Guardian

Chapter 1-2

The third and final movement was the Allegretto non troppo—Allegro molto vivace, which, as might be expected, darted back and forth between emotional and delightfully playful. As he bowed some of the sections, rocking on his toes again, Venkataraman actually smiled to himself—a smile that lingered even when he was waiting for the orchestra to answer him on and off again.

He wasn’t there, John realized. Well, no, he was obviously there, on the stage, bodily, that was indisputable. But whether from fear or joy, Venkat’s mind didn’t register or care to register that he was on stage before more than two thousand people in that moment; he was just having fun, doing something he loved. And everyone in that theater could feel it, from the orchestra to the highest balcony.

At the dramatic finish, the audience was on their feet, whistling and calling encore already. Robin stood beside John, clapping and putting two fingers in his mouth to whistle. John laughed, flushed like he’d just run a marathon, heart slamming against his ribs.

“Okay, Mendelssohn f***s hard,” Robin allowed.

The couple sitting next to them nodded in agreement. John just laughed and clapped harder.

When the crowd wouldn’t stop, Venkat came back on stage to do an encore—a Paganini caprice that once again blew everyone’s face off.

As they left the theater, again through the stage door, they slipped into the foot traffic on the sidewalk and jaywalked across Penn Avenue, then waited for the signal at 6th. They’d played in town more than a few times, since their base of operations was in the same state, albeit a six-hour drive away without fairy paths. But they’d never played in the cultural district, home to the theaters and accompanying overpriced restaurants and even a semi-famous jazz club John had been wanting to try out for ages.

In the busy restaurant, their faces were recognized by someone at the host station, and so they were ushered into a semi-private bar upstairs, but not before saying that they were waiting for someone. When they were at a tucked-away pub table with drinks, Robin finally said, “Do we think he’s actually a demon, or…?”

John burst out laughing. “What, like Paganini?”

“They did say that, right?”

“That he sold his soul to the devil. Not that he was an actual demon.”

“I mean, if Paganini did sell his soul, he’s a demon by now, right? Is that how it works?”

“No idea. Oberon preserve us.” John shook his head, still chuckling. “So, you liked it?”

“I fuckin’ loved it. I would’ve come to some of these with you before if I knew they were so lit.”

“Original rock stars. Remind me to bring you someday when they’re doing a Liszt piano concerto. That guy was a rock star.” John chuckled into his elaborate cocktail. It had some pisco in it, but otherwise he hadn’t really been paying attention when he ordered.

He was too curious—and yes, excited—to see if Venkataraman would show up. Totally understandable if he didn’t; things could be crazy after a show, and he probably needed a nap after all that, but still. If he didn’t show up…maybe their manager could get his number? Just for a chat.

Robin was nodding thoughtfully during the slight pause in conversation, then he said, “You know what he’d be great for?”

“Liszt?”

“No, violin-demon. Venkat.”

“What?”

“Know how we’ve been trying to figure out the instrumental s**t on ‘She Waits’?”

Fuck, he was right. They’d hoped to have everything settled before they went into the studio next week, but they were kind of counting on their producer, a retro big-shot type, to come to their rescue on this particular track. Either he’d have some bright ideas, or they might have to take it off the album. Which would suck, because it was a good one, some of John’s best lyrics, he was almost sure…

“Think he would?” Robin asked.

“No idea,” John admitted. But Rob, as usual when it came to their sound, was right. His recent stint as producer in his own right had clearly sharpened his instincts. “We should ask, though. Can’t hurt.”

“And if he seems interested, we get Benny on it,” Robin said.

Benny, their manager, was a no-nonsense kind of guy, utterly unfazed by paranormal antics of any kind—largely because he was married to a psychic vampire, himself. The man knew how to get s**t done.

“Yeah.” John nodded slowly. “Yeah, we should definitely—”

But he cut himself off as Venkat appeared at the top of the stairs. The host escorting him smiled brightly and stepped aside, and Venkat hesitated in place for a moment: tux jacket gone, tie off, collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. He smiled, dark eyes wide, almost as if surprised to see them there.

“f*****g slay, king,” Robin announced, lifting his drink in salute.

John did so, too, laughing. “Beautiful. Amazing performance, seriously.”

Venkat’s dark cheeks flushed, and he ducked his head as he approached. Someone at one of the other tables complimented him, and he said something quiet and gracious before continuing. When he arrived, he said, “Thank you. I got a little lost in the last movement, honestly. It always gets me.”

“I almost have it memorized and I didn’t catch a damn thing,” John said, now even more amazed.

“Drink?” Robin asked, waving to the bartender.

“Really?” Venkat blinked and stepped up to sit on the bar stool. He really was small, well over a foot, maybe a foot-and-a-half shorter than John. “And yes, please, I need one after that. What are you drinking?” He eyed John’s drink.

