Page 125 of Angels Adore Astrology

“Much appreciated.” Seymour watched Marcus hurry off like he had a fire to put out. “You know that guy?”

“Yes.” Sariel nodded.

“Is he always wound up that tight?”

“I believe so.”

“You could stick a lump of charcoal in between his butt cheeks and get yourself a diamond.”

Sariel appeared mildly horrified. “I do not believe that is true.”

“He means he’s too tense,” Day clarified, patting Sariel’s arm.

“Oh.” Sariel blinked. “What a strange expression.”

“Certainly conjures up a real vivid image though, don’t it?” Seymour teased.

“Yes. That it does.”

“Well.” Seymour fidgeted and looked around the bar, catching several unfriendly gazes drilling right into him. “What now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone is starin’ at us.”

Day wiggled in between them with a happy meow. “Maybe it’s because you’re both so cute together.”

“I assume it is because humans are rare in monster spaces,” Sariel said. “And… as infamous as I am, I have never brought a guest here before.”

“Happy to claim a first.”

Sariel smiled shyly. “I know the circumstances are not ideal, but I am glad you are here.” He looked to the stage. “I do not usually get to watch the show, and Mr. Dubois is quite talented.”

“I’m fine with stayin’ here as long as you want. We gotta wait and see if any of those bad guy monsters show up anyway, so we might as well enjoy it.” Seymour scratched the top of Day’s head. “How about you, lil’ girl?”

Day purred. “Can I really eat anything I want?”

“As long as it’s on the menu.”

“Then yes!” Day purred louder. “I’m happy to.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll keep the food comin’.”

It was easy to lose himself in the music, watching the man sing on stage. He was aware of their food and drinks arriving, and he ordered a steak with fries for himself.

Day, in between shoving the scallops in her mouth, requested five of the same.

While Sariel placed his own order, Seymour drifted back to listening to the music.

The singer, presumably Mr. Dubois, had a beautiful voice.

And fangs, of course.

Why not?

As nice as the music was, Seymour knew that somewhere out there was magical music that could make people do only God knew what thanks to some dead dude made out of spit. He wondered if Lou and his ghostly menagerie had made any progress with figuring out what those music sheets said.

Lou was likely right in that it was nothing good, but Seymour still struggled to see what the connection was between the potentially dangerous music and stealing a robot god guy’s brain. It also left him with more questions about his father—why did he even have that music to begin with? Why did he keep it locked up in a closet with a talking skull?