Chapter 176

~~Eric~~

“Sanctuary!” Natasha ran at the angel, and hugged it. And Sanctuary hugged her back. It’d already come down to its feet and knees so the tiny vampire could hug the huge spirit, and its glowing white eyes and mouth smiled with almost cartoonish presence. The gold-ish body and white facial features weren’t actually there so much as they were just glowing lines, painted expressions on a gold face, with no nose either. Strangely beautiful, in that ‘oh god it’s an angel and it’s going to burn out my eyes’ sort of imposing way.

Eric, Tash, Jessy, Matthew and Arturo, Clara, Flowing Sanctuary, not-flowing Sanctuary, and for some reason, Brace Harcourt, stood in the street in one of the quiet neighborhoods of Dolareido, Grey Street. In the spirit world, the quiet parts of the city were even more quiet, and the group of them had the street to themselves. No car spirits. A few spirits of rest and respite watched on from the windows of the Hisil’s versions of houses, which looked mostly normal save for a few differences: an unusually long driveway here, a very large window there.

Of course the only human in the group was left staring at everything, overwhelmed, but the female-ish tall angel with the giant wings hugging the little vampire had most of his attention at the moment.

“How did you s-survive?”

Sanctuary pat Tash on the head, its smile unwavering. Almost a bit creepy with how consistent and painting-perfect it was.

“Red Tide was bound to its contract, to stop the Uratha and the Kindred. When you left, its contract no longer applied to me, as I could no longer help you. It left.”

“Gotta love spirits,” Clara said. “They respect their contracts, right down to the letter.”

“B-But, if Red Tide’s contract had been different, you coulda been killed!” Tash said.

“Perhaps. But I couldn’t let harm come to you, Natasha. I owe you much. And I owe Eric much.”

“Eric?” Tash looked back at him.

Damn, he couldn’t stay out of the light forever.

“Yeah, I guess. I—”

“My boyfriend,” Jessy said with a big smile, “is Batman!”

“I’m not Batman.”

“Spider-man.”

“Stop watching those shit movies.”

Her grin was unwavering. She would not be deterred.

“My boyfriend is a vigilante.”

He shook his head. “There’s no law force in the Hisil. Can’t really be a vigilante without—”

“My boyfriend has been going into the spirit world,” Jessy said, approaching Tash, “and trying to clean up the streets. He’s been making places like Grey Street safer.”

“Against Avery’s wishes, I might add,” Clara said.

Jessy shrugged. “Fuck Avery. If Eric wants to be a superhero and give back to the people, I say let him.”

Eric sighed, but Jessy beamed at him and kissed him. He kissed her back. Much as he’d prefer his girl didn’t advertise his activities like they were something to be proud of, he had to admit it did feel a little satisfying.

“Eric,” Flow said, flowing over to stand beside Sanctuary, “is free to do as he wishes, including getting himself killed angering the wrong spirit. I will not defend him in such circumstances.”

“You wouldn’t defend me in any circumstance. It’s not in Avery’s contract.”

“True,” the spirit said. “But I am not forbidden from helping you, either. Perhaps I would, if you would approach situations more wisely.”

“Avery,” Clara said, “is a little more concerned about the ecosystem, Eric. You don’t really appreciate the sort of knock-on effects your actions have. Never watch a nature documentary? You could destroy an entire ecosystem with a small change.”

“Cleaning up some hate or greed spirits isn’t going to bring everything crumbling down.”

With a snort, Clara walked up and gestured to the large glowing angel spirit.

“Sanctuary has grown into a powerful spirit in record time, Eric. This sorta shit normally takes decades, centuries, not a few years.”

Natasha frowned up at Clara. “That’s a p-problem?”

“It is, if it grows out of control. Dolareido is a strange city. The spirits here are very strong, and the whole city just ... teems with extremes. We have to be careful.”

Sighing, Eric gave a slow nod, and started the walk back toward the main city. Everyone followed, Sanctuary included.

“Dolareido is a special city,” he said. “Luna said so, and after everything that happened with Black Blood ... Yeah, I get it. I’ll be careful.”

Clara stepped up beside him. “Please do. Talk to Avery, and—”

“I’m not joining the pack.”

“Yeah yeah.” His fellow Cahalith rolled her eyes before giving him a gentle punch in the shoulder. “You did good, though. Sanctuary is good for the city.”

