We’re trying something a little different this month–an instrumental song. This one is called Patsheeva. It’s a traditional Romani song performed by Circa Paleo. And here’s a video if you want to see them playing it at a ren faire.
Becca shifted in her bag chair and tried to scoot it closer to the fire pit.
“It’s not that you really like the Beatles,” Andre explained, his expression earnest in the dancing firelight that cast flickering shadows across the tree trunks standing sentinel around them.
She stopped mid-scoot and looked up at him. “I…don’t?”
“Of course not.” He warmed to his subject. “They’re pedantic at best.”
She stared at him. “Maybe I like pedantic music.”
He laughed, and she fought the urge to push him into the cheerily crackling flames.
“No you don’t. It’s just that you have fond associations with some Beatles songs, and you just think you like them.”
“Really.” Why had she thought camping with this knob was a good idea?
“Absolutely. Makes total sense, right?”
Dear god…he was so fucking stupid. But he was pretty. And she remembered that was the reason she’d thought camping with this knob was a good idea.
As he basked in the certainty of his own thought process, the delicate strains of a single fiddle drifted through the trees and wove around them. She hooked her ankles around the legs of her chair to keep from tapping her feet to the rhythm.
“Do you hear that?” Andre asked.
She poked at the smoldering logs with an old iron crowbar. “Hear what?”
“That music.”
Tilting her head to the side, she stared at him. “What music?”
“I can hear a violin or a fiddle or something.”
“Huh.” Becca poked at the burning wood again. “I don’t hear anything.”
Andre stood and turned toward the west, where the last streaks of dusky plum and lavender shimmered on the horizon, and started walking.
“Hey. Where are you going?”
“I need to find that music.”
The rising moon, glinted off his pale hair as he stepped into the thick woods that surrounded the clearing. He sped up until he was crashing through the underbrush with all the grace of a spooked cow.
Gripping the crowbar, she slowly followed, his thunderous progress and the lilting music growing louder. They walked for what felt like hours, but she knew that it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. It was always hard to tell in this particular part of the forest.
Suddenly, both the sounds of twigs snapping and vibrating strings stopped, and the only noise she heard was her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She took a few more steps knowing exactly what she’d find.
Andre was on his knees as a glacially beautiful woman stood before him, caressing his face, smiling hungrily into his slack-jawed expression. The woman lifted her raven-dark head and continued to run her fingers through Andre’s blond hair as she met Becca’s gaze.
“You’ve done well with this one.”
Becca’s fingers tightened around the crowbar, and she nodded. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”
“I am.” Her expression hardened as she caught sight of the iron in Becca’s hand. “But you needn’t come armed. You know that.”
Becca nodded. But the truth was, she never went anywhere without iron. Not anymore.
The woman rested her fingertips beneath Andre’s chin and gently lifted. He rose to stand docilely beside her. She turned to look at Becca. “Bring me two more before the next full moon, and your sister will be freed.”
Becca nodded again and cast a last look toward Andre.
Just two more.
She could do this.
Be sure to check out the other bloggers’ stories.
OMG!! That’s so good. Now I want to know what happens. You’re going to tell us, right?? Right, Bron???
You have such wonderful twists to your stories. Good job!