that strains upward like it wants to claim eternal life, before ending in a sudden, sad smothering death. The truth is that rock music has been hanging on in hospice for thirty years, or so, while we mourn and bemoan the ‘twilight of the gods’. The talent didn’t die, but it languishes unknown because the structures that supported the phenomenon were destroyed by the next wave of technology. Streaming. When it comes to music, streaming represents the best of times and the worst of times. You figure it out.
Why would a demon love what’s come to be called classic rock? Easy. Demons are drawn to passion, intensity, balls-to-the-wall focus. In all the history of all the worlds this was the moment; the perfect musical storm. When music reached its peak potential as driver of pleasure, expressor of cultural and political point of view, artistic anarchy, and consummate poetry. It was my Camelot. A few dozen extraordinary humans decided there was no point in writing a song or opening your mouth to sing if you didn’t have something real to say. May all the gods bless them for all eternity.
As a music demon I love all my children. But classic rock? For me it’s like having an awkward misfit or a child who far outdistances a parent’s hopes and dreams.
Speaking of dreams. Right now my target is an even more remarkable prize. The redheaded elfess-turned-demon.
What would be my perfect day? If wishes were fishes I’d be making love to Shivaun behind a backstage tarp while Carlos Santana plays “Black Magic Woman” live. Don’t even think the word ‘cliché’. Only dilettantes use that word.
I just have to find a way to keep other demons away from Shivaun while I convince her that I’m the one. It won’t be easy. There’s nothing in the universe as precious as a female. They’re so rare that demons don’t even fantasize about mating with one of our own kind. Of course, the universal law of ‘like attracts like’ is not the only appeal. Far from it. She’s as intoxicating as jasmine blooming in full moonlight which greatly enhances the already heady perfume.
What would I do to make her choose me? Anything but magic. I could make her mine with a song. Call it my super power. But I won’t.
Why?
Because I want the real thing. She’s going to choose me because she wants me. No tricks.
I’ll go as slow as I need to. If thousands of years of existence has taught me anything, it’s patience and the value of real.
CHAPTER ONE Free Ride
“How did you know it would be so beautiful today?” Shivaun looked up at Lyric with the open, curious expression of a child. The persimmon-colored shirt she wore enhanced the flamelike effect the day’s last rays of sun had on the deep red of her auburn hair. “The air. ‘Tis like a caress on my skin.”
The sentiment was innocent but talk of skin and caressing still caused the demon’s gaze to drop to Shivaun’s mouth before returning to her eyes. Her irises had always been an exceptionally fetching shade of green, but now, after her transformation, they shone with a delectable combination of supernatural beauty and unsophisticated delight in every new thing. For a moment he forgot the question that had been asked just seconds before.
“These flowers…,” She began. “They make the whole world look blue. Or purple? Which is it really?”
With a slight shrug, he said, “They’re called bluebonnets. Do you like them?” She nodded enthusiastically. “You can make any kind of flowers you want.”
She’d stooped to run her fingers over the tops of the blooms but stood abruptly and regarded Lyric with a little scowl. “What do you mean? You’re havin’ me on. Right?”
When Lyric shook his head, some of the dark silky hair fell over his forehead. He smiled the devilish smile that had captured her interest the first time she’d seen him.
“Close your eyes and picture a different kind of flower growing right here.”
“I’m sure you’re plannin’ to make me look foolish. I know boys like to play games. But I’ll go along this one time.”
Lyric barked out a laugh. “I’m not a boy, Shivaun.” His grin resolved into the sexy smile that seemed both constant and easy and said, “I’m not a boy, but I like that you called me that. I also like games, but have no interest in amusement at your expense.”
For a few seconds she studied his face as if trying to mine for sincerity. Then, closing