"Are we going to play the main room?" w.i.l.l.y asked next to her ear, and Eddi jumped.

"We..."

"The band." The screen light reflected in his eyes, too, a velvety green-black."

"d.a.m.n straight," she said, and it sounded like the truth.

They went downstairs to 7th Street Entry. It was smaller, and had less to do with illusion than with function. On the black, unadorned stage, Summer of Love had finished setting up.

"Want a beer?" w.i.l.l.y asked her.

"You buying?"

"Yeah," he said cautiously.

"A Dos Equis."

He raised his eyebrows. "And if you were buying?"

"Grain Belt."

"You buy the next round, opportunist," he told her, and headed for the bar.

They sat on the gray-carpeted platforms around the dance floor and drank from the bottles. "So," Eddi said. "Do you write music?"

"Not really. At least, not well. I'm good at arranging, but-no, not original things."

Eddi studied his face, looking for the bitterness that she heard in his voice. "It's all right. Not everyone does."

"But you do."

Eddi shrugged. "Carla and I make a decent team at it. And Dan Roch.e.l.le does great music, but he never does lyrics. So don't worry about it."

Summer of Love kicked off their first set then, with a heraldic blaze of guitar and keyboards. "Come on," she said, and took his hand.

"Umm?"

"They close the bars at one o'clock in this town, son. We've got a lot of dancing to do."

w.i.l.l.y danced the way he made love, or played the guitar-with his whole attention, and that glorious leashed energy. He had the perfect, unconscious grace of one of his own lead breaks. They danced three songs in succession, and fell laughing into each other's arms when the third ended. w.i.l.l.y pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. Then he kissed her. The quick brush of their lips jolted her. From w.i.l.l.y's startled face, she guessed it did something like that to him as well.

"Sit this one out?" he said, his voice a little shaky.

Eddi nodded, and they found a spot on one of the carpeted risers. It was harder to do now; the room was starting to fill up. Eddi sat without speaking, watching the band. She felt a surprising and delectable shyness that tied her tongue and kept her from looking at w.i.l.l.y. The brush of his fingertip along her jawline finally made her turn. He was studying her, his expression thoughtful. After a moment he turned his attention to the stage. Eddi did likewise, and wondered what had gone through his head.

w.i.l.l.y's presence seemed to wrap her in a mist in which every light had sparkling highlights, every sound made music, and music had an effect on all of her senses. In such a haze of wonder, it was hard to discern much detail. They danced, and drank beer, and talked, and all of it was equally absorbing and hard to remember.

At the end of the second set, they went back to the main room, more out of nervous energy than for any change of scene. They stood leaning on the balcony railing, ignoring the current of people that pa.s.sed behind them. "This always makes me feel as if I'm in a movie," Eddi said, looking down at the spangled darkness of the dancers below, the glittering bottles behind the bar, and the empty VIP seats in the opposite balcony.

"As the star?" w.i.l.l.y smiled.

"Oh, always the star." She felt a moment's foolish melancholy, and voiced it: "We're only cast as extras in real life."

w.i.l.l.y slipped an arm around her waist, and she decided perhaps melancholy had its place. His breath stirred the hair around her ear.

Then Eddi heard a familiar voice behind her.

"That was fast."

She turned to find Stuart Kline at the top of the stairs. He had the rumpled look he got when drunk.

His left hand clenched on the balcony railing; his right was in his coat pocket.

"h.e.l.lo, Stuart," she said. She wasn't sure what tone to use, and ended up using none at all.

"Who's your new friend?" he asked, with a drawing of the lips that ought to have been a smile.

"No one you know."

She felt w.i.l.l.y move out from behind her. "We'll introduce ourselves," w.i.l.l.y said, and there was a warning in his voice. "I'm w.i.l.l.y Silver. And you're..."

"Stuart Kline." Again the stretching of the lips. "Are you Eddi's latest screw?"

The phouka would have snarled at that. "You're a slow learner, Stu," Eddi said as softly as she could and still be heard.

His jaw clenched visibly. "So, is he more fun than the swish black guy?"

"Go away, Stuart." She kept her voice low, hoping Stuart would, too. But he was too drunk to care. The sharp edge of his words made heads turn their way.

"How 'bout you?" he said to w.i.l.l.y. "You like d.i.c.king an out of work second-rate chick vocalist?"

w.i.l.l.y said, his voice very even, "Actually, I'm the guitar player for her new band."

Stuart turned white and took three steps forward. w.i.l.l.y met him on the last step and blocked Eddi's view. Someone at the front of the crowd shouted and pressed backward. She saw w.i.l.l.y's shoulders twist.

Stuart dropped something, and w.i.l.l.y kicked it away before she could tell what it was. People began to scramble out of range. Stuart threw a punch at w.i.l.l.y's jaw; w.i.l.l.y ducked neatly under it and hooked one foot around Stuart's ankle with the same motion. Stuart hit the floor on his back, hard.

w.i.l.l.y returned to her side, and she saw a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. His face was alive in a way she'd never seen.

"You'd think you were having fun," Eddi said, shaken. She realized suddenly how fast it had all been.

His expression softened only slightly. "I had to do something."

Stuart got slowly to his feet. The look in his eyes could have melted the wall behind her. "You'll be sorry," he hissed at Eddi. "You'll be G.o.dd.a.m.n sorry." And he turned and dived through the crowd gathered around them.

"What a sweetheart," w.i.l.l.y said.

