veneered teeth. When she took a breath to speak, he cut her off. “Sorry. I’m on a self-date today.”
Her smile fell. She looked confused in a way that said she’d never been turned down before. “A self-date?”
“Yes.” The word was drawn out to exaggerate that he was being patient. “It means alone time.”
“Oh.” Two lines formed between her brows. He noticed and was thinking that someday soon, at least in demon terms, she’d be a plastic surgeon’s wet dream; four hundred dollars every six weeks for Botox and five minutes of his time. Cha. Ching.
He flicked two fingers toward the path to indicate she’d been dismissed. The moth who is attracted to assholes is sure to get fried.
Human males would have been focused on the completely bare derriere that had just been presented to Quicksilver up close and personal. But if it had been subject to a ratings system, demonic arousal would put visual attractiveness a few points down the list of things that made a female sexy. He was there to be seen, not for a hookup. And to mull over what he’d learned about the music demon and the fascinating female.
He did his best thinking in pedestrian hot spots like Venice Beach or Las Rablas in Barcelona. More intel would be required before he could begin hatching a workable plan. It wasn’t easy to put something over on a demon as old as Lyric. But it would be made infinitely easier by the fact that Lyric was so very distracted.
Ah. The distraction. That made Quicksilver smile.
“What’s better than a leisurely stroll on a nice night after a great dinner?” Lyric asked his companions, but didn’t wait for an answer. After all, how could anybody argue with that? He told the limo driver to drop the them off a few blocks from the hotel.
Of course, Lyric had an agenda. Demons typically do. He hoped walking while talking might bring Gray’s questions, and doubts, out into the open. He wanted any and all reservations aired because, as he’d been careful to explain, there could be no do-overs once Gray became a citizen of the sixties. It was a one-way trip.
“I’ve been wondering what you think of this place,” he said to Gray.
“This? Like San Francisco? Or the neighborhood?”
“Yes,” Lyric said simply.
Gray chuffed. “It’s so different. Just like you said it’d be. And great, too.”
Lyric grunted. “I want to be sure you understand there’s no coercion here. No judgement. No harm or foul if you change your mind. This is a free will kind of deal. If you want to stay in this time and go back home, you can consider the trip a gift. We had a fine and somewhat cheesy tour of the district, ate some passable seafood, and took a nice walk. Tomorrow night you could be sleeping in your own bed in Wimberley and we’ll part friends.” Gray said nothing, but Lyric noted that Shivaun gave him an approving side glance. Definitely approval, maybe even admiration. “So what are your thoughts?”
“I’m wonderin’ how I get there. Exactly. And how do I do stuff like get a job? My driver’s license says it expires three years from now. I’m thinkin’ somebody in 1967 might think it’s a fake.”
“If that means that your final answer is that you’re still in, then we’ll go back to the hotel and go over the logistics.” Shivaun slipped her hand into Lyric’s and a wealth of information downloaded all of a sudden. All those songs about walking in the sand holding hands. He hadn’t known what they were going on about. Until then. Who knew holding hands could actually be something worth doing? He smiled at her while saying, “Get ready for Phase Three.”
“What were the first two phases again?” she asked.
“Phase One was the offer. Phase Two was acceptance. Phase Three is the briefing.”
“What’s Phase Four?” Gray said.
“Blast to the past.”
At the elevator Lyric turned to Gray, “Meet us in our room…”
“Your room,” Shivaun corrected.
Lyric smiled. “In five minutes.”
“My sister thinks I’m on the way to Nepal.”
“I know.” Lyric’s smile dropped away.
Gray grinned. “Where I’m goin’ is a lot further than that.”
“Indeed it is.”
The door swung open and Shivaun waved Gray inside. His eyes widened slightly when they landed on a set of clothes laid out on the bed. “Those are for me?”
The outfit nicely displayed included tan pants with wide vertical, rust-colored stripes, a wide silver conch belt, a brown linen pirate-style shirt, and a pair of boots.
“You can’t show up