“Not sure. It has pisco in it,” John said. “And it’s good.”

“Oh, pisco sour?” Venkat asked the bartender.

She nodded and asked if they wanted another round, too, then disappeared behind her bar again.

“I love those, but you can’t always get them.” Venkat glanced around, taking in the cozy-but-industrial surroundings common to downtown restaurants. “Have you had dinner?”

Robin and John exchanged a glance. It wasn’t bad form, exactly, to ask what kind of vampire someone was, especially if you were supernatural yourself. But still.

“We’re dying to know,” Rob admitted. “Are you psy?”

His dark eyebrows went up. “I…yeah.” Then he laughed, flushing dark again. “Of course you’d figure it out, though. You’re—yeah.”

Psychic vampires still had to eat actual food, if not as much as an average person.

“Does it affect your playing at all?” Robin asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Venkat admitted. “Just wasn’t sure if that was…”

“Rude? Pretty sure it is, but…” Robin shrugged and smirked.

Venkat’s laugh went a little bit giddy. He covered his mouth, as if it embarrassed him.

Adorable, honestly. In an attempt to put him at ease, John leaned forward and touched his rolled-up sleeve. “Robbie here suggested you might actually be a demon.”

“Is that a thing?” Venkat’s eyes went wide again as he lifted his gaze from John’s fingers touching his shirt back to John’s gaze.

Robin scoffed as if it hadn’t been his suggestion in the first place. “Not that we know of.”

John pulled his hand back and pointed out: “But there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“Do you like the theater, too?” Venkat accepted his drink from the bartender on her return.

She set another one in front of Rob and John, too. They ordered some food, and as soon as she disappeared again, John replied, “Always.”

“I wish I could go to more shows. Feels like I’m always on the road,” Venkat said quietly into his drink.

“We have a proposition for you, actually. But it’d mean more time on the road.” Robin swirled his Manhattan, looking like the epitome of cool. That chiseled face, those cutting cheekbones, that bored, heavy-lashed look in his eyes even though he was as fascinated as he knew how to be.

John couldn’t help smiling when he looked at him. Or any of his bandmates, really. He liked pretty things. Always had, always would. And here he was, at a table with two of the prettiest. Lucky him.

“Oh?” Venkat asked, gaze darting from Robin to John and then back again, almost nervously.

“We’re about to start recording our next album. We have the studio for a whole month, so there’s no rush, but since you’re at the end of your tour…” Robin shrugged one shoulder and sipped his cocktail. Drawing it out.

John shook his head and chuckled. “We have a song we think could use your help.”

Venkat gasped. “Mine? As in, my violin?”

John nodded. “We were just talking about it on the way over. There’s this really beautiful track, but Robbie’s not feeling the guitar solo.”

Robin glared. “I didn’t say that, exactly. I just—I think it needs something different.”

John said, “Big of you to admit.”

Robin reached out to play shove him. “Knock you off that seat.”

“Violence is never the answer.” But it was always funny when one of them got it in their head to play a rousing round of who can move the giant bass player. Spoiler alert: none of them.

Robin giggled, hiding behind his hair.

Venkat looked between them again. “I…not to make it awkward…are you two…?”

“No,” they said at the same time, then laughed. John shook his head and tried to explain: “We’re like family. We spend a lot of time together.”

“Too much time,” Robin pretended to mutter, but then, more cheerfully, added, “He’s entirely unattached. If you were wondering.”

Venkat flushed to the tips of his ears and gulped at his drink.

John shot Robin a look.

Rob held up both hands in surrender.

“The point is,” John said with another meaningful glance, “that we could really use your help, Venkat. Your talent is amazing. And we pay really well.”

Venkat took another sip. Thus fortified, he seemed ready to return to the conversation. “It’d be—like a dream, honestly. If it could happen. I really am a fan.”

“We should trade numbers,” Robin said, pulling out his phone. “I mean, we’ll get our people to talk to your people or whatever, but it always goes faster if we handle most of it ourselves, let’s be real.”

“Yeah, my people are kind of—odd about things,” Venkat said slowly, as if trying to choose his words. “So that’s probably better anyhow.”

Rob slid his phone across the table. “Text yourself?”

Venkat did, slid the phone back, then turned to John, gaze dark through his forest of eyelashes. “And…I could text you, too? Just in case?”

John’s heart fluttered like it had while listening to him play that cadenza. He stopped breathing, but his hands, at least, obeyed. He unlocked his phone and opened messages, then handed it over. “Please,” he added quietly.

When Venkat passed it back, their fingers brushed. Venkat’s gaze caught his again; his flush made his deep brown skin seem almost bronze in the atmospheric light.