She laughed breathlessly. “You think a lot of yourself, demon.”
“Lyric. Maybe a big thrill.”
“Why did you take my sister?”
Without hesitation he replied. “I was looking for you.”
Shivaun didn’t argue about what he wanted to be called or the size of the thrill at hand or whether or not he was being truthful about his motivation for abducting Sher. She impulsively stepped forward into his waiting kiss with the confidence of a woman who knows what to expect.
Lyric grabbed her by the waist and pulled her tight against him, which again elicited the little gasp/moan he’d hoped he’d heard earlier.
When the massive door opened, Shy jumped away from Lyric like a teenager who’d been caught by her parents in the act of making out.
The interventionist was one of the ancient caretakers who’d been hired by Haversfil Grieve. The man poked his white head out, nodded at Shivaun as if to say, “I have your back,” and eyed Lyric with curiosity. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t leave either.
“See you, em, tomorrow,” she said.
“On that you can depend.” Lyric nodded.
CHAPTER TWOLyin’ Eyes
Shivaun turned and gave a little wave before closing the giant Abbey door.
Lyric’s body was vibrating with excitement as he set his internal dial for April Fools and rushed back to the Hill Country ice house. The date had ended early, but not without satisfaction. He’d received the encouragement he craved and believed the odds of keeping Shivaun, permanently, had greatly appreciated. Of course he wasn’t ecstatic about the date ending early and abruptly. Fucking Rosie.
He timed his arrival to be back at Wet Willie’s just when Gray Darby was stepping off the platform. The kid immediately set to packing the guitar away and zipping up the soft case.
“Enjoyed your performance,” Lyric said.
Gray Darby glanced at Lyric. “Thanks.”
“I’d like a few minutes of your time. Maybe buy you a steak dinner?”
Gray Darby stopped and looked closer at Lyric with suspicion written all over him. “Look, man. Appreciate it, but I’m straight.”
Lyric barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Not after your body. I’m after your music. I’m in the business. Give me an hour.” Lyric nodded toward the outside tables farthest away from the speakers. “Talk. Eat. Drink. No pressure. And definitely no… romance.”
The kid was clearly considering. “What do you do in the business?”
Lyric smiled a smile that looked like the ancient guile that it was. Darby might even have called it demonic if he’d believed in such things. “I make dreams come true.”
It was Gray’s turn to laugh. “And that sounds too good to be true.”
“Doesn’t cost a thing to talk.”
Gray glanced toward the outer tables. “I don’t have an hour. My sister works nights. I watch my niece. Single mom, you know?”
“How long do you have?”
Gray looked at his phone. “Forty-five minutes.”
“We’d better tell them to put your steak on the grill then.”
The longer Gray talked to Lyric, the more he felt at ease. He gave up a faint smile of surrender and shrugged. “Okay. I’m yours for forty-four minutes.”
As Gray placed his food order at the bar, Lyric looked the kid up and down a couple of times. The demon wasn’t an expert on human diet, but he’d observed eating habits for thousands of years. Long enough to know that people Gray’s size didn’t normally get a twenty-ounce sirloin with two orders of onion rings, two roasted cobs of corn on sticks, and biscuits.
After paying for that and two beers, Lyric said, “Haven’t eaten lately?”
Gray chuckled and looked unapologetic. Lyric admired that.
“I don’t get offers of free dinners from dream makers every day. And playin’ out,” he waved toward the band, “pays less than nothin’ when you count the gas to get here.”
The band announced a twenty-minute break just as Lyric and Gray Darby sat.
“How old are you?” Lyric began.
“Twenty-three.”
“How’d you get interested in this kind of music?”
Gray swallowed a gulp of Corona before saying, “Old woman across the street. My sister and I were raised by our grandmother. Grew up in her house. She passed a few years ago. That’s where we live now. Been on our own since I was sixteen. Anyhow, my grandmother was friends with this neighbor. She was in San Francisco in the sixties in the middle of it all. And she’s a trip.” He chuckled. “That’s what she’d say. A ‘trip’. She’s got posters and, ah, what she calls memorabilia all over her kinda weird house. I mean it's kinda weird even for Wimberley. Stops