She looked Lyric fully in the face, studied him for a moment, and then nodded slightly. “I hurt your feelin’s.”
After a heady length of silence, watching the silky strands of her hair fight against the gale, his temper subsided. “Yes. You hurt my feelings. And my pride.”
“I’m sorry, demon. ‘Twill no’ happen often I hope.” Thinking that was sufficient, he gave a single nod of acknowledgement and took hold of her arm, preparing to return, but she said, “No’ yet. Let’s compare your feelin’s to Gray’s.”
“Gray’s? You mean, Darby’s?”
Shivaun inhaled deeply for patience. “There are a million names that would do. Why no’ let the lad choose his own name? ‘Tis a tiny concession in the big picture. Is it no’?” She paused. “’Tis no’ about bein’ right or wrong. ‘Tis about how he feels about himself. He can no’ make wonderful music if he’s no’ happy.”
Lyric couldn’t be sure, but he suspected the alien feeling he was experiencing was the process of relenting. Something he’d never before considered, much less done.
“You want me to give in?”
She smiled in a way that almost hinted of affection. “I do.”
He sighed deeply. “I will do this for you.”
“Thank you. ‘Tis very nice.”
“And you will not humiliate me in front of others.”
“Deal.”
“Or when we’re alone.”
“How can I humiliate you when we’re alone?”
Lyric pressed his lips together. He’d revealed vulnerability that he hadn’t planned to reveal. He’d grown accustomed to hiding his sensitive side and liked having it under wraps. Of course, if people stopped and thought about it they would connect the dots and know that it would be impossible to be a music demon without sensitivity.
He was completely capable of being humiliated in the company of just Shivaun and no other. After all, he valued her opinion above all others combined. If they were mated, he might have told her so. As it was, he simply said, “Right.”
Gray was sitting at the little table next to the window in the room where they’d left him. When they reappeared, he looked up and said, “Where’d you go?”
With a smile, Shivaun said, “Put that aside for now. Let’s finish the bestowin’ of your new name. Before our side chat, I was askin’ what you’d like to be called?”
Gray glanced at Lyric with suspicion. “I get to choose?”
“I’ve decided it would be the best thing for the music,” Lyric answered.
With a momentary glance at Shivaun, Gray smirked at Lyric. “You decided,” he said drily.
If Lyric caught the sarcasm, he chose to ignore it. “Yes. I did. Who do you want to be? It can be something similar to your present name, but not exact.”
Gray didn’t have to ponder that for long. “Doo. Doo Darby.”
A pair of demons looked at him with blank faces for a couple of beats then Shivaun’s face broke into a huge smile. “Doo Darby. Your aura says ‘tis your true name. And an excellent name for a musician.” She looked at Lyric. “Right?”
“Rock and Roll Hall of Fame,” Lyric graciously conceded.
The newly dubbed Doo looked at Shivaun. “What did you mean when you said my ‘true’ name?”
“Well,” she began, “the colors and lights that surround your body are your essence. ‘Tis like if you put hot coffee into a thermos? The thermos contains the heat for a limited time. It radiates outward and seems to disappear, but it does no’ go away. It just changes form. Your real person, your essence, is like heat. ‘Tis in your body for a limited time. But when your body dies, you go on in a different form. I can see the change in your essence, um, read the colors. You embrace the name Doo Darby like ‘twas always yours.”
“It was,” Lyric said. “It’s the name the neighbor gave him. So. Doo Darby. Are we ready to put this issue to bed and get on with your briefing?”
“What are you gonna do about these documents?” He held the wallet up for visual support.
Lyric sighed. “Take a look at your license.”
With hesitation, Gray-now-Doo opened the wallet and took out the license. Though he would never admit it, he got a little thrill from seeing the name Doo Darby. It felt right.
He tried not to look too pleased, but Doo wasn’t great at hiding emotion.
Shivaun laughed. “Glad you like it. Doo.”
“Now that that’s settled. Twelve hours from now, more or less, is go time.” Lyric motioned to the book on the table where Doo rested an elbow. The book that