reached the alley entrance where he stood. Shivaun noted his eyes were sparkling with elation.
“Do you believe this?” Doo asked.
Lyric chuckled. “I believe.” He looked up and down the street. “So where would you like to live?”
“Live?” Doo repeated stupidly.
Lyric looked at him like he’d said something stupid. “It’s an expression for a place of residence. An address? Where you sleep, keep clothes, take showers?”
“Okay. Okay. I get it.” Doo looked around. “Am I looking for a for rent sign?”
Lyric chuckled. “That would be one way of doing it, but thank Paddy it’s not the way we are going to do it. Tell you what.” Lyric pointed to a café across the street. “This incomparable female and I are going to go to that café and wait. You walk around, decide where you want to be, and then come get me.”
Doo looked around frowning. “You’re not going to hurt anybody.”
“Not my style. My style is more making offers people won’t refuse. Nobody gets hurt.”
“Like my sister winning the lottery.”
“That’s right.”
“But the person who would’ve won if you hadn’t stepped in. They were hurt.”
“No. They weren’t. They would have pissed the money away. Three years later they’d be in the exact same situation as before the win, wondering where the hel it all went. This is not conjecture. This is fact.”
“Got it.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. Big takeaway. If you argue with a demon, don’t plan to win.”
Lyric laughed softly. “Your conclusion is good. Your phraseology’s not. People don’t say ‘takeaway’ in this time zone.”
“Time zone,” Doo repeated. “Funny.”
“I thought so. Go find your new ‘place’. And don’t take all day.” Lyric’s eyes moved pointedly to a fixed spot behind Doo.
With a good-humored chuckle, Doo said, “Sounds like you’re ready to get rid of me. I’ll be back before lunchtime.”
“I have no trouble believing that,” Lyric replied.
Shivaun gave up a soft snort of agreement having also witnessed how much Doo packed away at meals.
The café across the street had the windows open which meant that, if they commandeered one of the tables closest to the street, they’d have open air seating. Perfect for people watching. Knowing it would please Shivaun, Lyric commandeered a table with an offer that wouldn’t be declined by anyone other than Howard Hughes. Two guys in Soho garb and big chain jewelry were happy to trade the squat for cash when they heard a number.
The demon had taken note that Shy liked to observe her surroundings. That might have been an understatement. She approached the practice of people watching like a scientist mid-experiment and she never seemed to tire of it.
Lyric had supposed it was because she was still learning how things operate in the modern world outside the preserve where she’d grown up half feral. He included 1967 in the idea of ‘modern’. In New Forest terms, 1967 was space age.
It was a clear, sunshiny day with impossibly blue sky; air that wasn’t yet full of sludge and toxins. Sitting on the border of chaos – close enough to literally reach out and touch it - with a jumped up lemonade and Shivaun O’Malley, Lyric was thinking he might be the luckiest demon alive.
Her eyes never stopped moving over all the strange sights and sounds.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She smiled. Without looking away from the pandemonium just outside, she said, “’Tis most amazin’. I think you were right. Doo Darby belongs here.”
“Did you see his face?”
She turned to look at Lyric. “Aye. He’ll do fine here.”
The demon nodded. “I’m going to stick around for a few days and make sure he’s anchored to this time. If you need to go, I’ll duck out long enough to escort you then come back.”
“You do no’ think I could find my way?”
“Could you?”
“I think so. I paid attention to what we were doin’.” She turned back to the street as if mesmerized. Perhaps it was partly because the crowds were populated by people the same chronological age as her human self. Growing up in the preserve, she probably hadn’t imagined there were that many people her age on earth.
With a grin, he said, “You’re a fast learner. Even for a demon.”
A boy laid back on a motorcycle right in front of the café was being kissed in a way that would trigger movie ratings in a few years. A girl with tambourine cymbals sewn all over her long filmy skirt played a tambourine and sang folk songs. An ancient farm truck painted with bright psychedelia tried to inch its way forward