“I am,” the angel said. “Red Tide has no direct opponents, not anymore. I can oppose it.”

“Carefully,” Tash said, nodding.

“Carefully,” Matt and Art said together, mirroring the little vampire’s body language with familiar exactness.

“The tear is gone,” Sanctuary said, and it gestured to where a tear used to be, on the outskirts of the city.

While the city behind them was a giant, towering behemoth of structures, literally warped and twisted with its reflection of the physical realm, Gurihal, outside the city it was just endless desert, with rocks and stone, and very little warping or twisting. No crazy windows with literal teeth, doors with literal eyes, or spirits of asphalt or cars or electricity zooming around. There might have been a few spirits of sand or maybe snakes out there, but not many. It was always where the humans grouped up where spirit activity grew its most intense.

“This tear,” Tash said, “w-was the one that showed the gold place, right? Sándor said it was higher than he could r-reach.”

Eric nodded as he waved a hand through where the tear had been. Just empty air, now. Whatever those guardian things were, they’d done good work.

“I’m guessing Black Blood was trying to cross the chasm — whatever that is — before he needed to. He said he managed a peek, right?” They all nodded. “Powerful.”

“The old spirit is gone,” Sanctuary said, “but that’s only made it more obvious how altered the ground we walk on is. Black Blood changed this land, both here and in the Gurihal.”

“Probably other places too,” Clara said. “Other realms that, uh, crossover in this place. If he could go between realms basically whenever he wanted, he was no normal spirit.”

“He wasn’t a regular spirit,” Eric said. “Same as Luna, I guess.”

His fellow werewolf grumbled slightly as she looked down.

“Only you would know.”

Sighing, he considered giving Clara a small pat on the shoulder. Someone in her pack would have, but for him, it’d just feel awkward.

Naturally, Matt and Art came over and pat Clara on her shoulders in a very buddy buddy, obviously teasing manner.

“Cheer up,” Matt said. “Luna’s never given me any powerful or interesting dreams.”

“Mostly sex dreams,” Art said, nodding sagely. Tash groaned.

“She didn’t talk to me because I was special, Clara. I’m not. She said so herself,” Eric said, shrugging. “Just ... a city boy. And she wanted a city boy Uratha to stick around. You gonna tell me Avery is a city girl? Hell your entire pack could be living in luxury, taking baths in hot tubs, sleeping in giant beds, and indulging in all the vices the city has to offer. But nope, you stay with the Carthians in a shit apartment building, and sure Avery says it’s because she can’t trust the Invictus, but you damn well know it’s because she’d prefer to sleep under a tree.”

“Trees give shade,” Matthew said, mirroring Art and nodding sagely.

Shuffling his feet a bit and digging up some courage, Harcourt came up, shooed Matt and Art off Clara, and slipped an arm around her.

“I’m not much of a city slicker, but I for one am happy Clara doesn’t need a two-thousand-dollar purse to be happy. You know how much money being a hunter pays? I’ll give you a hint: none.”

Eric laughed. He knew what was coming. Without missing a beat, Jessy marched up to the man and jabbed him the chest with a finger.

“I earned that purse, you little redneck shit.”

Everyone, save those two, laughed. Lot of that going on lately. It was nice.

It was really nice.

“Tash,” Clara said. “Since you seem to be the only levelheaded person in the city, or at least the only one I can trust, I was wondering if you wanted to sign a contract with Sanctuary.”

“Contract?”

“Yeah. Avery has a contract with Flow. It’s our spirit. It works for us, and we work for it. It’s how we can store it in special objects easily.”

Tash’s eyes lit up. “I can—”

“I’m not saying you can put Sanctuary in your bracelet and summon it whenever you want, like Triss did with Mary’s ghost. But, Sanctuary can still help you, when in an object. And in the right circumstance, even manifest.”

The little vampire slowly looked up at the giant angel, who smiled down at her and nodded knowingly. Apparently it’d already had this conversation with Clara.

“That ... w-would be wonderful.”

~~Beatrice~~

It was the forest again, the one from her dream. The breeze was cool. The moon was visible between some big trees overhead. And a small fire surrounded by rocks burned in front of her.

An old woman wearing rags, standing up with the help of a walking stick big enough to be a staff, smiled at Triss as she nodded slowly.

“You stopped Mictlantecuhtli.”

