Heather backed up a couple of steps. “What do you want?” she managed to ask quietly. He matched her steps and looked down at the piano keys then back up to her, “What was that you were playing? I’ve never heard it before.”

Her head swam slightly. She tried to shake it but that just muddled it even more. His accent was something she couldn’t quite place, somewhere between Russian and Irish, if that was even possible. “What? It’s, um, You don’t know it,” she felt confused, “I think I want to sit down.”

He was at her side before she hit the floor. He grasped her elbow and helped her to the ancient piano stool. Her head cleared and she looked up, into his black eyes. He was smiling. The points of his canines glinted in the morning sun.

“Play,” he whispered. Her breath caught in her chest, but her pounding heart forced it out. She turned back to the piano and began Good Enough. “The sun’s out,” she muttered.

“Yes, it is,” he answered looking east, “Now that you have found your voice again, sing.”