9. Gray

As soon as the waitress approached me, I asked for an americano and still water. I wasn’t hungry, even though I hadn’t eaten since the day before. The lawyer had called this morning and said something about a will, but I hadn’t listened to the details, as always, with half an ear. I had agreed to meet him at a coffee shop in Midtown, and now I was glancing at the clock while I waited.

I arrived early – but not because I don’t like being late. This way I could enjoy my coffee alone.

The waitress, setting out the cutlery, looked at me oddly from under her lowered eyelashes; I didn’t immediately realize that she was making eyes. In response to her smile, I merely thanked her routinely and looked away.

I took a place with a view towards the entrance out of habit. The bell rang, and Mr. Gray appeared in the door, awkwardly shouldering into the stiffly opened leaf.

“Good morning, Mr. Reichenberg,” he greeted me as he drew level with the table.

“Good morning, Mr. Gray.”

Rex Gray¹had been sorting through my paperwork for years – and not just mine; he was the only one who addressed me by my real name. On paper, I was still Victor Myer, with the simple last name assigned to me at the orphanage.

He sat down opposite me, I immediately turned around and found the waitress with my eyes, who was nearby within hearing distance.

“Double espresso, please,” I asked.

I didn’t need to raise my voice, she heard me anyway. My cup of coffee remained untouched at that moment.

“Thank you,” the lawyer replied and put a leather binder on the table, his gaze catching my hands. “You remember.”

I nodded.

“I must know how to appease you so that you don’t torment me with questions for a long time.”

Gray chuckled, still not taking his eyes off my hands lying on the table.

“What happened to your hands?”

“Trifle, not a big deal,” I said casually, trying to answer as naturally as possible. “No harm done.”

Gray sighed. He probably thinks I cut my veins … Or fell off the stage while drunk at a concert.

As soon as he was served coffee, he unzipped the binder with three practiced movements.

I felt the waitress’s gaze on the back of my head.

“I’ve learned that you have acquired an antique musical instrument from the early eighteenth century, and—”

I let out a pained groan, dropping my head onto the outstretched hand, covering my face.

Having interpreted my reaction in his own way, Mr. Gray continued, “… you know that it is my responsibility to keep records of all your financial transactions in order to avoid various incidents. I don’t care what you spend your money on,” he looked me in the eye, trying to understand if I was listening to him. “However, what instrument you purchased specifically puzzled me.”

I raised an eyebrow. Gray was obviously expecting me to comment on his remark … Or maybe he was expecting a different reaction.

I was silent.

“Should I remind you of your family history, Mr. Reichenberg?”

I remember everything without him. But what difference does it make? Is he really going to tell stories about my ancestors’ magic violin?

I pursed my lips.

“I have every reason to believe that the violin—”

“It belonged to Count Vladan, my distant relative from Eastern Europe,” I finished for him, leaning back on the sofa in disappointment.

The lawyer nodded.

“Yes, Mr. Reichenberg. The von Reichenbergs are the only heirs of Count Vladan. The violin is part of your inheritance.”

I slapped my palms on my thighs in frustration, the pain echoing in my hands. A beautiful tale about a rare missing violin – nothing more. Even Baphomet confirmed that he had acquired the instrument to play, not to show tricks!

Fantastic stories have always been made about families with famous last names, titles that have been abolished in modern times without the preposition ‘von.’ Over the past few years, I have been stuffed with this religious nonsense about the Fractured Star Universe, and now this violin of the Architect …

Another legend says that the Count studied alchemy in the castle – should I believe that? If he hadn’t been messing around, the wandering architect visiting his domain wouldn’t have stolen the violin.

“… documents confirming my words, and the purchase will have to be contested. However, this is not just a violin, Mr. Reichenberg, this is a special one – everything that has happened so far matters. Whoever stole the violin was a talented musician, he—”

“Yeah, I know, the violin was magic, and the architect really liked it …” I interrupted Gray and grimaced mockingly. “The architect wanted to become the Architect. I remember this story. As a child, I heard all this more than once.”

The age of fifteen I called childhood.

“Then you must understand, the violin did not fall into your hands just like that! You are the only heir to the instrument. I see that you are skeptical and do not want to hear me, but—”

He suddenly fell silent, looking around cautiously. Leaning forward slightly, the lawyer said in a half-tone quieter voice, “Everything they say about the violin is true. It, like the Star, in each variant of multiverse, allows you to comprehend the Architect’s design, shows invariants – so that the player can know his fate. Count Vladan’s castle was the only place where one can use the violin – because nothing happens in the castle. Since then, your family has owned the violin for centuries, comprehended the rules of the game, and the demons served them …”

Yes, it turns out he is a sectarian! My jaw felt the force of gravity.

