“One of these days I’m going to come join you,” Julie warned. “I’ll drag you out to breakfast, and make you eat something shocking, like scrambled eggs.”
“Yes!” Sid exclaimed. “Break me out of this nonsense… as long as I can eat oatmeal.”
“You’re hopeless! Listen, I’ve got to go. I need to, I don’t know, make calls and answer emails or sleep off this breakfast coma.”
“Okay.” Sid flopped over to stare at the ceiling. “You could always fly out to Paris for a day or two. We’ve got that short break coming up.”
Julie’s voice warmed. “That’s a great idea! I’ll check flights. It would be so much fun to hassle you into trying a different breakfast in person. Listen, I know you don’t like to read reviews, so I want to tell you—you’re doing good, kiddo. Really, really good. I’m reading all of them, and there’s nothing but rave reviews. They’re loving this new album.”
Pleasure felt light and warm, like sunshine on her skin. She smiled. “Thanks.”
Shortly after she hung up, Vince texted to let her know he had chartered a plane that would be waiting for them after the concert. They would travel by car to a small, business-oriented airport called London Biggin Hill.
She chewed her lip as she read the text. The only airports she knew in the greater London area were Gatwick and Heathrow, but she was well acquainted with using smaller airports that ran private charters. The arrangement wasn’t unusual, just more expensive, but Vincent wouldn’t have booked it if there had been any commercial flights available.
She sent a reply approving the plan, and then she took a few minutes to text her band to tell them she would be going ahead to take care of a few business matters, and she would see them in Paris. The texts they sent back were easygoing and untroubled, and she smiled as she read them. The group she had gathered for this tour was a solid one.
Afterward, she forced herself to lie down and take a nap. Since they had decided to leave directly after the concert, it was going to be a long night.
That evening at the concert, the preperformance buzz ran through her veins while the warm-up band played, and she had to work at restraining herself until it was time to step onto the stage. While she waited for them to finish their last number, she looked over the crowd from the wings.
With the hot, bright stage lights, she couldn’t see any individual faces, but still a sense of conviction ran over her skin like ice water. Her stalker was in the audience. She could feel it. Feel him.
Hardly breathing, she poked at the certainty. He was there, unmoved by the music, and his sense of purpose was almost palpable. The comfort she had gleaned from talking to Vincent earlier evaporated, and gooseflesh raised on her bare arms. She shivered.
The noise from the crowd shifted and rose in volume, but she hardly noticed. Only when her drummer, Dustin, tapped her on the shoulder did she jump and come back to herself.
He leaned forward, eyes sharp, and said in her ear, “Showtime, Sid. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” she told him. With an effort, she shook off the pall that had fallen over her, gave him a grin, and strode onto the stage. A waft of air brushed her cheek, and she looked up to catch sight of a transparent sketch of a face that smiled down at her as it drifted by.
The Djinn had come again. This one had materialized just enough so she could see it. They had bargained with her to attend her concerts, and she now owned a wealth of Djinn favors.
Smiling, she nodded at the strange creature, and the pale outline of its face faded. Then she raised her violin and bow, and the music rushed in like a tidal wave and swept her away.
It always took her away. It transported her to a place of such piercing purity, such raw transcendence, that it filled up her veins and flowed out of her like liquid fire.
She never questioned her life choices, not when she was flowing with the music. Never questioned the years of sacrifice, the harsh regimen, study, and diligent practice. She never felt lonely or worried or afraid because the music was everything, her lover, friend, and family, and her most demanding, invisible companion.
She fed it, and it fed her, the energy running back and forth, building into a towering edifice of sound, her unique citadel of radiant vibration.
Nobody else could reach that radiant citadel. Nobody could touch it. They could only glimpse it when she played, only hear it because she allowed them to.
After a timeless period, suddenly the concert hurtled to an end. The high, transcendent peak of energy had been achieved, the last strings played, the final notes piercing the silence.
Sweat pouring down her neck, she glanced sidelong at either end of the stage. As if on cue, the Djinn materialized enough so she could see them. They smiled and bowed to her, while the audience gave her a standing ovation.
Afterward, it took some time to extricate herself. Flowers were delivered, the manager of the arena wanted to thank her, and three of the band members had things they needed to discuss before she left. She attended to all of it while the remnants of the fire still ran in her veins. It was only when Vincent and Tony urged her away that tiredness began to sink in.
The car was waiting at the back entrance. Tony rode in the front, while she rode in the back with Vincent. The driver took them out of the arena and down unfamiliar streets.
Letting the men’s quiet, easygoing conversation wash over her, she leaned her forehead against the window and blinked tiredly as she watched the scenery go by—neighborhoods and clusters of shops interspersed with areas of dense greenery.
Even though it was high summer in England, the fog on that cool, damp day had never truly lifted. Now it seemed alive as ghostly tendrils flowed over the road. The time had slipped to well past midnight, and traffic on their route was almost nonexistent.
Sleepiness tried to take over, but she fought it. She would only have to wake up again in twenty minutes or so once they got to the airport, and then any chance she had of sleeping would be ruined for the rest of the night.
Despite her best efforts, she must have dozed. Sudden cursing tore away the peacefulness that had shrouded her. She jerked upright.
An immense black horse filled the windshield in front of the car. As it reared, fire danced in its mane and sparks shot from gigantic hooves.
The driver yanked the wheel sideways, brutally hard. Vincent shot out an arm to brace her as they were both flung sideways. Tires screeched. The car hit a curb and rolled down an incline. Pain flared as the seat belt bit into her shoulder and breasts. She tried to find something to hang on to and grabbed the door handle.
