lead singer, or a songwriter, or all three.” He made a motion with his hands and said, “I even thought about knocking on the door of the Jefferson Airplane house. I mean, they wouldn’t live right in the middle of everything if they didn’t want to be, you know, in the middle of everything. Right?”
Lyric might have expressed a ghost of a smile. “Right.”
“So. Look. You’ve done everything but play the music for me. I’m here, right in the big damn middle of things, which is crazy in anybody’s book. I have gear.” He looked at Shivaun. “The best gear. I’m basically being paid to find my way inside music history and make some ripples.”
Lyric had coached hundreds of brilliant musicians, constantly trekking to the creative source to find new ways to urge them toward their potential. He wasn’t designed to appreciate that the end result was to bring joy to the world. He simply acted on instinct, his internal compass pointing toward make-the-music-the-best-it-can-be. Where that led, who it helped or hurt, was somebody else’s department.
Some of those partnerships had been successful. Some had been a waste of time. None had been emotional on any level.
That was why the heartfelt tug, when it pulled at something inside, was so unfamiliar to Lyric. As a demon he didn’t get indigestion. He didn’t have to wonder if he was having a stroke or an episode of hypertension or even a heart attack. His first thought was that some disgruntled someone somewhere had put a sorcery contract out on him and that he was feeling the effects of a curse.
His next thought was that he was going to suffer the inconvenience of having to take time away from the two things that presently held his interest - the Darby project and his courtship of Shivaun – and use a chunk of accumulated currency to get a sorcerer/ess to reverse the curse. What a waste of time and treasure.
The Council should outlaw the practice.
In fact, the practice of contract spells had been banned for millennia, but demons and sorcerers have in common that they never allow rules to stand in the way of what they want.
Whether it be called intuition, gut feeling, or self-awareness, Lyric didn’t think what he was feeling was a curse. But he couldn’t put a name to it either.
When they dropped Doo back off at his place, Lyric said, “By every measure, it looks like you’re making a fine adjustment. Better than expected. I’ll check in on you day after tomorrow.”
“If you want. And you have time. But I mean. I’m here and not goin’ anywhere anytime soon. So. Don’t feel like you have to hover.”
“Is this a kiss off?” Lyric gave Doo a stern look and raised his chin.
Doo’s expression fell. “No. Um. Not at all. I just…”
Lyric sniggered. “Just kidding, kid. It’s commendable that you’re taking the training wheels off without me telling you when.”
“I’ll always be happy to see you,” Doo said.
“Always is a long time.”
“See ya, Doo Darby,” Shivaun said. “I’ll come to your first recital.”
“Concert,” Lyric corrected.
“Aye. Your first concert. I’ll always be your biggest fan.”
Doo grinned. “Thank you, ma’am. Holdin’ you to it.”
After they watched Doo climb the steps to the front door of the old house, Lyric turned to Shivaun. “Surprise time?” Her smile said yes. To the driver, he said, “Take us around the corner and let us out.”
The look on the driver’s face said he thought that was an odd request, but he turned the corner and came to a stop.
The demons got out and walked to a spot where they could duck off the street and disappear without being seen. But they didn’t disappear. Lyric turned to Shivaun with a look of anticipation that was irresistible.
“So?”
“So?” she repeated.
“Tell me now. What’s my surprise?” She glanced around. “Stop stalling.”
“Take me someplace beautiful and I’ll tell you.”
He pulled back. “Someplace beautiful. That’s as relative as relative can get. You take me someplace beautiful.”
“No. I mean someplace like a, em, fantasy.”
“Do you have a picture in your mind?”
An image immediately shot across the screen of Shivaun’s mind. She’d been waiting to be interviewed for a position as a Black Swan demon hunter, although she had no idea at the time that was why she was there. As she sat in an Edinburgh pub with not much to do, she noticed a magazine left behind one table over.
Conde Naste.
She pulled it toward her, began leafing through, and stopped on a gorgeous, glossy color photo