JAZZ PAWS

The bandleader and Zion's big sister, a white cat in a blue beret and pink cape who stays cool under any spotlight. She steers the whole set and takes the hits, and she never once lets the crowd see her sweat.

Zoe's little brother, a white cat in red headphones with an orange scarf streaming behind him and a battle-torn ear. He came up chasing his big sister's sound and still plays like he has something to prove.

Rose pink behind black wraparound shades, the kind of player who works with her back to the room. She lets the horn do the talking and never turns around to check whether it landed.

A blue tabby in a red beret and round shades, always double-timing the changes. He hears the fast part of every tune and can never quite stop himself from playing it.

Royal purple in an emerald vest and a cream porkpie, with a grin you can hear in the horn. She plays big and bright and treats every set like the whole room came out just for her.

A black cat in a top hat and gold bowtie who composes at the piano till dawn. Half the band's best tunes started as something he was humming to himself at four in the morning.

A lavender-and-baby-blue cat with a pink scarf, a white daisy, and perfect pitch. She has the gentlest voice in the band and the rare knack for settling a whole restless room right down.

A red cat in a white porkpie with a loose white tie, the band's metronome. He keeps everyone honest about the beat and has never once rushed a bar in his life.

An orange tabby in a navy flat cap and a striped scarf, quiet until he isn't, cheeks always full of storm. When he finally cuts loose the whole band leans back and lets him have the sky.

A gleaming gold session player with a sax strap, a red bandana, and white spats. She has played every room in this town and walks onto each stage like she owns the deed to it.

A plum lounge singer draped in a pink boa, a gold stud catching the light. She lives for the slow, aching numbers and will hold a note long past the point where anyone else would let it go.

The band medic, a calm grey cat in a white cape with a pink bell collar. She keeps an eye on everyone through the set and looks after the leader first whenever the night turns rough.

The fieriest cat in the band and Lumia's sister, always running hot. She burns through every set at full tilt and dares the whole room to try and keep up with her.

Lilah's calmer sister, teal-blue and cool as the tide. Where Lilah runs hot, Lumia keeps her head, and she is the one who pulls the whole band back down to level.

Zoe's oldest friend, spark-yellow in purple shades and a spiked collar, never still for a second. The two of them came up together, and she still plays like there is a live current running through her.

The band's elder statesman in a red bowtie and a charcoal fedora, and the old friend who first walked Lilah and Lumia onto the club's stage. He never leads the tune, he answers it, and he is never once in a hurry.

A slate-suited pianist who hears the beat nobody else is counting. He loves an odd time signature and will happily lose the entire room in seven just to see who can find their way back.

A heavyweight bassist in a dark vest and navy flat cap, with a temper and a walking line for days. He anchors the low end of the band and dares anyone in the room to knock him off it.

A tan-gold tabby in round shades whose alto runs faster than the changes. She pours out far more notes than the tune ever asked for and still makes every single one of them count.

A plum-purple singer in a hot-pink beanie and pearls, whose low voice can quiet a whole room. He hangs back in the haze and lets that deep, easy tone do all the work for him.

An olive-furred guitarist in a brown flat cap and crimson bandana who bends his string runs right into the swing. He plays off whatever the room throws at him and sends it straight back.

A rose-red belter in a peach-gold boa who saves the whole show for the last verse. The worse the night has been going, the bigger the note he has been holding back for the end of it.

A black-and-yellow trumpet player in a gold tie and yellow flat cap, with a serious gadget habit. He is forever tinkering with some new contraption in the corner between sets.

A purple-and-pink diva in a hot-pink cape and pearls, with three octaves and no nerves at all. She takes center stage like she was born standing on it and never once misses her cue.

A zoot-suit showman in a white top hat who never stops moving. She turns every set into a bit, and the crowd never once sees the punch line coming until it has already landed.

A grinning stride pianist in a fedora and red bowtie who plays like his two hands are twins. He can carry the bass line and the melody at the same time and make the whole thing look like a joke.

A teal keys wizard in shades and a bright stud, always chasing the next new sound. She is the one still hunched over the gear long after everyone else has packed up and gone home.

A velvet-voiced crooner in a red bowtie and white socks who makes every note sound easy. He never seems to work for any of it, and that effortless ease is the whole trick.

