Page 7 of The Devil’s Feather

“Why? Vessel is a talented individual. His voice has markedly improved over time.”

The familiarity with which he spoke tickled my brain. “You say that like you might actually know who he is.”

Rafael raised a single brow. “I might.”

I nodded, impressed. “Thank you for not giving up his identity. I don’t want to know. Let’s see…I also really like Spiritbox.”

He straightened. “Solid choice. Who else?”

“God, you put me on the spot and now it’s like I’ve never listened to a band in my life.” I rattled off a too-short list. “There are more, I swear.”

Rafael nodded. “I see the thread of excellent lyricists.”

“I don’t know why I thought you’d be listening to Bach all day.”

His shoulders shook with silent mirth. “I do like Bach, but I would expire of boredom if I had to listen to the same dead white man on repeat. Yes, I approve of your taste overall. Even if it is also very white.”

“God, it is very white, isn’t it?” Shit. Deandra would have roasted me for that.

Rafael tapped his fingernails on the lacquered tray. “Good thing you like my work too, yes? Or am I the diversity hire?”

My face burned, words tangling on my tongue.

“I am teasing you, Elaine,” he said gently, and suddenly I could breathe again. “Now, tell me your story. Your accent does not sound local either.”

“I’m originally from Alabama, sorry to say. Very conservative family, very restrictive upbringing. I flew the coop for college as soon as I could. Went to UC Santa Cruz, got my degree in computer science for game design with a minor in creative writing, and never looked back.”

“Game design, eh? No wonder you recognize my music.”

“I actually knew you from movies first because I’m a horror fan, but yeah. The degree hasn’t exactly panned out. Obviously, there’s plenty of work here, but the industry has burned the creativity out of me. Nobody wants to pay writers anything unless they’re already a big name, and now that godawful AI is eating all the remaining jobs. So I do low-level data analysis for Axidia now since I’m good at pattern recognition. I never really got proper training, but I basically make pretty pictures for execs. Then they decide they don’t like a particular color and make me redo it over and over. It’s a livable income, but not exactly my heart’s desire. Hence, the side-authoring.”

My phone buzzed.

“Shit, I didn’t realize how late it is. I live in Mountain View, and I was supposed to be back an hour ago to help my housemates prep for a friend’s birthday tomorrow. I have to go.” Silently cursing past me for making plans, I scowled at the screen. “But I don’t want to.”

“I do not want you to, either,” Rafael said softly. “May I have your number? I would like to continue this conversation.” We traded. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“Thanks, I parked a little ways past Applecore.” Out on the sidewalk, I sized him up. “Maybe not the smartest thing, traipsing off in the dark with a strange man twice my size, but at least no one else will bother me. How ta⁠—”

“Seven-foot-two, unfortunately.” His mouth thinned. “Surprised it took you this long. Most people ask immediately.”

“You must get that question a lot, sorry.” I zipped up my jacket in the cool night air.

Rafael’s eyes softened. “Enough to where I have considered adding my height to my business cards along with, ‘I have never played basketball. Yes, this is my real hair color. No, you may not touch it or me’.” He gave his luxurious red mane a sassy toss.

I giggled like a fool. “You might be the only man who isn’t lying about his height. I saw you duck under that doorframe. You’d definitely be scary to meet in a dark alley.”

Rafael gave me a small smile. “Words are cheap, and I must prove myself, but I am not a danger to you.”

The way he leaned on that last part. “Who are you a danger to, then?”

He rolled his broad shoulders. “The muscles you teased me about are not for show. I like to fight in my spare time.”

“Wait, wait, no.” My impulse control saw its chance and bolted out of the stable. “You’re a famous composer, you read romance, you’re a polyglot, you’re apparently rich as fuck, and now you’re a fighter too? Save some pussy for the rest of the world, man.” Goddammit. I should not have said that.

Rafael’s eyes widened. Just as I was sure I’d offended him, he coughed up a laugh from deep in his belly. “I like you, Elaine.”

“I like you too.” I squinted at him until his brows raised in question. “Look, I’m autistic, so I’ll just ask. Was that a date?”