Triss stood up; apparently the dream started her off sitting. The fire was between them, crackling quietly, so quiet the crickets were louder.

“You could have fucking told me—”

“No, I couldn’t have. The game had to be played. If I broke that rule, then Mictlantecuhtli would have had the power to break more rules without consequence.”

“A game.” She threw up her hands. “We almost died! Or, not die, but ... you know what I mean.”

“Sorry, but not sorry. You are pawns in a great game. What religion, what culture, has not made that clear?”

Triss grumbled and ground her teeth as she paced. “Okay, so, Mictwhatever couldn’t break the rules?”

“Not without risking interference. Which you saw in action, when he touched Samantha.”

“Everything else was fine? Controlling the ghosts and making Mary attack the Prince? Ripping open the tears? Like, what the fuck? What are the rules?”

The Crone shook her head. “I can’t tell you. And you know I can’t tell you. Don’t ask stupid questions. Otherwise you waste my visit.”

Of course, because what fun would there be in knowing how to play the game.

“Then why are you visiting?”

“To congratulate you.”

“I didn’t do shit. That was all Elaine, Jack, and Sam.”

“I suppose. The Terrys are unusually willful, aren’t they? I can’t imagine what sort of resolve it took that woman to kill her lover.”

Weight pulled on Triss’s body, and she sat down as she groaned. It wasn’t real weight, just her instantly becoming depressed at the memory of Sam having to do something so horrible.

“I ... do miss Jacob.” And that.

“Malachi was an interesting, wise man.”

Triss raised a brow. “Wise? You agree with what he planned to do?”

“I think this Fallen World has been broken for a long time, vampire. If you could see what I see, you might think twice before assuming Malachi and Mictlantecuhtli’s goals were misplaced. You saw a tiny, just the tiniest morsel of the gold river, touched the faintest trace of it. How did it feel?”

“It felt ... wonderful. But I remember what it was like being human, and eating enough ice cream to puke. If I had to guess, it’d be like that? Eventually it’d be too much of a good thing, being in that kind of place forever?”

The Crone laughed. “Your mind is limited. Rest assured, you would not puke.”

“Uh huh.” It was hard to imagine being in that sort of place for too long a time. Wasn’t there a dude who said an eternity of Heaven would eventually be Hell?

“Regardless, Luna and the others are satisfied. The world continues as it did.”

“I still can’t believe you guys just sat back and watched that happen.”

“We interfered. We simply did it in different ways. Perhaps not as much as Mictlantecuhtli did, but you saw the results of him overstepping his bounds.”

“Me—”

“I have spoken to you, and Luna has spoken to another, but that was for different reasons. Indeed, be under no illusions. You are not some special snowflake I’ve come to, in hopes you’d save the world from your master’s ambitions. I came to this city because Dolareido is one of the tainted, blessed lands.”

Triss grumbled and folded her arms across her chest.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

Again the Crone laughed. “Of course.”

“So you came to the city because it’s special, not me. Still not sure why you’re talking to me.”

“Because I have made similar mistakes to you, in my past. Because I see a bit of myself in you. And because I like you.”

“That’s ... scary.” Being similar to some sort of ancient god that embodied primal chaos and cruel, harsh nature, wasn’t exactly a compliment. Well, it was kinda. Jacob definitely would have considered it a compliment.

“You will go far, Beatrice. You have what it takes to follow in Malachi’s footsteps, and further.”

“Uh, I don’t really wanna end the world, though.”

“That will be up to you. But that isn’t what I meant. What I mean, idiot child, is that you have a mind capable of thinking in the ways of a witch.”

“Growing up on metal will do that.”

The Crone blinked at her, confused. Which was fucking hilarious, and Triss laughed, laughed until it hurt, and she fell on her side in the grass and dirt.

“And just like Malachi,” the Crone said, “you can make yourself laugh.”

“Ha, I guess, yeah.”

Nodding, the Crone waved her stick over the fire slowly. A pillow of smoke rose up, and blocked out the moon for a second before fading into the cool night air.

“I thought you should know,” the old crone said, “that the Prince is probably going to talk to you.”

“She has Elen, and she’ll want Elen’s knife and book back.”

“I suggest you give them to her. I also suggest you ask if you can have what material of Malachi’s she feels comfortable letting you have. And some she doesn’t.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure the Prince isn’t going to just, give me that shit.”

