Page 78 of The Music Demon

“We have you in common,” Lyric answered smoothly. “And we’re both, ah, not human.”

“Ohhhhh. Right. Well.” Doo turned the wattage of his smile back up to max. “Look at the stuff we found,” he said to Shivaun. “Maybe you don’t know who Eric Clapton is, but you can still appreciate the haul. Trust me. This is just the best stuff. In the world.”

Doo pointed to an amp that had a stain on the front mesh and scuffs on the sides. It was clearly not new. “This is a 1963 Fender Vibroverb. I couldn’t believe it was just sitting there in like, the fifth pawn shop we hit. Someplace across the Bay. I mean, in my time, I was strictly a Marshall guy. Half stack all the way. But in this time? It just doesn’t get better.” He squatted and lovingly ran his hand over the amp.

Lyric loved seeing that. If there was anything better than music, it was music made louder. Human magic had its upside.

Shivaun got the full tour of all the gear they’d dragged back. It was clear that Doo was walking on air. Two electric and one acoustic guitars. A Shure mic. He was even proud of the mess of cables. She did her best to politely pretend to be thrilled for him, but the notion of pride in cables was a complete mystery to her.

While Doo was showing Shivaun his haul, she noticed that Lyric was looking on with something more than a professional interest. He was clearly personally involved with the lad. Whether that was about Doo’s musical potential or something else, she couldn’t speculate.

At the end of the tour, she said, “Are ye hungry?”

Doo grinned. “Always.”

“Well, that beautiful demon over there,” she pointed at Lyric, whose aura flared with brightness at being called beautiful, “will buy you dinner.”

“I will,” Lyric agreed. “But perhaps we might go elsewhere. Far from the madding crowd.”

“I do no’ know what that means,” Shivaun said. “But Doo and I are up for an adventure. Aren’t we?” She looked at Doo for confirmation.

There was little chance that his masculine pride would allow him to say what he was thinking, which was that he’d had just about as many demonic adventures as he wanted for the time being. So he lied and said, “Sure.”

Shivaun chuckled because she knew he’d lied, but didn’t think it was her job to expose Doo’s innermost thoughts. People were entitled to project the image they chose for themselves.

Once in the limo Lyric had hired, Shivaun said to Doo, “So how did you sleep your first night in the new life?”

The question was more than polite chitchat. She’d had the experience of being picked up and dropped in an alien world in the not-too-distant past.

He inhaled deeply. “That mattress definitely wasn’t built by Sleep Number. But I’ll get used to it. Clean sheets.” Doo sneaked a smirk at Lyric before saying, “Thebeautifuldemon saw to that.”

Lyric was amused that Doo hadn’t the first idea of basic differences between humans and demons. For starters, a demon male couldn’t be embarrassed by being called beautiful. He’d take the compliment and not think it deserved a polite expression of gratitude because it was a simple statement of the obvious.

“You’d do well to be called beautiful by such a creature as Shivaun O’Malley, Mr. Darby. Perhaps one day you might be a fraction as fortunate as I for the experience.”

“Not a problem,” Doo said. “Babes are into me.”

Lyric instructed the driver to raise the soundproof divider before quizzing Doo. “Are women called babes in 1967?”

“No?” Doo ventured.

“That’s right. The correct answer is no. What is the correct slang that generalizes and objectifies the young segment of the female gender in 1967?”

“Ah. Chicks?”

“Right again. It’s inane, but it will have staying power, as you well know. Get your money for nothin’. Get your chicks for free.”

Doo grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yes. Well. So did every guy who ever bought a guitar. What’s the difference between you and them?”

Doo hesitated. Shivaun thought she sensed that the kid was emotionally invested in Lyric’s approval. Was it possible he saw a father figure in Lyric? If so, she needed to head that off at the pass. Where humans are concerned, a creature who can’t love is a clock set on a countdown to the heartbreak detonator. “I’ve got the right stuff?”

“You do indeed. What’s left to be determined is what you do with it. The stage has been set. The hour is here. Now you will force fate to surrender to you and play your pants off.”

“You know, demon, you have a gift for turnin’ a phrase.” The appreciation in Shivaun’s voice was unmistakable.

“They don’t call me Lyric for nothin’,’ he deadpanned.

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