A forest-green organist in a flat cap and a loosened tie, steady as a church floor. He lays a stride line so solid the rest of the band could build a house on it, and most nights they do.

A cream-coated upright bassist in a straw boater and bowtie who never plays one note where two will do. Nothing rattles her: she has kept time through blackouts, brawls, and one small kitchen fire.

A dusty-mauve sax busker in wrap shades and a medallion, with the smoothest tone on the block. No club ever booked him, so he made the corner outside the club famous instead.

Eli's big sister, a copper cat in a tied head wrap with patched fur and grease on her paws. She builds every rig the band stands on, and she has never once trusted a bolt she did not tighten herself.

Maddie's little brother, steel-blue under aviator goggles with a scarf streaming behind him. He test-flies everything his sister builds, and he has never met a rig he would not push a little past the line she drew for it.

A solid-gold headliner in a scarlet boa and white spats who only plays the marquee rooms. She has topped every bill in this town and carries herself exactly like it.

A sleek black star behind wraparound shades and a gold tie, all edge and silence. She says almost nothing offstage and lets the mystery of it do the rest of the work.

A platinum session ace in a silver top hat and gold monocle, with perfect time. He reads a whole room in a single glance and always seems to know exactly what is coming next.

A violet glam act wrapped in a purple boa and pink shades. She turns every show into a swirl of color and light and refuses on principle to ever play it straight.

A royal-blue dreamer with a whole night sky tucked under his starry top hat. His head is somewhere out past the rooftops even in the middle of a song, and somehow the music is better for it.

A ruby-draped showman in a gold stud and pearls who holds court from center stage. He commands the room as though it were his own parlor and expects every last eye to be on him.

A coral songbird in a teal bell collar and a white daisy, with a voice that carries three blocks. He sings loud and clear enough that the whole neighborhood knows the moment the set has started.

A crimson drummer in black headphones and a spiked collar who plays like the kit owes him money. He hits hard on the downbeat and never once lets the tempo sag.

A silver-blue night-owl in a navy beanie and pale scarf who only ever sings after midnight. He does his best work once the streetlights are the only crowd he has left.

A burnt-orange tenor in a brown fedora and green tie, with a growl in every phrase he plays. He is rough and warm in equal measure and always, always has his bandmates' backs.

A midnight-violet keyboardist in a violet beanie who prefers to play in the dark. He loves the cold, quiet numbers and the space he can leave hanging between the notes.

A sea-green vibraphonist in a coral beret and pearls whose chords ripple like rain. He brings a calm, wet-pavement, late-night mood into every room he sets foot in.

A fuchsia headliner in cat-eye glasses, a boa, and pearls, with a voice built for the back row of the biggest room in town. She starts every set on the floor and does not stop climbing until she has filled the whole sky with it.

A midnight-teal medium with pale points and a long scarf who plays to the whole room, including the parts of it nobody else can see. She talks to the city's old ghosts, and they always ask for one more song.

A crystal-pale cat in a tiara and pearls who dresses for every set like the room is a ballroom, and by the end of the night it is. She believes anything worth doing is worth doing in full sparkle.

A violet-black alley cat in a cape and a spiked collar, with a torn ear and a spool of glowing thread she never explains. She knows a trick for everything, and every trick has strings attached.

A silver crooner in a fedora and tie with a single gold star on his flank, the voice of the boulevard's smallest hours. He sings softest when the night runs latest, and the whole street leans in to hear him.

A stray kitten with little black dragon wings who followed the band home from a rooftop set and never left. He hovers off the leader's shoulder and drifts down the line as the mood takes him, snatching loose notes out of the air. Every few bars he sings a heart back into whoever is hurting most.

A beat-up camera drone the band found in a loading dock behind the club: black shell, four colored bands down its side, still flying and still filming nothing. It rides high over the line and sweeps it end to end without ever once changing speed. Every pass it drops a line onto every cat at once and tows the lot of them along under it, lit up and humming.

Nobody in the band will say where she came from. She is warm and she is gold and she is only half there: a cat from the shoulders forward, and behind that some smoke and three tails that never quite settle. She flies out ahead of the whole line and reads the street the band is about to walk into. When she goes still, a note is about to leave her.