his with a smile. "I'll steer you clear," she promised.
Harry exchanged glances with the others, murmured a few words too low for Qebhet to catch, then without prelude set his hands to the keys and launched into a lively, tinkling melody. The band fell in behind him: first King and Walter on the clarinet and guitar, then Alonzo on the double bass, and finally Perlie and Eli on trumpet and sax.
She wasn't sure if Much would hear it. Most people didn't, not in the way one heard physical sound. But Qebhet had long suspected that mortals could feel it when Harry's band played, feel the rhythm of the bass reverberating through the sidewalk, feel the shimmer of the brass on the air or the thrum of Harry's baritone in their bones. She'd seen people walking by, seemingly unconsciously, alter their pace in time with the music, or tap out the beat as they waited for the crossing signal. She hoped he'd feel it, too.