Belladonna

trying to change the feel of a place. A presence, like a child too shy to come forward where it might be noticed, but too intrigued by the things and people around it to go away. More than that. This wild child, as he thought of it, was intrigued by him. He had the feeling that it could hear the music in his heart in the same way he could hear the music in other hearts, and that's what intrigued it enough to come to a gathering. The reason didn't matter. What mattered was that when he felt the wild child's presence, sometimes he could make things happen that were more than a little luck-bringing or ill-wishing directed at a specific person.
    Lifting the tin whistle to his lips, he let the first notes float through the air, soft and bittersweet... and hopeful. Little by little, conversations faded — or maybe he no longer heard them. The fiddler joined him, slow and easy.
    There was nothing but the music, and he wasn't playing for the people in the room. Not yet. This song was for the wild child.
    To catch its interest, its attention. Its heart.
    With his eyes still closed, he slipped into the next tune. More energy. Drum added to the fiddle and whistle. A sparkle of notes drifting out into the night, dancing in the fog, glistening with the energy and good spirits of the people like dew glistened on a web when touched by the morning sun.
    Yes, he thought as he opened his eyes and watched the dancers, these were good people who welcomed the Light, who deserved the Light.
    Musicians came and went, taking their turn for a few songs, then stepping back for someone else. When he was given a shove and told to take his turn on the dance floor, he ignored the bold, silent invitations — especially the one from Doreen, who worked for Shaney and always made him think of the fate of the mouse caught under the cat's paw — and chose a girl who was old enough to be flattered by his asking to be her partner and young enough that she wouldn't expect him to be any other kind of partner.
    Not that he didn't want to take hold of a woman and kiss her senseless. The music was hot. The energy was hot. And he wanted with a need that chewed at his bones.
    But what he hungered for wasn't here, so he gave himself to the music.

    Food was reheated. People drifted to corners farthest away from the music in order to talk. Shaney opened up a few of the upstairs rooms, where children were tucked up in beds, cuddling together like puppies.
    He talked. He danced. He ate. He played. And always, he held in his mind and heart the image of the notes sparkling in the night.

    *
As her mind rose to that twilight place that was neither true waking nor sleeping, Glorianna dreamed of music. Folksy, but like nothing she'd heard before. Slightly different sound to the drum and the violin — at least, she thought it was a violin. But it was the bright notes of the whistle that made her smile, that had her feet twitching as if they wanted to dance, and the drum heated her blood until her heart pounded with the rhythm.
    The music dimmed, as if someone had shut a door, and she stood outside in a fog as thick as a soft blanket. She wasn't surprised when his arms closed around her, pulling her back against the warmth of his chest. Then ...
    She heard the drum in the beat of his heart, heard the long sigh of the violin in his breath. Knew the bright notes of the whistle would be in his voice, in his laugh.
    "There is music inside you," she said. "I can hear the music inside you."
    His smile, that curving of lips against her cheek, was his only answer.

    *
Hours later, drained in body, mind, and heart, Michael lowered his whistle and looked at the men slumped in the chairs around him.
    "Well, lads, looks like we're done here."
    One of the men, looked at the people asleep at the tables and grinned. "I'd say we are."
    Wanting some fresh air, Michael wove his way through the tables until he reached the tavern door and pushed it open.
    "Lady of Light," Shaney whispered behind him. "Look at that."
    Oh, he was looking — and he was stunned by what the dawn light revealed. Thick strands and knots of that heavy fog clotted the street, but it was broken up by a thin mist — the kind of mist that softened sunlight and created rainbows.
    "You did it, Michael," Shaney said, resting a hand on Michael's shoulders.
    "We all did," he replied. He'd never influenced a place so much, so obviously. He wasn't sure what to do about it, what to think about it.
    "Wouldn't have happened