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Authors: Katherine Lampe
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different from mental illness. Besides, you didn’t see him and I did. He looked dreadful. I’m amazed he could stand on his own two feet. He could have passed out in a ditch somewhere. Checking the hospitals is a good idea.”
“I still want to go to the studio.”
“Did I say we wouldn’t? But keep the other in reserve. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going back to the session.” I downed the rest of my beer and flounced away, liking the feel of my skirts swishing against my thighs. I felt Timber’s eyes on me again; it made me very uncomfortable for reasons I didn’t know. I tried to ignore the sensation by throwing myself into the latest set of jigs, but, despite telling myself it was only my imagination, for the rest of the night I could not escape the notion that he was looking at me in the same, inscrutable way.
Chapter Five
T he session broke up at around midnight and, all things considered, it did not surprise me much when Timber insisted on walking me home. I didn’t want him to—I sensed something about to break between us—but he refused to take no for an answer. As we walked along the Mall the air between us got thicker and thicker, like the air before a thunderstorm. But when he spoke, he just offered to carry my flute case for me. I declined his offer as politely as I could, given the tension I felt, and we went on walking in silence that grew ever more loaded.
At this hour the Mall lay deserted for the most part: the vendors’ carts boarded up and chained in place or wheeled away; the tourists gone to their hotels; the buskers and homeless beggars vanished to whatever places they spent the night. Only a few frat boys still bounced along between the sculptures and flowerbeds, uttering occasional drunken whoops like some weird species of crane.
I stumbled over an uneven paving stone; Timber took my arm to steady me. I thought he would remove his hand when I regained my feet, but he left it there. The touch of him sent warm prickles down my spine as I anticipated a confrontation. But when he spoke, he did not say anything like what I had expected.
“You didn’t tell me you were a musician.”
“You didn’t tell me you were,” I retorted.
“It didn’t seem to have anything to do with the matter at hand,” we both said together, and I had to laugh.
“You have a nice laugh,” he told me, “like bells.”
I stopped to ponder this second compliment of the evening, coming when I had expected an altogether different attitude from him. But he had already gone on, dragging me along with him.
“But music can be powerful magic,” he said. “It bears keeping in mind.”
I thought he would go on to bring up the subject of John Stonefeather, but again he surprised me by letting it go, and we walked on in silence to my front door.
“Well, good night,” I said, hoping my discomfort did not show in my voice. The heaviness still hung in the air between us and I wouldn’t be myself until it had cleared, however little I looked forward to the event.
“I had a fine time tonight,” Timber replied, releasing my arm at last. “Sometimes I get too focused, ken. It’s good to remember there are other things in life.”
“We did talk to Kevin,” I reminded him.
“Aye, we did. And learned a few things of use.”
Here it comes, I thought, feeling relieved. I didn’t want to go to bed with the storm hanging over me.
“And you’re right about the hospitals,” he said, shocking me yet again. “Stonefeather may be in a deep trance and unable to respond. Or he might simply be sick from the darkness. Either way, a Good Samaritan might have taken him….”
“I’m glad you see that.”
“Aye, well, I get an idea in my head and it’s hard to shake. I still want to go to his studio, in any case.”
“First thing tomorrow if you like.”
“Aye.”
“Well…good night,” I said again, hoping he’d take the hint. Now that the air had cleared a bit my
“I still want to go to the studio.”
“Did I say we wouldn’t? But keep the other in reserve. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going back to the session.” I downed the rest of my beer and flounced away, liking the feel of my skirts swishing against my thighs. I felt Timber’s eyes on me again; it made me very uncomfortable for reasons I didn’t know. I tried to ignore the sensation by throwing myself into the latest set of jigs, but, despite telling myself it was only my imagination, for the rest of the night I could not escape the notion that he was looking at me in the same, inscrutable way.
Chapter Five
T he session broke up at around midnight and, all things considered, it did not surprise me much when Timber insisted on walking me home. I didn’t want him to—I sensed something about to break between us—but he refused to take no for an answer. As we walked along the Mall the air between us got thicker and thicker, like the air before a thunderstorm. But when he spoke, he just offered to carry my flute case for me. I declined his offer as politely as I could, given the tension I felt, and we went on walking in silence that grew ever more loaded.
At this hour the Mall lay deserted for the most part: the vendors’ carts boarded up and chained in place or wheeled away; the tourists gone to their hotels; the buskers and homeless beggars vanished to whatever places they spent the night. Only a few frat boys still bounced along between the sculptures and flowerbeds, uttering occasional drunken whoops like some weird species of crane.
I stumbled over an uneven paving stone; Timber took my arm to steady me. I thought he would remove his hand when I regained my feet, but he left it there. The touch of him sent warm prickles down my spine as I anticipated a confrontation. But when he spoke, he did not say anything like what I had expected.
“You didn’t tell me you were a musician.”
“You didn’t tell me you were,” I retorted.
“It didn’t seem to have anything to do with the matter at hand,” we both said together, and I had to laugh.
“You have a nice laugh,” he told me, “like bells.”
I stopped to ponder this second compliment of the evening, coming when I had expected an altogether different attitude from him. But he had already gone on, dragging me along with him.
“But music can be powerful magic,” he said. “It bears keeping in mind.”
I thought he would go on to bring up the subject of John Stonefeather, but again he surprised me by letting it go, and we walked on in silence to my front door.
“Well, good night,” I said, hoping my discomfort did not show in my voice. The heaviness still hung in the air between us and I wouldn’t be myself until it had cleared, however little I looked forward to the event.
“I had a fine time tonight,” Timber replied, releasing my arm at last. “Sometimes I get too focused, ken. It’s good to remember there are other things in life.”
“We did talk to Kevin,” I reminded him.
“Aye, we did. And learned a few things of use.”
Here it comes, I thought, feeling relieved. I didn’t want to go to bed with the storm hanging over me.
“And you’re right about the hospitals,” he said, shocking me yet again. “Stonefeather may be in a deep trance and unable to respond. Or he might simply be sick from the darkness. Either way, a Good Samaritan might have taken him….”
“I’m glad you see that.”
“Aye, well, I get an idea in my head and it’s hard to shake. I still want to go to his studio, in any case.”
“First thing tomorrow if you like.”
“Aye.”
“Well…good night,” I said again, hoping he’d take the hint. Now that the air had cleared a bit my
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