“Yes!” Sid exclaimed. “Break me out of this nonsense… as long as I can eat oatmeal.”
“You’re hopeless! Listen, I’ve got to go. I need to, I don’t know, make calls and answer emails or sleep off this breakfast coma.”
“Okay.” Sid flopped over to stare at the ceiling. “You could always fly out to Paris for a day or two. We’ve got that short break coming up.”
Julie’s voice warmed. “That’s a great idea! I’ll check flights. It would be so much fun to hassle you into trying a different breakfast in person. Listen, I know you don’t like to read reviews, so I want to tell you—you’re doing good, kiddo. Really, really good. I’m reading all of them, and there’s nothing but rave reviews. They’re loving this new album.”
Pleasure felt light and warm, like sunshine on her skin. She smiled. “Thanks.”
Shortly after she hung up, Vince texted to let her know he had chartered a plane that would be waiting for them after the concert. They would travel by car to a small, business-oriented airport called London Biggin Hill.
She chewed her lip as she read the text. The only airports she knew in the greater London area were Gatwick and Heathrow, but she was well acquainted with using smaller airports that ran private charters. The arrangement wasn’t unusual, just more expensive, but Vincent wouldn’t have booked it if there had been any commercial flights available.
She sent a reply approving the plan, and then she took a few minutes to text her band to tell them she would be going ahead to take care of a few business matters, and she would see them in Paris. The texts they sent back were easygoing and untroubled, and she smiled as she read them. The group she had gathered for this tour was a solid one.
Afterward, she forced herself to lie down and take a nap. Since they had decided to leave directly after the concert, it was going to be a long night.
That evening at the concert, the preperformance buzz ran through her veins while the warm-up band played, and she had to work at restraining herself until it was time to step onto the stage. While she waited for them to finish their last number, she looked over the crowd from the wings.
With the hot, bright stage lights, she couldn’t see any individual faces, but still a sense of conviction ran over her skin like ice water. Her stalker was in the audience. She could feel it. Feel him.
Hardly breathing, she poked at the certainty. He was there, unmoved by the music, and his sense of purpose was almost palpable. The comfort she had gleaned from talking to Vincent earlier evaporated, and gooseflesh raised on her bare arms. She shivered.
The noise from the crowd shifted and rose in volume, but she hardly noticed. Only when her drummer, Dustin, tapped her on the shoulder did she jump and come back to herself.
He leaned forward, eyes sharp, and said in her ear, “Showtime, Sid. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” she told him. With an effort, she shook off the pall that had fallen over her, gave him a grin, and strode onto the stage. A waft of air brushed her cheek, and she looked up to catch sight of a transparent sketch of a face that smiled down at her as it drifted by.
The Djinn had come again. This one had materialized just enough so she could see it. They had bargained with her to attend her concerts, and she now owned a wealth of Djinn favors.
Smiling, she nodded at the strange creature, and the pale outline of its face faded. Then she raised her violin and bow, and the music rushed in like a tidal wave and swept her away.
It always took her away. It transported her to a place of such piercing purity, such raw transcendence, that it filled up her veins and flowed out of her like liquid fire.
She never questioned her life choices, not when she was flowing with the music. Never questioned the years of sacrifice, the harsh regimen, study, and diligent practice. She never felt lonely or worried or afraid because the music was everything, her lover, friend, and family, and her most demanding, invisible companion.
She fed it, and it fed her, the energy running back and forth, building into a towering edifice of sound, her unique citadel of radiant vibration.
Nobody else could reach that radiant citadel. Nobody could touch it. They could only glimpse it when she played, only hear it because she allowed them to.
After a timeless period, suddenly the concert hurtled to an end. The high, transcendent peak of energy had been achieved, the last strings played, the final notes piercing the silence.
Sweat pouring down her neck, she glanced sidelong at either end of the stage. As if on cue, the Djinn materialized enough so she could see them. They smiled and bowed to her, while the audience gave her a standing ovation.
Afterward, it took some time to extricate herself. Flowers were delivered, the manager of the arena wanted to thank her, and three of the band members had things they needed to discuss before she left. She attended to all of it while the remnants of the fire still ran in her veins. It was only when Vincent and Tony urged her away that tiredness began to sink in.
The car was waiting at the back entrance. Tony rode in the front, while she rode in the back with Vincent. The driver took them out of the arena and down unfamiliar streets.
Letting the men’s quiet, easygoing conversation wash over her, she leaned her forehead against the window and blinked tiredly as she watched the scenery go by—neighborhoods and clusters of shops interspersed with areas of dense greenery.
Even though it was high summer in England, the fog on that cool, damp day had never truly lifted. Now it seemed alive as ghostly tendrils flowed over the road. The time had slipped to well past midnight, and traffic on their route was almost nonexistent.
Sleepiness tried to take over, but she fought it. She would only have to wake up again in twenty minutes or so once they got to the airport, and then any chance she had of sleeping would be ruined for the rest of the night.
Despite her best efforts, she must have dozed. Sudden cursing tore away the peacefulness that had shrouded her. She jerked upright.
An immense black horse filled the windshield in front of the car. As it reared, fire danced in its mane and sparks shot from gigantic hooves.
The driver yanked the wheel sideways, brutally hard. Vincent shot out an arm to brace her as they were both flung sideways. Tires screeched. The car hit a curb and rolled down an incline. Pain flared as the seat belt bit into her shoulder and breasts. She tried to find something to hang on to and grabbed the door handle.