“She will, because you attempted to stop your master. She trusts you, now, to a degree. And she will, because you’re going to make a rather harsh statement about the amount of kine she killed to have Elen perform that ritual.”

“Wait, what?”

The Crone smirked. “The dragon may dislike how visceral and brutal our ways may be, but when her back was against the wall, she had no choice but to use a witch. And she used the methods a witch requires: weight, and intent. She killed dozens of kine for Elen’s ritual. Her methods, a scientist’s methods, were inadequate to handle the situation, and she knows it. She needs a witch who is an ally in her city.”

“Jesus, you really are a manipulative schemer.”

“As was your master. As are the best witches, and vampires. It’s a skill you lack, but Jennifer will help.”

“Lucky me.”

“Indeed.” With another hearty, croaky chuckle, the Crone waved her stick over the fire again, and another pillow of smoke met the night sky. “I take my leave. We will not speak again.”

“Not gonna answer any of the questions you know I have?”

“Of course not. They are stupid questions.”

Which meant questions about the afterlife, about Jack’s curse and the Strix, Crúac rituals, the Beast, the different realms, all of the important questions were shit she wasn’t supposed to know. Or at least, not have the answers handed to her directly.

“Fucking asshole. I—wait, I got one. The fuck do we do about Elen? I mean, I’m guessing you won’t tell me about how she managed to make herself semi immortal.”

“I won’t.”

“But what do we do with her now?”

“She is not invincible. Burn her.”

“Burn her.” Triss gulped as she stared. “Burn ... the witch?”

“Trust me, little vampire, that flesh witch has done more than enough to deserve a worse fate, as Sándor can attest. But if you’re feeling sympathetic — very un-witch like — then cut off her head, then burn her. Leave no trace. Only when every trace of her is ash and soot will she be truly dead.”

“Jesus. Okay, we’ll uh, do that. And, um ... thanks, for, you know ... at least talking to me, and helping me with the resurrection ritual. Kinda wished you’d told me from the get-go it was basically impossible, and spared me a bit of pain. But...”

“But pain is how a witch learns.”

“I must be a fucking genius by now.”

This time, it was the Crone’s turn to laugh hard. Not that an old woman could laugh all that hard, but she did anyway, and Triss smiled at her as she did.

After a minute, the old bitch winked at Triss, and without flair or anything, the Crone morphed into a crow. No, wait, too big. Raven. The big black bird circled the fire’s smoke a few times as it gained height, before it blinked out of existence.

Leaving Triss sitting there in her forest dream, gently flicking the crow skull necklace her dream body had for some reason. It was just a random necklace, one Jacob had given her when he’d started teaching her Crúac rituals, a lifetime ago. Or maybe not so random. Maybe Jacob had actually done some impressive work on it, given it witch powers or something. She didn’t know, but it wouldn’t have surprised her.

Jacob had liked her, and it would have been just like him to do something sneaky like give her a super powerful artifact and never tell her. Or maybe it wasn’t powerful at all, but something he’d crafted with care. Or maybe it was just ... her, being sentimental, that her boss was dead.

She sighed, let her head droop, and for the first time, cried about Jacob’s death. Just a little, just a few tears; the dream seemed happy to let her have those. A bit more pain to learn from.

She got up, and kicked some dirt on the fire until it was out.

Two weeks since the incident.

She hadn’t expected the Prince to do everything the Crone said she would. But she did. Now, safely stored away in a hole in the ground, Triss had most of Jacob’s shit, including the stuff he’d had with him in the Great Below. Not Elen’s book or knife though, Triss had returned those. But the Prince did say she’d give them to Triss eventually. The Crone was right. She wanted a witch ally.

A partnership. The Prince would officially acknowledge Beatrice the primary member of the Circle of the Crone in the city. She wouldn’t be going to any Primogen meetings yet, and probably not for decades, but still, it was a step toward some big responsibility, responsibility Othello didn’t want. Lazy asshole.

More importantly, Beatrice wouldn’t get flack from the sheriff when she did witchy things, as long as she maintained the Masquerade. And hell, maybe the Prince would even give Triss some tips on weird magical shit, if Triss returned the favor. Probably not. Freaky Frankenstein scientists, and witches with cauldrons, would never get along when it came to their pursuits.

