mansion had been converted into seven apartments. Two on each of three floors, plus the former attic space.
“That was great,” he said as he swallowed the last bite. “Ready to go?”
The demons got up to follow him out of the café into the street, but a few feet shy of the door, Shivaun caught Lyric’s sleeve and brought him to a stop. He turned to see her pointing to one of the framed black and white photos on the wall.
Jimi Hendrix was standing on a vintage Oriental rug, carpeting a temporary stage at the Panhandle, a stretch of park that borders the Haight-Ashbury district. Victorian homes lined the perimeters and created a surreal, anachronistic event.
The park was full, elbow to elbow, standing room only. The photography caught the moment of the musician’s intensity on film, preserved for all time. He also caught the euphoria of witnesses. Directly in front of the stage a fan leaned elbows on the stage and looked up at Hendrix with a mix of ecstasy and adoration. The guy was familiar. Even with the weird fur hat, there was no mistaking Lyric.
The demon smiled and said, “’Twas a good day to be sure.”
She slapped at his chest playfully for teasing her about her accent. “You have no’ changed a bit.”
“Not on the outside.” He put his arm around her waist and pulled her in for a quick squeeze. He held onto her hand as they headed into the crowds on the street. He wasn’t worried about losing her if they were accidentally separated. He was mindful that she’d reported seeing something and wouldn’t take chances. Not with her.
Without conscious thought, Shivaun looked around for the striking man who’d raised her antennae. He was nowhere in sight. So, she decided it was time to let that go and call her reaction a flight of fancy.
Gray looked back constantly to make sure he wasn’t outpacing his companions, but they stayed right on his heels. Once, a kid stumbled into Shivaun and, had she not stepped between Lyric and his target, the kid might have had his head ripped away from his shoulders.
“Stop that right now,” she said. “There’s no reason for anger. ‘Twas an accident. Purely so.” When it was clear that Lyric was once again his calm self, she said, “Are you on edge?”
“No,” he said carefully. “I just…” He glanced away with a hard to read look that might have been embarrassment. “I don’t like males touching you.”
She nodded. “Thank you for the thought. If such a thing happens on purpose, I’m prepared to put the bugger in his place. Let’s no’ ruin Doo’s excitement with somethin’ so silly.”
He smiled as she took his hand in hers.
Minutes later they stood in front of a house that could have used a little TLC.
“Pink?” Lyric asked.
“You have prejudice about the color of houses?” Shivaun asked.
“No. I… It’s fine,” Lyric said. He looked up to see the FOR RENT sign in the window of the top story. “Is it furnished?”
Doo barked out a laugh. “Sort of. You wanna see?”
Lyric looked to Shivaun for an answer to that. When she nodded, he said, “Lead the way.”
The space was the sort of funky quaint one might expect from a rocker on the edge of musical history making.
While Lyric squared perpetual payment away with the property manager, Shivaun asked Doo if he would be happy with the meager, worn furnishings that were there.
Doo looked around. “It’s okay. If things go well, I’ll only be here to sleep. Right?”
“Right.”
The manager, who was really close to Doo’s age, smiled at him when she handed over the key. “Welcome home, Texas.”
“Thank you. It’s Doo. Doo Darby.”
“Whatever you say.”
And with that she closed the door behind her.
Doo looked at the demons. “Home sweet home. What’s next?”
“Next,” Lyric said, “is getting settled in. You’ll have money to get clothes and food and such, but you’ll have to go to the bank to get it. During banking hours.”
“Why? Can’t I just go to an ATM?”
Lyric smiled. “If you can find an ATM, you’re welcome to use it.” Doo’s brow furrowed in confusion. “We’re still a few years away from widespread ATMs. We’re still a few years away from people conducting business with plastic. Cash is king.”
“Wow,” Doo said.
Lyric glanced at Shivaun. “Come to think of it, I guess I need to show you how to use a pay phone.”
“Pay phone?”
“Come on. We’re gonna buy some gear and have a rotary dial workshop,” Lyric said, holding the door open