Page 13 of The Devil’s Feather

A ridiculous idea crawled out of my brain. “Can you play ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’?”

“The Devil had a full band and spent more time on an electric guitar than the fiddle,” he scoffed.

A disassembled drum kit took up another corner. There was what looked like a fancy xylophone, a selection of woodwinds, and a few horns. The more I looked, the more variety I found.

Rafael sat on the piano bench, flipped open the fallboard, and settled in at the tall piano. “This is incomplete, but your book inspired me. I have been hearing strains of this melody in my head for half my life, and I never knew where it belonged until we met. You will have to imagine percussion and strings for depth.”

I swayed on my feet. “My book? The book I wrote? That book?”

“You are a silly creature.” He played a bass chord progression, ending at middle C. “Specifically, the scene where Epiphany discovers she had a piece of the dragon’s soul embedded within her all along.”

Rafael closed his eyes, and his long fingers spidered across the keys. A rising run of chords set the baseline, overlaid with plaintive treble in a questioning cadence. That was the sample he’d sent me! The chords grew in confidence: Epiphany’s dawning realization. Tension, increasing tempo. The rhythm became staccato: her panic. A swell of chords led upward into the climax, holding me at the brink of heightened emotion. They spiraled gently downward and brought me to rest.

His hands stilled, and he opened his eyes.

I furiously wiped at the embarrassment of tears pouring down my cheeks. “That was incredible. It was perfect.”

Rafael grimaced. “Not perfect; but getting there.” He relented at my starry-eyed awe. “Glad you like it.”

“I loved it, are you kidding? You absolutely nailed the mood I was going for.” I sniffled out the words. “I’m blown away. This is the coolest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Rafael closed the fallboard and rested his elbow on it. “There is something special about you, Elaine. It has been a long time since I last invited anyone here, and it often takes years for me to extend an invitation at all.” He shook his head, bemused. “I almost invited you the night we met. Still trying to understand it.”

My face heated. “Can I give you a hug for that song?”

He approached and took a knee. It put us almost eye-to-eye. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his hair. It was softer than it looked and incredibly thick. A subtle scent tickled my nose; earthy and spiced, not unlike the dragon’s blood resin incense I’d loved in college.

Rafael tensed at first. Then he hugged me back, squeezing the air from my lungs. Like being caught in a steel vice, only warm. And I loved it.

“You smell nice,” I murmured. “I don’t like most cologne because it’s too strong and gives me a headache, but yours is perfect.”

“It is hair oil.” This close to him, his deep voice vibrated in my chest.

My knees buckled, but I managed not to swoon like an idiot in his arms. “Well, your hair is gorgeous.” I bit my lower lip. “Can I?”

Rafael tugged the tie out of his hair. It spilled like blood over his broad shoulders; still falling just past mid-back. I captured a curling lock, rotating it in my hand to catch the light. Such an unusual, almost unnatural, deep red; like a floss of garnet and ruby. The only other person I’d ever met with a similar shade was a girl from northern Italy I’d shared a grade with in high school. She’d been a Botticelli painting come to life. Rafael belonged equally in the Renaissance.

“I’ve always liked long hair on men, but many guys don’t take care of it like you do.” I beamed at him. “Of course, most guys don’t have such beautiful hair. Or so much of it.”

He shrugged. “I have worn it long all my life.”

I tugged experimentally on the lock, testing its coil tension. “Do you have ears under all that mane?”

An amused huff. “The cartilage is not so pretty after all these years of fighting.” He pulled his hair back.

“I thought you were joking about that! They don’t look bad at all, though.” I’d expected full-on cauliflower ears, but they were only a little nebulous around the edges. Maybe no one was tall enough to punch him in the head.

“There is also this, courtesy of a knife fight when I was a teenager.” Rafael turned his head. The left ear had a crescent slice taken out of the auricle, bringing it to a sharp point at the top.

Every time I think this man can’t get any more attractive… “Can I touch it?”

Rafael inclined his head toward me.

I traced the pointed outline of his ear. “Honestly, I’m jealous. I’ve always wanted pointy ears.”

“That makes perfect sense for you, but I doubt you would enjoy the other souvenirs from that fight. Most are faded away now, but I do have this.” He tilted his chin toward me. A very faint line ran vertically from the left edge of his mouth down to the bottom of his chin. I never would have noticed if he hadn’t pointed it out, but it only added to his fathomless mystique. “Cuts at the corners of the mouth bleed like hell and are a bitch to heal. I am lucky that scar is as small as it is.”

With his free hand, Rafael brushed my hair back from my face, running his fingers through it. “Do you always dye it bright colors?”