And now, Elen was dead. Triss suggested burning to Antoinette, and she’d taken to the idea, especially after Triss had mentioned the mysterious disappearance of a lot of Dolareido kine. Antoinette really hated how she’d had to use Elen, and how she’d had to commit murder on such a scale. It made her a little more malleable to deal with. Sure enough, they chopped off her head; Elen barely noticed, but at least her head went still and didn’t start talking. After that, they burned her. More than burned her, they fucking cremated her. Nothing of Elen existed anymore, save for the book and knife.

Triss and Jen walked the street of Dolareido, on the way to The Quiet Note, the most up-its-own-ass hippie joint for poetic artist types who thought they were going to change the world. Sándor would be playing again, and they wanted to see. More shockingly, he’d invited them. Triss had been pretty surprised to learn the man knew how to text at all, and hadn’t just given up and sent them a literal letter in an envelope, with a wax seal.

Jen wore something dark and sexy, but safe for a joint full of hippies. Triss wore her usual black jeans and black tank top, because she’d wrapped herself in Face in the Crowd so no one was going to notice her anyway.

They hadn’t arrived yet, though, and stayed close as they ducked around the sidewalk traffic.

“It’s been two weeks,” Jen said. “Think he’ll be happy to see us?” Two weeks save for a few very short visits, just to make sure the dude was okay.

“I hope so. Considering what his wife told me, and what I’m guessing Julias told him, I’m guessing he will...”

Jen leaned in as they walked. “You’re nervous he secretly doesn’t like us, doesn’t like you, but because he’s so against voicing any of his thoughts, he just hasn’t told you.”

Groaning, Triss stepped away and dodged around an oncoming kine, before coming back in with a sideways lean of her own.

“Yes, okay? Yes. This isn’t how I do ... this sort of shit. I can’t fucking stand this build up. Does he like me? Not like me? Christ it makes me want to puke. When I decided to go on a date with Julias, I just fucking told him we would, that first night. When I wanted to fuck Julias, I just told him we would.”

“On the first date, I might add.”

“Yeah yeah fuck you. This ‘does he doesn’t he’ shit is torture, and I’d have loved to skip over it. But there’s always been something in the way.” Mostly her own damn fault.

“Now there isn’t. And he’s ready to talk. I’m sure we’ll find out tonight if he likes you. And us.”

Triss groaned again as she let her head hang, earning some chuckles from Jen. The two vampires walked into The Quiet Note, wrapped in Triss’s increasingly awesome Obfuscate abilities, and found one of the small benches alongside the wall and its god awful gray flowery wallpaper. The small circle tables in the large room were full, and people sipped their drinks quietly, waiting for the various musicians who’d come up on stage. The place was dark, with only a bit of dim light near the stage so the audience could see.

The place smelled of lots of different drug flavors, but the crowd didn’t make a noise. People came to a place like this to hear the artist, not use it as an excuse to socialize. It made more sense to Triss to just stay home and use some good headphones, but at the same time, there was a special magic to seeing someone live. And that time she’d seen Sándor live, it’d been strangely magical.

Sure enough, Sándor came out on stage, wearing some blue jeans and a loose white shirt. With the somber stoic look, his European face, and super short dark hair, the simple look really fit him. He was, as far as anyone could tell looking at him, a super simple guy from Romania. Until he had an instrument in hand.

He sat down on a small stool, spent a few seconds tuning his guitar, and pulled the mic nice and close.

“Sorry I haven’t been around. Had things to do.” He nodded to himself as he looked down at his guitar, plucked a string, and tuned that one, too. “Feeling a lot better though. Lot of things happened. Good things.” Holy shit, the man gave the crowd a tiny smile, the wickedly handsome ones that were subtle and confident. Everyone stared, hypnotized. “It’s amazing what a few words from an old friend or lover can do. Amazing, how much your perspective can change.”

He tuned the final string, and slowly ran the pick along the strings, striking out a clean chord. Then he strummed it, teasing out the beginning of the song to see if people could figure it out before he played it at proper tempo.

Triss knew it instantly, and just like someone putting in the final piece of a puzzle, she felt complete when Sándor finally started strumming right.

“I was a little too tall, could’ve used a few pounds. Tight pants, points, hardly renown.”

A shiver shot up through her, and she melted into Jen’s side as they both listened. The crowd knew the song, or at least most of them did. A few, like Jen, were utterly oblivious. Fucking kids. They didn’t know what it’d been like to bring out a jukebox, and listen to a song like this, out in the fields or on the side of a dirt road when the moon was high. You closed your eyes and let the music take you on a journey.

