Page 24 of The Music Demon

Females are rare. Partly because there was no demand for reproduction since demons live until they’re tired of it. And, partly because, unlike other species, their power was disproportionate, the extent being awesome in the classical sense of the word.

Though studies had not been conducted, as the very idea of ‘studies’ on demons would be anathema to their kind, the typical conjecture was that magic is amplified in females because the very essence of magic is feminine; as is creation itself. Lyric was well aware that eventually Shivaun would know that he was weak to the point of insignificance in comparison. He was okay with that.

At the moment there were only two things he wanted. Permanent pairing with Shivaun O’Malley and seeing a success of historical correction – placing Gray Darby in 1967, where he belonged.

Probably.

Maybe.

Impossible to know for sure.

CHAPTER FOURFor What It’s Worth

Gray sat on the porch for hours after Lyric left with his girlfriend. Among other things he wondered how they came and went. They walked off into the darkness and disappeared into the stand of old mesquite trees on the vacant land next door. It had been quiet enough to hear an ignition and the sound of a car pulling away. Even if they’d called a taxi or requested an Uber, he would have heard. But there’d been nothing.

Just silence.

And they were gone.

He twirled a cigarette between his fingers. He was past the worst part of quitting, having given up smoking a few weeks before, but counterintuitively, holding an unlit cigarette helped with the lingering Jonesing. Perhaps, unconsciously, it gave him a sense of power over knowing that it wasn’t a matter of deprivation. Hecouldsmoke. It wasn’t being taken away from him. He was actively choosing something else.

Replaying the events of the night in his mind over and over and over again, he searched for a way to dismiss the encounter as trickery, smoke and mirrors, hallucination. But the sobering conclusion was that perhaps there was a Devil. One who was powerful enough to work miracles. And if that was true, it could just as easily be Lyric as somebody else.

But Lyric had said demon. Not devil. And he hadn’t said a thing about Gray’s immortal soul. He’d cited three conditions altogether. If Gray took Lyric up on his offer, he wouldn’t be able to return to the present. He’d live a short life. And he was prohibited from telling the story to anyone in the past or using his knowledge of the future to his advantage. Financial or otherwise.

The second wasn’t a concern because, after all, nobody is guaranteed long life.

The first was more worrisome because of his sister. Still, Gray reasoned that his sister and niece would be better off rich and without him than locked in a perpetual financial struggle. The meager help he contributed to the household made life survivable, but not pleasant. With money, his sister might have enough free time to have some fun, enjoy life, meet somebody who would be good to her and Seashell. That’s what he called his niece, Chelsea.

When his eyelids grew heavy, Gray decided two things. He’d call it a night and he’d go see Cass Power the next morning. No doubt she could shed light on life in 1967, not the glamorized, nostalgic version. The real deal. And the woman loved to talk.

Seven o’clock came earlier than usual. Even after Gray went to bed he tossed and turned. After all, it isn’t every day that a guy gets a chance to decide what he’d do if he was offered a deal by the devil. So to speak.

He barely made it to his job on time. Not that they would start without him. Generator installation required a full crew and, heading into a Texas summer, they were busier than usual. He liked working outdoors at that time of year. After cold weather. Not yet in the high nineties.

He pushed the old Ford truck a little to get home so that he could jump in the shower, grab a beer, and spend time with the nice, but quirky old woman across the street.

Cassidy Power had the windows and door open. There weren’t that many days when the outside temps were conducive to open-air living, but she took advantage of every one of them. She was at her small desk in the living room, on her laptop playing a card game against a computer program when she heard Gray’s boots scuff on the blue painted slats of her wood front porch.

She was already on the way to let him in when he knocked lightly, peering in through the screen.

“Yeah. I see you, Doo.” She was the only person who called him that. Gray said he wished she’d never been told his full name was Dougray, but he secretly liked being called Doo. By her.

She unhooked the little latch that wouldn’t stop a stray cat from coming in and held the door open. “Want a wine cooler?” He shook his head. “I got ginger snaps. And beer,” she offered as an alternate.

Gray grinned. “Good combination.”

She chuckled. “I thought so,” she said as she headed toward the kitchen. “It’s nice out on the back porch if you want to talk. I have some New Guinea impatiens in Mexican pots and you haven’t seen them. Pink. Orange. And purple. If you want to play, we’ll stay in the music room.” That was her name for her living room.

“Talk.”

“Talk it is,” she said good-naturedly as she grabbed a box of ginger snaps and two beers from the fridge.

Gray followed her through the kitchen and out the back door to the screened-in porch.

She waved toward the flowers. “What do you think?”

One side of his mouth lifted into a boyish smile that would charm a woman of any age. The best part was that he didn’t yet know he was that kind of attractive. “Pretty.”

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