ago I’d ne’er seen water like this.”
“Now who’s lying?” Gray teased.
“Lyin’?”
“You had met a demon before this,” he grinned.
Shivaun laughed under her breath. “Oh. Aye. You have me there.” She paused for a sip of water from a pretty goblet. “I’m curious. Have you thought about what would happen if you become famous?”
Gray glanced away as his color began to rise.
“Blush says yes,” Lyric’s comment, though flippant, punctuated what was there for all to see. Emotion would always be betrayed by Gray’s Irish-heritage complexion.
“You’ve thought about it, but you’re embarrassed by the notion?” Shivaun asked with genuine interest.
“It’s not that. It’s that the music is my reason. I want to play. I want to create. I want people to hear. And I don’t want to get swept up in some kind of soulless machine. Like happened to so many.”
“Well said.” Lyric smiled and nodded like a proud parent.
The table’s occupants grew quiet for a couple of minutes as each retreated into their own private thoughts. Gray and Shivaun stared out the window at the movement of the water. Lyric looked around the restaurant at other diners and tried to not be irritated by the faint strains of musical pablum. He was thinking that there’s nothing worse than music that tried to be something to everyone. It ends up simply being hated equally by everybody. Ironic.
This was what he was thinking when he realized Gray was talking. To him. “What?”
“I don’t guess you know how to read the future?” Gray rolled his eyes in a charmingly self-deprecating way. “You know what I mean. Can you tell me what happens in my future? When I go back to the past?”
“No,” Lyric began. “But I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew.”
“Why?”
“Because the future is always in motion.”
Gray barked out a laugh that was followed by a fine impression of Yoda. “Ohhhhh. A Star Wars quote for me.” The light moment caused him to relax visibly. “So demons watch movies.”
“If it makes a big enough stir.”
Gray looked at the ocean then back at Lyric with a sudden grin. “Great music. Star Wars.”
Lyric returned Gray’s grin. “The best.” Pause. “Speaking of movies. Did you watch the list of movies I gave you?”
“Yeah.”
“Any surprises?”
“Ah. Yeah. They were pretty, um, tame. They didn’t even have ratings.”
“The ratings thing started later. You’re going back to a time that was just as nasty and corrupt as any. But they went to a lot of trouble to keep the worst things under wraps. That’s one of the reasons why this period ‘rocked’ the core of culture. Yeah. That was a pun. Do you see that?”
Gray nodded slowly. “You think I’m gonna make a difference?”
Straight down the west coast, the demon, Quicksilver, sat next to the patio railing at the Sunset Grill on Venice Beach. He could have worn four-hundred-thousand-dollar Choppard sunglasses if he’d wanted, but scoffed at Kardashian-like status seekers. No. For Quicksilver, a sit at Venice Beach was all about the Wayfarers.
Old school.
He smiled to himself because he knew the term ‘old’ took on a completely different meaning in demon terms.
So, there he sat, alone with a large goblet of colorfully garnished, frozen margarita, drawing doubletakes from passersby. Demons have striking good looks and sexual magnetism even when trying to be inconspicuous. Except, of course, for shapeshifting cousins who can give themselves any appearance, and energy they want.
Quicksilver was not one to object to attention; ironic for a creature whose super power was melting into his surroundings, becoming virtually invisible. Or perhaps that explained it. Peacock or a ghost. Nothing in between.
Passersby wouldn’t have to be psychoanalysts to receive that message loud and clear. The artfully placed surfer-blond highlights, yummy tan, and coral-red tee shirt all sent the message that he was okay with admiration. Add to that, casual body language that screamed arrogance and it was a recipe for first class asshole. But one of the great mysteries of life is that there are women who are attracted to that sort of walking calamity.
The cafe terrace was set back from the skate path and separated by a ribbon of grass. He caught the eye of a would-be actress wearing two tiny scraps of fabric that closely matched his coral-red tee. She walked across the grass on skates and leaned over the railing in a way that exaggerated her cleavage and made the demon glad he didn’t have to worry about her breath delivering germs to his fabulously crafted margarita.
She showed a complete set of straight, dazzling white