Page 66 of The Music Demon

“What do you think?” he asked.

She smiled. Without looking away from the pandemonium just outside, she said, “’Tis most amazin’. I think you were right. Doo Darby belongs here.”

“Did you see his face?”

She turned to look at Lyric. “Aye. He’ll do fine here.”

The demon nodded. “I’m going to stick around for a few days and make sure he’s anchored to this time. If you need to go, I’ll duck out long enough to escort you then come back.”

“You do no’ think I could find my way?”

“Could you?”

“I think so. I paid attention to what we were doin’.” She turned back to the street as if mesmerized. Perhaps it was partly because the crowds were populated by people the same chronological age as her human self. Growing up in the preserve, she probably hadn’t imagined there were that many people her age on earth.

With a grin, he said, “You’re a fast learner. Even for a demon.”

A boy laid back on a motorcycle right in front of the café was being kissed in a way that would trigger movie ratings in a few years. A girl with tambourine cymbals sewn all over her long filmy skirt played a tambourine and sang folk songs. An ancient farm truck painted with bright psychedelia tried to inch its way forward through pedestrians. A barefoot guy stood on the front chrome bumper with his hands out in the air, laughing in a way that suggested morning drug use.

She jerked her attention away from the street. “If I was bein’ called in, I’d know. Even here. Right?”

“I want to say yes because I want you to relax and enjoy yourself, but I’m not sure how you’re being signaled. Is it telepathic?”

“Seems logical. No devices are involved.”

“Then I think you’d hear that frequency regardless of what time you’re in. Besides didn’t you say you always know when something’s up with your sister?”

“’Tis true, but we’ve never been five decades away before.”

A cute guy with one big gold, pirate-style earring stopped at the table just in time to hear that. He gave her a funny look, but said, “Can I get you something else?”

“Not now,” Lyric answered. His gaze turned back to Shivaun, but he could see that the waiter hadn’t left. He slowly raised his eyes in question.

“Look man,” the guy said with voice lowered. “Management says we have to keep turning the tables. Everybody with lunch money would camp at this table if we didn’t keep tabs.”

Lyric gave the guy the sort of look that would have sent most running, but the waiter must have needed that job in a serious way. The man looked nervous, but stood his ground.

“Tell you what I’m gonna do,” Lyric began in the tone Shivaun was coming to learn was his business-like, let’s-make-a-deal voice. “Every hour we’re sitting here you’re going to order five hundred dollars worth of food on my behalf. But you’re not going to serve it to us. You’re going to put it in bags, hand it out to those street kids who are dumpster diving for scraps and tell them the devil made you do it.”

After fifteen seconds of blinking, the waiter said, “The devil made me do it. Um, yeah. Sure. The only thing is…”

Lyric stopped that sentence in progress by handing over two thousand dollars in bills minted in 1967 or before. “Keep the change. We’ll be gone long before that’s used up.”

Shivaun looked down at the table and chuffed out a soft, almost inaudible laugh.

“What?” Lyric cocked his head and waited to hear what amused her.

“It must be so strange to always get what you want.”

“Things like this.” He gestured to indicate the table and probably the event as well. “Things that can be fixed with money are easy.”

With a barked laugh, she said, “Foryou! Where’d you get it? Thin air?”

His mouth twitched. “More or less. The economy won’t notice a few more dollars moving around.”

“May be true. Still, you did nothin’ for it.”

“I didsomethingfor it. I grant that it wasn’t a struggle. But back to the subject of getting everything I want…”