Page 19 of My Funny Demon Valentine
Her eyes filled with sympathy. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. Trust me, I’m used to it.” She still looked upset, and he felt the need to comfort her. “If I’m relaxed, I do feel touch, especially in more sensitive parts of my body.” Shit, he was really putting his foot in his mouth here. “But that’s why I like music, I guess. Because my hearing is normal.”
“But how do you—”
Thankfully, at that moment, the band started up, effectively drowning out Eva’s question. They had no choice but to sit back and enjoy the music. And enjoy it he did.
Just as Eva had said, the musicians were fantastic. The lineup played a few tunes, jamming off famous standards or improvised chords, and then some players would swap and a new lineup would form, keeping the energy fresh. They watched together for over an hour, chatting between sets about the music and nothing in particular. Just easy, harmless fun.
Eva seemed oddly curious about him, making him glad he’d had that talk with Bel about what not to say. He wondered if all humans were this inquisitive when they first met—her questions felt like a bloody interrogation at times—but he couldn’t say either way. Since being cursed around three thousand years ago, his experience with humans in a social capacity was limited at best, and his experiences with human women even less.
“Where’d you grow up?” Eva asked him.
“Uh, here and there. I traveled a lot.”
Her eyes narrowed like she was displeased with his evasiveness, and she switched topics with dizzying abruptness. “What were your parents like?”
He winced. “I never knew them.” Or rather, never had them. Demons were created from hellfire by the will of a female demon. Only females could make new demons, but that didn’t mean they felt any sort of maternal bond to their creations. Far from it.
“You never knew your parents?” Eva looked sad, which was weird. Why would she care about his parents? “Why not?”
“I, um—” Damn it, Bel hadn’t prepared him for what to do if she turned out to have a doctorate in interrogation tactics. “I was raised by my brother.” That, at least, was true.
He’d been formed at roughly a human toddler’s development and tossed into a horrified Belial’s lap. Bel had been an evil motherfucker way back then, and Asmodeus had been just as vile, but somehow, they’d managed to bond in their own disturbed way.
Eva opened her mouth to drill him with further questions, but thankfully, someone waved to her from the stage at that moment.
“I think I’m going up for the next set,” Eva said, waving back. “I guess you don’t play anything, or I’d tell you to join. I won’t be long. Or, if you’d rather I stay—”
“I want to see you play.”
“Okay.” She smiled. “You should learn an instrument! I bet you’d love it.”
“I play the piano,” he reluctantly admitted.
Her mouth dropped open. Just seeing it in that little O shape gave him wicked thoughts. “Why didn’t you say so?”
Music was a human art. A demon could mimic it, sure—part of their skillset was being able to learn anything they wanted quickly—but it wasn’t the same. The mortality of humans combined with their potential for good or evil came through in their creative expression.
Demons were just... flat. A demon could be a master pianist, but he would never have the soul of a human player.
Because a demon had no soul. That was what it came down to.
But a demon could still appreciate the human arts, and Ash did. He shrugged at Eva. “Go play your flute for me. I’ll be here.”
She looked like she wanted to say more, but she turned away and melted into the crowd instead. He watched her climb up on stage, greeting the other musicians, and then the next tune began.
Of course, she stole the show. Her charisma drew gazes, and when she took a solo, a hush fell over the entire club. She was incredible, her fingers delicate on that crummy old flute as the ethereal sounds flew up and down complex scales.
She played a few jams and then returned, and Ash struggled in vain to find the words to commend her performance. She brushed him off and kept peppering him with questions about when he’d learned to play piano until he was forced to explain.
He gave her a glossed-over, “human-safe” version of events. “I lived in Cuba for a few years and made friends with a piano player. I expressed an interest, so he taught me how to play.”
The truth was, about fifty years ago, he’d done a solo escape from Hell and hid out in Cuba where he’d met his teacher, pulling the guy out of a fight outside a bar in Havana.
It sounded noble, but it wasn’t. He’d killed all four of the men beating on Miguel without a backward glance, and he’d only saved Miguel in the first place because the guys kicking his ass had taunted him into it, and his pride demanded he show them who their daddy was. The friendship and piano lessons had come afterward, purely by chance.
Unfortunately, escaping Hell and killing humans was against the rules, and Ash had been caught a few years later. His first and only human friend was killed in the crossfire.
