Page 100 of The Devil and His Sparrow

I straightened my tux jacket as we settled into the cozy seating area and leaned back to get comfortable. It was just over an hour drive to our destination, and while I could’ve gotten us there in the blink of an eye, I decided to get there the human way. It meant I got to watch Iyla squirm with the anticipation of the unknown, and that amusement was worth any long drive.

Iyla studied every sign we passed and quickly gathered that we were in New York, but she wasn’t sure what we were here for. She threw out guesses—shopping, going to a place I liked from my time living here, a Broadway show—but I shot down each of them. Even if she got it right, I’d probably lie and tell her she was wrong just to keep her guessing.

Finally, the limo drove through the streets of New York City, and Iyla looked as mesmerized by the tall buildings and bright lights as a kid seeing a Christmas tree lit up for the first time. The sight warmed my chest, and I had the urge to reach over and tug her into my arms. Seeing as how we were pulling up to the Lincoln Center, I decided that would have to wait until later.

When we got out of the limo, Iyla beamed at the lit-up buildings with the bubbling fountain between them. “The Lincoln Center?” she asked slowly. She turned toward me, understanding quickly dawning in her eyes. “Are we here to see the philharmonic?”

I grinned and wove my fingers with hers. “They’re performing Mozart’s, ‘Ch’io mi scordi di te,’ his ‘Piano Concerto No. 25,’ and Mahler’s, ‘Symphony No. 4.’”

Her lips parted, and her glossy eyes searched mine with a mixture of shock and awe. I just smiled at her and pulled her up the steps and past the fountain for David Geffen Hall. I’d gotten us centermost seats on the second tier balcony, and Iyla practically vibrated in her seat as she stared down at the stage below. Her eyes were constantly moving, watching the crowd find their own seats and taking in the grand lighting and set-up of the stage.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” she whispered, her lips coming so close to touching my skin. Her hand squeezed mine, which she’d not let go of since I took hers outside.

I chuckled. “Just wait until they start playing. You’re going to love it.”

Sure enough, by the time the lights dimmed and the musicians got in their starting positions, Iyla’s eyes had become permanently glued to the magic happening on stage. The music swelled to life, and the singer’s voice carried loud and strong through the theater as “Ch’io mi scordi di te” started the night for us.

I knew I should’ve been watching the performers below, but my head stayed tilted just enough so that I could keep Iyla’s face in my constant periphery. Her eyes glimmered with adoration, and every time the pianist moved through particular notes, her breath would hitch and she’d give a soft nod as though to silently say, “Well done.”

Before I knew it, the first performance was over, and we were already moving on to Mozart’s, “Piano Concerto No. 25.” Iyla was even more drawn into this one, practically on the edge of her seat as she listened.

By the time we made it to Mahler’s, “Symphony No. 4,” I’d basically missed the first half of the show, too busy watching one of my own. I finally faced the stage below and watched with quiet appreciation as the musicians commanded their instruments with expert grace and skill. The sound flooding the room was soft and enchanting. I glanced at Iyla again to see what she made of this piece, and I found her with her chin tilted slightly into the air, eyes closed, and a soft smile on her lips.

The first time she’d heard me play the piano, she’d listened with her eyes shut. She’d said it let her feel the music better, and my chest tightened with a need to know what she felt. I wanted to experience the piece through her ears. So I faced forward and closed my eyes, letting every part of my senses focus on the music.

The small jolts of the melody in the floor beneath my feet and in my chair.

The light sound of strings and winds twirling with each other to create this brief thunder of unease that finally gave way into serenity as the final movement brought us to a close.

The theater fell silent, and then a sudden eruption of applause poured out from the mezzanine and gallery. I opened my eyes as patrons stood, clapping for the bowing conductor and philharmonic. Iyla and I stood, too, clapping for a beautiful performance. Our gazes met, and we shared a warm smile as the high from experiencing the production lingered.

“That was …” Iyla beamed, shaking her head as she tried to find the words. She laughed and looked up at me. “Everything! I mean, really. I have no words.”

There was a chill in the night air as we left the building, so I pulled off my tux jacket to drape it around her shoulders. She bit her lip and gave me a small thanks as she pulled the jacket tighter around her shoulders.

“The night isn’t over, yet,” I said, placing my hand on the small of her back. “We’re not too far from where we’re headed. Are you okay walking there, or do I need to call for a cab?”

She shook her head and leaned into my side. “I want to walk! I’ve never been to New York before. I want to see what it’s like.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and as I walked her down the streets of the city, pointing out different things and telling her stories from my time here, the city I’d known since its very beginning seemed brighter than it ever had before. But I wasn’t surprised. Iyla made everything better.

Iyla’s cheeks and the tip of her nose were red by the time we reached the Plaza Hotel. I let her take in the elegance of the lobby as I checked in with the receptionist, who was already excited to see me since I was the Zagan, but smiled even wider at me once he learned I was the guest who’d booked the grand penthouse suite.

I got stopped twice more by fans before Iyla and I finally managed to reach our suite.

“Oh my gosh,” Iyla breathed out in a rush of awe. She slowly walked around the luxurious first floor of the suite, and it seemed she couldn’t take in everything fast enough, just as I couldn’t keep up with her ever-changing amazement.

I grabbed her hand to pull her up the stairs, which led to the second floor of the suite. “Are you hungry? I had dinner prepared and set up for us.”

She nodded, and with that, I brought her to the private balcony. The doors were already open, the curtains blowing gently in the chilly night air. Outdoor heaters had been set up near the table, which had been outfitted with candles and roses. The steak and lobster dinner and bottle of wine waited on us.

It was far more romantic than anything I’d ever done, but then again, I’d never had Iyla in my life. While something like this would’ve made me cringe in the past, I now found myself eager to see her reaction to it all. I wanted to see the light fill her eyes or the color swarm her skin as the happiness overflowed from within her.

Something had been stirring inside of me for awhile now, and while I couldn’t put words to it, I could show her what I was feeling. I could profess these raging emotions through gestures like this, if only to make her understand that there was more happening.

There was more than a bond that kept us here.

There was more than a deal to save her sister tying us to one another.

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