Page 40 of Taken for Granite
“No doubt from the retinal damage,” he muttered. He drifted to the hi-fi cabinet and picked through the record collection. “Does this work?”
“Yes. Want do you want to hear?” She knew nothing about Mario Lanza other than Mrs. Cannella was a big fan.
“This one.” He slipped the record from the dust jacket and placed it on the turntable.
“You’ve done this before.”
His tail twitched. With irritation or amusement, she couldn’t tell.
“I used to have a record player. This one is a bit more advanced, but the basic operation is the same,” he said and he dropped the needle. After a moment of hisses and pops, orchestral music swelled. His eyes shut and he breathed deep. “Music is one of the few things your people do well.”
He swayed in place.
Juniper felt as if she were invading a private moment and backed away to the kitchen. It wasn’t long until sunrise and she might as well make a pot of coffee.
His eyes snapped open. “Dance with me,” he commanded.
“What?”
“Dance. With. Me.” His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. With her hand in his, he led and she awkwardly followed in shuffling steps.
“I know you have rhythm,” he said, familiar irritation creeping back in his voice.
“What is this? Some weird alien dance?” She tried to anticipate his moves but stepped on his foot. Maybe she’d have rhythm if the dance weren’t so strange.
“It is called a waltz,” he said dryly. “Listen to the music. Let it set the pace.”
“I’m listening.”
“No. You are babbling. Listen.” They stood still for a moment, then he counted softly. She nodded, keeping the rhythm. He stepped forward and she flowed back, finally moving together.
“Something more advanced,” he said, just before clutching her tight and leaping up with a hop. They turned mid-hop and his wing whacked into a table lamp.
Tas hissed, backing away, his tail striking a side table with decorative figurines. They teetered, but Juniper caught the little porcelain shepherd before he hit the floor.
He huffed.
“Sorry. It’s cramped in here,” she said. It wasn’t, normally, unless there was a six-and-a-half-foot tall gargoyle with a wingspan that filled the living room.
“Outside,” he said, just before turning up the volume on the hi-fi.
With the front door open, the orchestral music drifted out.
“Can we try again?” He held out a hand.
Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his.
They resumed the waltz, the sound of the waking forest and the record wrapping around them. Then his arm tightened around her waist and his wings stretched. With a hop, he was airborne, turning and landing gently. Juniper gave a surprised laugh.
“It is how we dance where I am from,” he said. “We have entire aerial ballets, performed without the dancers ever touching the ground.”
“That must be beautiful,” she said, picturing leaping and twirling gargoyles. “Can we do it again?”
His eyes flared with what she suspected was approval. “Yes.”
Holding her close, he took two steps then leaped. His wings beat, holding them aloft for three heartbeats before they returned to the ground. The instant their toes touched the ground, he pushed off again. They moved in a wide circle, creating a pattern above and below.
She felt the absolute strength and power in his arms, knowing he could hold her aloft for hours. A satisfied purr rumbled in his chest, adding another layer to the music.
