Page 24 of The Devil and His Sparrow

“Whoever did the decorating for this place needs to be fired,” I grumbled to Iyla.

She looked at the walls and actually made a soft sound that could almost be called a laugh. She glanced up at me and tucked some dark hair behind her ear. “It is a bit much, isn’t it? I think it’s meant to provide some semblance of positivity to the people that come here. The kids and their families.”

“Yeah, cause if I’m sick and dying, seeing a kid riding a dinosaur will remind me to keep pushing on,” I quipped.

Before she could respond, we rounded the corner into a much larger area. A circular desk stood in the center of the room, and branches of hallways fed off from the vast space. Nurses and staff bustled around the desk and swept down the different paths.

A nurse wearing teal scrubs and a sandy color hijab spotted us. Her face instantly broke into a smile as we approached. “Iyla! So good to see you.”

“Hey, Noya,” Iyla greeted, returning the warm welcome.

Noya’s attention found me, and I immediately knew what her wide eyes and slack jaw meant. Recognition.

Plastering on a charming smirk of my own, I waved. “Hey there.”

“You’re—You’re—” Her voice got higher and higher as she stammered her words.

“Holy cheese balls!” a sudden shrill voice squealed.

The three of us turned to find a group of teenage girls staring at us—or rather, me—like their savior had just appeared before them.

“You’re Zagan!” one cried. She wore a long blue flannel dress that practically swallowed her frame where she sat in her wheelchair.

Another, who clutched a walker with an IV bag holder, smiled so wide, I worried her chapped lips would split. “I can’t believe this. Is this really happening? The Zagan. We’re—We’re all huge fans.”

“Fans?” the older nurse standing with the group asked. Her wrinkly face gained a few more creases as she openly scrutinized me, and I knew all she saw was a man with tattoos and piercings. “What have you girls been doing when we haven’t been around?”

“Just listening to music, Mrs. Patrice,” one of the teens said. “He’s the lead singer in our favorite band!”

“Yes, he’s amazing!” came a decree.

“The absolute best!” another compliment came.

The five teens, all of whom were patients, nodded their heads furiously, in agreement with all the assessments thrown my way. The nurse didn’t look amused at all. Old, judgmental bat.

More times than not, I was a cold bastard. There wasn’t much I cared about, and even then, I wasn’t sure if cared was the right word. Rather, there were only a few things that made me truly happy. Well, as happy as a demon from Hell could be.

One of those things was music. Dancing to music, playing music, writing music. Writing songs was what I lived for these days. Taking absolutely nothing and turning it into this exciting, thought-provoking, heart-pounding string of sounds and words that reached deep inside people, calling to their inner selves. The things they cared about. The things they feared. The things they desired. It was what made this long existence of mine bearable.

Going hand-in-hand with that drive was meeting my fans and seeing those that my songs had touched and inspired. It was something that made my dark soul pulse with just a bit of something more. Something … lighter.

Walking over to them, I made sure to give the skeptical nurse a shit-eating grin before looking at the girls. I scanned their faces—some gaunt and pale, others red and splotchy, one girl even had thick scars from what looked like burns marring her face, though she tried to hide behind her hair while throwing quick glances at me.

“Wow,” I said, turning on the brightness in my voice that I reserved for fan interactions. “I’ve never had such beautiful girls praise me so much.”

That earned me a chorus of giggles from all of them. Except the girl with the burns. She tucked her head down even more.

“Thank you all,” I continued. “Really. I appreciate your support. What are your names?”

They went down the line, introducing themselves. We’d gathered some more people around us—a couple nurses who looked like they were about to cum just from looking at me, some more patients who lingered in doorways to watch, and some older staff who didn’t seem to get what all the fuss was about like Madam-Resting-Bitch-Face who still lingered protectively around the girls like she thought I might eat them.

When they were done introducing themselves, one of the girls—Arianna, the one in the wheelchair—asked, “What brings you here? Do you have a relative here or something?”

I nodded at Iyla, who had drifted over to stare at me at some point. She seemed … surprised by my attention to my fans. Like she thought I might’ve just ignored them and moved on instead of hanging around to talk to them. My chest tightened with a wave of satisfaction. I liked proving her assumptions about me wrong, because just as she’d snapped at me earlier about not knowing her, she didn’t know me.

“I’m actually a friend of hers,” I said, gesturing to Iyla. “We’re here to see her sister.”

“Ahh,” Noya said, her eyes still starstruck as she fought to look away from me and toward Iyla. “Gemma’s in the sunroom with the other kids.”

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