Eddi wrapped her hands around the balcony railing, squeezed it until her bones ached and the knot in her windpipe went away. "He used to be," she managed to say at last.

w.i.l.l.y leaned forward and looked at her curiously. "I hope so. Or I'd worry about your taste in men, and that would hit a little close to home."

"Oh, we couldn't have that, could we?"

"Just a joke."

Eddi shook her head. "I guess I don't feel much like joking."

His right arm went around her, hard-muscled and warm. "Want to make an early night of it?"

She leaned against him, suddenly very tired. "Yeah."

"Come on, then." They went downstairs with their arms around each other, though there wasn't really room for it in the crowd, and claimed their jackets.

They walked back on LaSalle, and the street was nearly deserted. The streetlights took the color out of w.i.l.l.y's pale skin and sharpened the contrast between the black and the white in his hair, until the only color about him seemed to be his eyes. The chill glitter she'd seen in them was not entirely gone, and his beautiful face was grim and distracted.

When they reached Eddi's front steps, she realized they hadn't spoken since they'd left First Avenue.

w.i.l.l.y put his hands on her shoulders and broke the silence.

"I'd ask if I can come up, but you might say no. And I think I should."

Eddi almost told him no anyway. But she was only vaguely, wearily annoyed at his taking charge. She turned away from him, fumbled for her keys, and unlocked the door. They went upstairs without touching.

She half expected to find the phouka in the apartment, and was surprised to find herself disappointed when she didn't. She sat down on the couch and let w.i.l.l.y close and lock the door behind himself. He slipped his right arm out of his jacket, then, gingerly and with a little indrawn breath, his left.

"What's the matter?" Eddi asked.

"Nothing."

His left shirtsleeve seemed fuller, seemed to flutter a little. She got up and caught his left hand. He tried to pull away; then his hand was still in hers.

There was a long tear, a slash, in the cloth over w.i.l.l.y's forearm. It matched the long wound on the skin beneath, shallow, but swollen and angry red.

"He had a knife?" Eddi said finally, not believing what she saw. Stuart had dropped something, and w.i.l.l.y had kicked it away. But Stuart had never been the sort to carry a weapon...

"I'm sorry," w.i.l.l.y said very softly, and she looked up.

"For what?"

"I wasn't going to tell you. I thought at first he'd missed, you see."

Eddi shook her head. "It ought to be cleaned."

"Mmm." w.i.l.l.y looked around the dim-lit room, then went to the table and picked up the salt shaker.

He took it with him into the bedroom, where he took off his vest and shirt. He could have been alone; he showed no constraint at undressing in front of her, in her apartment. Suddenly she remembered the shy clasp of the phouka's arms around her waist, on the motorcycle. It embarra.s.sed her, and she looked down at her feet.

w.i.l.l.y went into the bathroom, and she heard the sink filling up with water. She followed slowly after him, and found him with his forearm half-submerged in the sink bowl. With his other hand he splashed water over the uncovered part of the wound. The salt shaker stood uncapped on the ledge above the sink.

"Do you wear a hair shirt when you're at home?" Eddi asked him.

w.i.l.l.y looked up at her in the mirror, his face blank and cool. "The salt cleans it out." Then he added ruefully, "But it's true, I wouldn't mind using something that stung less. Except you don't have any of them." He shot her one of his brilliant smiles.

The sight of him, bending shirtless over her bathroom sink, made her feel quite fuzzy-headed. She sat on the end of the bed, staring out into the living room. After a minute she heard w.i.l.l.y drain the sink; a little after that she felt him kiss the top of her head.

"He wouldn't have used it on you," he said.

"I didn't think he would use one on anybody." She folded her hands, and refolded them. "Is this my fault? Because I left him?"

"I don't know enough about him."

Eddi looked up at him. "He wasn't like this," she whispered. "He was a good person. He just... wasn't strong."

He worked his left hand, wincing when his forearm muscles flexed. "I'm a little biased right now."

Eddi nodded.

w.i.l.l.y dropped another kiss on her hair and said, "Get into bed, and I'll sing you to sleep." The words were paired with a little teasing smile, and she had to smile back.

Eddi found she couldn't match his nonchalance in undressing-she did it in the bathroom. When she came out in her kimono he was sitting on the bed wrapped around her acoustic guitar, playing scales with a quick, light touch. She dropped her robe and slid quickly under the covers.

"Nice axe," he said.

"Charlie Hoffman made it." She felt silly, lying naked in bed and talking to w.i.l.l.y about guitars.

But w.i.l.l.y just smiled a little and said, "I know his work."

"Doesn't that bother your arm?" she asked, meaning the guitar playing.

"Only the barre chords."

He startled her when he slipped into a soft-voiced rendition of Joni Mitch.e.l.l's "A Case of You"; she hadn't been expecting references to love lost from him. Even leashed as it was, his voice was rich and subtle and full of meaning. The guitar notes hung in the dark room like spray from a fountain.

She could feel relaxation filling her up. w.i.l.l.y's voice went on, so softly that he might have been singing only to himself: .

True Thomas sat on Huntleigh bank And he beheld a lady gay, A lady that was brisk and bold Come riding o 'er the ferny brae.

True Thomas he pulled off his cap And bowed him low down to his knee "All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven, Your like on earth I ne'er did see. "

"Oh no, oh no, True Thomas, " she said, "That name does not belong to me.

For I am the queen of fair Elfland, Where you must go along with me. "