“Mr. Gray, I could not expect you to believe in the Fractured Star, you pleasantly surprised me, but let me know why you remind me of this?”

As if regretting his words, the interlocutor quickly zipped the binder.

“This is all nonsense, Mr. Reichenberg. Don’t worry about it. Your purchase of the violin – I insist, purchase – was unnecessary. I will do everything as it should be, the violin is yours by right of inheritance, the transaction will be contested, the money will be returned.”

I wanted to object, but Mr. Gray had already stood up and was extending his hand for a farewell handshake. As soon as he left the café, I downed my long-cold coffee in one gulp and tried to get my thoughts in order.

It was a completely pointless conversation, which brought nothing but new questions.

I did not want to acknowledge the violin as my own. I did not need it, let it serve Baphomet, and let him command the demons, not me.

10. Demons

In the corridor, the two rushed at me: a goat’s head in place of a human’s gave away Kaftz, and his companion turned out to be bassist Belial – with a wolf’s muzzle and ruby eyes sparkling in the semi-darkness – his usual stage image. The masked men thrust a bottle of water into my hands, muttered something indistinctly and hurriedly slipped away in the opposite direction.

No musical event starts on time. Half an hour before the show … The main thing is that they return – and preferably sober.

Mephistopheles – the keyboard player and DJ – was engrossed in reading a novel by a famous author, sitting on a chair with his legs stretched out across the dressing room. He nodded at me absentmindedly, without looking up from the book’s plot, and I stepped over his feet.

In childhood and adolescence, books were almost the only consolation: I swallowed everything that came into my hands from cover to cover – English classics, stupid penny dreadfuls, historical references, and geographical atlases – anything whatsoever. I haven’t read anything for a long time.

A couple of minutes later, rhythm guitarist Asmodeus entered – and, taking his instrument and bear head mask with him, immediately left the room without even saying hello. Mephistopheles did not tear himself away from reading, only turned the page. I suddenly felt envious: I, too, was not averse to escaping from the dull routine.

Before I could sit down on any horizontal surface in the cluttered dressing room, Baphomet and drummer Beelzebub burst through the door, cackle-cackling. Continuing to laugh shrilly at a joke known only to the two of them, they began to walk in circles around the room.

Mephistopheles did not pay attention to their appearance.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, stepping aside and watching them bend down and peer under the chair with the motionless book lover.

“I lost my earpiece—”

Beelzebub laughed as soon as the giggling Met came into his sight.

“I told you: you should always play with a metronome, then the earpiece wouldn’t disappear!” Baphomet croaked, choking with laughter. “When guitarists screw up, their picks disappear too – I swear!”

He knows where the in-ear monitor is. I didn’t share their amusement at the tricks with the disappearance of objects, Baphomet often performed this hocus with everyone except me.

The search was unsuccessful, Beelzebub snorted, picked up the boar’s head standing on a shelf in the corner and headed for the door. Already stretching out his hand to open the door and demonstratively leave, he turned to me.

“Oh, this will come in handy!”

He pointed to the bottle of water in my hands – and a few seconds later he was already pouring the contents onto his shaved head.

When the drummer left the dressing room, returning the half-empty bottle to me, Mephistopheles spoke up, “Demon gentlemen, it’s time for us to go.”

And he, putting on the head-mask of a bald hare, gave us a nod, inviting us to follow him.

I caught Baphomet by the rosin-stained sleeve.

“Did you take the earpiece? When will you stop?”

He tsked disapprovingly, as if I was somehow guilty. I spread my hands, almost spilling the rest of the liquid from the open bottle. Baphomet put the mug of a giant moth-eaten cat on his head and left the room.

Before turning off the lights and leaving the dressing room, I took my mask out of the drawer.

The seven demons will play again to the devilish accompaniment of the violin.

11. She’s Mine

I dreamed of her dark eyes and pale face. I couldn’t touch her, but she was close, I felt her warm breath. She didn’t say a word, there was no need for it – I could understand without words.

It seemed to me, I always understood her without words.

Her hands reached out to me, her eyes were sad and tender, but it was as if an invisible wall separated us, and we simply weren’t destined to meet. Simply weren’t destined. I understood that.

I tried to persuade myself to be patient, I tried to restrain myself from screaming in despair, I waited for this invisible barrier to disappear and for me to be able to embrace her and inhale the scent of her hair.