She’d thought Sándor’s singing voice was similar to Bob Seger’s. Apparently he thought so, too.

It only got better. He was up on the stage alone, so there wasn’t any drummer or piano to join in, but that didn’t stop Sándor. If the dude could play Symphony X, this song was a cakewalk, and he proved it as he started taping his foot to the beat. The hook that pulled everyone in, and had them all humming the melody as they lightly swayed with the beat. No one said a word. Everyone listened.

His eyes. Dreamy blue eyes, normally so hard and stern, melted in the song, and he stared off over the crowd, like he was looking to the horizon, as he played.

“I woke last night to the sound of thunder. ‘How far off?’ I sat and wondered. Started humming a song from 1962. Ain’t it funny how the night moves? When you just don’t seem to ... have as much to lose. Strange how the night moves. With autumn closing in.”

“I’m sorry,” Jennifer said, “I don’t listen to my grandparent’s music.”

Triss groaned and shoved Jen hard enough she fell on Sándor’s couch with a bounce. They’d gone to his apartment after his time at the club, when another artist came up to play after Sándor played a half dozen songs. Surprisingly, the sleek, modern, stereotypically expensive Dolareido apartment wasn’t entirely empty anymore. The gray couches remained, so did the piano and guitars, but now there was also a couple pictures on the walls, big paintings of landscapes, and an old cathedral.

It was the new picture on the countertop that really struck Triss, though. It was a picture of Margaret and Theo.

Sándor followed Triss in, noticed what she was looking at, and touched the framed picture slightly before he moved over to sit on the piano bench.

“I listened to them,” Triss said, picking the conversation with Jen back up. “I mostly listen to metal, but sometimes it’s nice to listen to the bands that my metal bands owe their existence to, you know? Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band. The Eagles.”

“Agreed.” And like he was taking a breath, Sándor played a tune on the keys.

“Roll Me Away!” Laughing, Triss plopped down on the bench with him, and watched his fingers work. Just like ringing a bell. “You really do like music. Like, really like music, in the way most people just don’t get.” Sounded dumb to say, considering he was a musician, but some people didn’t really get or ‘feel’ music. It was worth saying.

“I do. So do you.” He gave her a tiny grin, and played another song. It took her a second to pick it up. But once it picked up speed, she caught it, like chasing a butterfly with a net.

“Don’t Stop Me Now!” Christ, now she couldn’t stop laughing. “Jen doesn’t listen to Queen. It physically hurts being her girlfriend.”

“Hey!” Jen said from the couch. “I like music.”

“You like to listen to pop and EDM while you do other shit. I said music, not flavor of the month noise to fill up the background.”

Jen scrunched up her nose, and with a bit of bounce in her step, plopped down on the bench on Sándor’s other side.

“Play something romantic,” she said, and she grinned brazenly up at Sándor as she ran a finger down the keys.

Sándor nodded. Didn’t grump or grunt or anything, just nodded, hell he even smiled a little, leaving both women speechless. Jen had definitely been trying to get a reaction out of him, but instead, Sándor rolled with it and got to work.

Three notes in, and both girls sighed dreamily. Even Jen knew this song.

“Faithfully,” Triss whispered, and she swayed to Journey’s tune. “Do you just know every song?”

“When I came to America, long ago, music was evolving in ways no one could have imagined. From Robert Johnson, John Lee Hooker, Muddy Waters and many others, blues evolved and changed the world, and rock and roll evolved from it. Elvis changed the world. Johnny Cash changed the world. Then Queen and Journey, two of my favorite bands, changed the world, too. I have to admit, the rock bands from the seventies and eighties, and sometimes nineties, dominate most of my listening.”

It was a wonder he didn’t start playing Don’t Stop Believin’, but he stayed on Faithfully, and Triss and Jen continued to sway with it.

“Another,” Jen whispered.

Sándor paused only long enough to let them know he was switching songs, before his fingers found the high notes and danced on a tune.

Triss frowned as she watched his fingers. “I know this ... I know this ... Styx!”

The man smiled, his eyes on the keys, as he played Lady.

“I can’t sing like DeYoung.”

“Trust me,” Triss said. “You can sing. Maybe not that high pitch, but still.”