Page 80 of The Devil and His Sparrow

The strong smell of freshly brewed coffee filtered into the ballroom, and I latched onto the scent as my excuse to leave.

“I think the coffee’s ready,” I mumbled. Without another word or backward glance, I got up and left Zagan and his words behind.

Chapter 25

Zagan

IYLA WAS PISSED. OR UPSET. Or both.

Ever since she’d left me sitting alone at the piano, she’d been quiet, and her gaze was distant like only her body remained here while her mind was far away. And I knew exactly where it was. I could whisk her away to my place, but I couldn’t take away the lingering mental damage her mother had inflicted.

I didn’t expect her to understand or accept her new freedom a day after being disowned. There was no way she’d see this as a good thing when the hurt was so raw. But to see the way she lit up like an explosion of fireworks when she listened to me play made me want to always keep that look in her gaze. I wanted her to do what she loved so that the light in her eyes never dimmed.

Piano did that for her.

It also made me want to keep playing. I, myself, had forgotten what it was like to successfully play such a well-respected piece, and having an enraptured Iyla as my audience was a major serotonin boost. It reminded me what it felt like to love music again, something that I’d been struggling with lately.

So after a silent coffee break where I watched her over the rim of my mug while she stared off into space, I made my way back to the piano and played whatever came to mind.

My heart raced as my fingers moved, falling back into the memory of old pieces. There was no stopping. I bounced from piece to piece, composer to composer, style to style, all at random. There was no time to think, no time to stress over the crumpled up music sheets downstairs or the lack of inspiration for my own songs. I just played, and fuck, did it feel great, like reuniting with a long-lost love.

“That doesn’t sound like a new song.”

My fingers froze mid “Goldberg Variations,” and the calming sound faded. I looked up at the sound of Dante’s voice. He stood in the doorway with the rest of the band, including a human-looking Coldin.

“Nope,” Perseus said, drifting closer. His hair was pulled back in a bun at the back of his head, and his muscles strained beneath the maroon crew neck sweater he wore as he leaned on the piano. “Sounded like Bach.”

I flashed the golden-haired guitarist a teasing smirk. “Wow. You actually know something other than our songs? Color me shocked.”

He sneered at me, unamused by my jab. He couldn’t argue, though. I’d never known him to listen to anything other than our albums.

“Thought you were working on another song today?” Xander asked as he came over with the rest of the group. Strands of his black hair fell into his eyes as his ringed fingers tapped a few keys in no particular fashion, sending out an unpleasant pierce into the air. “Doesn’t look like you’re being very productive.”

I glared at Xander’s fingers touching the keys and immediately closed the lid. He quickly pulled his fingers back, narrowly avoiding having the digits smashed. He snarled at me, but I ignored the empty threat.

“I’m taking a break from working on music,” I admitted, getting up from the bench.

The guys followed me out of the room. I glanced at the living room for Iyla but found it empty. She must’ve been in her room, probably still stressing over what to do now that her lifelong plans had been altered.

“Taking a break?” Dante asked incredulously.

I hopped onto the kitchen counter by the coffee pot and poured me some as Dante stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “We just released ‘Moonlight Magic,’” I argued. “We don’t need another song right now.”

“You’re right,” Perseus said, leaning his tattooed arm on the island while he flicked his dangling dagger ear piercing with his free hand. “We need a whole album.”

Tension bracketed my mouth, and my shoulders coiled tightly. The relief and ease I’d had while going through memorized classical pieces on the piano faded like thunder clouds rolling in on a previously clear day.

I’d felt something again—a spark of what used to exist inside me—while playing the piano, but the moment these guys showed up with their reminders of the need for more, that spark fizzled into nothing. I wanted to love our music. I wanted to be passionate about what we did. But I couldn’t fucking do that like this.

“Zagan,” Dante said carefully. His large frame leaned back against the island across from me. He crossed his arms, making the green t-shirt stretch over his dark skin, and he stared at me with an imploring gaze. “What’s going on? You’ve never struggled like this before.”

I puffed out a tired breath and looked down into my mug. “I just hate what I’m writing these days, man. Nothing feels right. Nothing sounds right.” I looked back up to meet each of their gazes. “I just need some time to find my spark again.”

The guys stared at me, each with a varying expression. Dante seemed almost sympathetic with his soft frown. Xander looked baffled with his raised brow and open mouth. Persues appeared to process my plea with pursed lips, and Coldin … well, he stared at the ceiling, probably not even listening to anything we were saying. His head was tilted back, stretching out his tattooed neck. The skull depicted on his skin had a better chance of tuning into our conversation than he did.

“We can put a pause on releases,” Dante finally offered. “We can stick to doing video appearances and concerts for now. If anyone asks about upcoming titles, we’ll just let them know we’re on a break as far as that goes. If there isn’t pressure, do you think that will help?”

I thought about it. I wasn’t sure if that would fix my problem, but it was something. So I nodded. “Yeah. Maybe without that, I can refocus and get back to where I need to be.”

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