She lets us into her place, and I step around the still-unboxed items from her old apartment. “I can have Patrick put these into storage for you,” I say.
She stops in the middle of them and plays with the edge of the cardboard. “Patrick has offered multiple times. I wouldn’t let him.”
“Why?”
Her eyes meet mine. “Everything I was before I met you is in these boxes. I’m just not ready to let it go yet.”
I reach into the nearest box and pull out a stained plastic ladle, holding it up between us. “What part of who you are is memorialized by this ladle?”
Zoe starts to laugh and rubs her temple. “Honestly, I don’t even remember that one.”
“Hmm.” I stick the ladle back in the box. “You can keep all of it, Zoe. You can decide to never unpack these boxes, or you can put everything inside them away in the cabinets. You can take your time sinking into your new life. Hell, you can even go back to your old one if you want, although I would absolutely hate to see you in that apartment building again. You are still everything you were before you met me. The only thing that has changed is that I love you. I’ve bound myself to you. My dragon is yours to command.”
She wipes under her eyes and moves to me, reaching inside the box and grabbing the ladle. Spinning around, she opens the cabinet under the sink and tosses it into the garbage. “I’m really not that attached to who I used to be, actually.”
I catch her as she runs back into my arms and kisses me in a slow, lazy way. But I stop her when my dragon starts to wake from his slumber. “As much as I’d love to continue where this is going, we came here for a reason. I want to hear your music. Where’s your guitar?”
She smiles and almost reluctantly heads into her bedroom, returning with the instrument in her hands. I lead her into the converted second bedroom, which is now a recording studio, and gesture toward the door to the booth. “I don’t know what you want me to do in there. I haven’t played for weeks. I don’t have any new material.”
“So, play me your set. The same one you played when I watched you at the Barrel Room.”
She looks down at her guitar, hesitating.
“Just for fun. It doesn’t need to be perfect. But I can go first, if you’re nervous.” I step into the booth and pick up the electric violin I used to practice with inside this room before it was hers. I flip on the lights and double-check that the battery is charged. I unplug it from the wall and grab my bow. Then I tuck it under my chin.
She watches me from the other side of the glass as I draw my bow across the strings, getting a feel for the instrument again. I adjust one of the strings. When everything is ready to go, I look at her and wake my dragon. He fills my skin. He’s never been very good with words, but this part of me is a wicked-good communicator when it comes to music.
I start with a low staccato, thinking about the moment when I first saw her, before we even met. Mimicking how I’d looked at her picture and my heart beat faster. Then I speed up, finding a lively and dynamic melody, a legato that embodies my enchantment with her the first time I saw her perform. I move around the room, expressing through dance what I can’t with my instrument, building to something that emulates flight, the beating of my wings. She’s never seen me in my dragon form, but I try to show her through the music. It’s a big sound but graceful, the sound of wings catching wind, moonlight on scales, the passage of towns and cities under soaring claws.
My violin sings to her as I smile through the glass, and when I end on a high note, I can see she’s crying. I set down the violin and rush to her, wiping her tears. “What’s wrong?”
She laughs. “If you think I’m following that, Seb, you are out of your mind. Fuck, you’re really, really good.”
I shake my head. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“Why do you think Patrick works for me?”
“You said it inspires him.”
I snort. “You are a dragon’s mate, Zoe. Use it.”
She narrows her eyes on me and slowly walks into the booth. After a few adjustments to her guitar, she experiments, picking out a few notes.
I press the intercom button and say, “Don’t think too hard about it. Feel it. Let it out.”
She nods. And then she starts to play. The sound is somewhere between folk and rock, her fingers picking at the strings in a way only a handful of musicians can. And when she starts to sing, I feel her magic again. She has power inherent in her skin. Whoever told her she lost it is a damn liar. She doesn’t need gold dust. All she needs is to open her mouth.
“Silver morning melody?—
Whispers wake me from my dream.
The way your dragon sings to me
speaks to my very soul.
* * *
