Billy and Machiavelli trudged back to the cabin just as the sky was beginning to darken. The Italian dragged the basket behind him, letting the wicker hit the back of his legs. Finally, Billy pried the basket out of his hands and carried it for the last hundred feet. "Tired, Mac?"
"Yeah," Machiavelli's voice was thin, the boy totally worn out. While the creation of the tulpa and the hike had worn him out, the hours they had spent swimming had completely exhausted him. He had the peculiar feeling that his stomach was still floating somewhere in the lake. He shook his head, trying to focus on Billy's voice. "What did you say?" he asked rather thickly, following Billy up the steps.
"I was just saying that I enjoyed our day. But I'm tired too." He let the Italian go in first. "Hullo," he called. He took a double take. "Since when do we have a piano? Germain?"
Germain shook his head, his eyes twinkling. "Your young Italian friend asked us to get it for you. Along with these." He tossed a bag to the outlaw.
Billy caught the bag deftly and sat with the other immortals in the living room. "What's this? Oh, horehound!" he said happily, smiling so that his prominent front teeth showed. He popped one in his mouth and offered the bag to the others. They all declined with the exception of Black Hawk. "You really shouldn't have," he told Machiavelli, drawing the boy close to him.
"I wanted to hear you play the piano," the Italian told Billy, climbing into his lap. He looked around the room. "So how was everybody's day?"
"It was excellent," Germain said immediately. He gesticulated wildly. "There's a wonderful old music shop called the Half Note. They have a great record selection in the back; I'm thinking of building m own collection up again." He would have continued, but Joan laid a hand on her husband's forearm. "Oh. Was I rambling again?"
"Yes," Scathach said bluntly. She unlaced the boy's shoes, letting them drop on the floor with a dull thud. Machiavelli watched her fingers work over the laces, a warm feeling spreading across him as he got progressively more tired. "Shouldn't we put him to bed?" she asked Billy.
"I'm not tired," Machiavelli said, slurring his words. "I want to stay up. Keep talking about your day," he said, his voice rising slightly. A slightly giddy chuckle escaped his lips and he melted into Billy's lap.
"We went shopping," Perenelle continued, watching Machiavelli tilt slightly to the left. Billy's arms pulled him upright again. "The three of us."
"You and the girls?"
"No, me, Joan, and Francis," Perenelle clarified, a slight smile on her face. To her right, Joan mouthed the words 'the girls.' The older Frenchwoman shook her head. "It took him forever to pick out clothes."
"Can I help it if I like to look good?"
"Scatty and I don't particularly enjoy clothes shopping, so we walked around town," Nicholas chimed in.
"When did you buy the piano?" Machiavelli asked, shifting slightly.
"Oh, I got that," Black Hawk said, surprising the Italian. Machiavelli had almost forgotten that the Native American was there.
The Italian leaned forward. "I thought you were getting supplies." He turned to Germain. "And you said you were going to pick up the piano. You tricked me!" he said, the pieces suddenly fitting together. Machiavelli blinked slowly. A grin spread across his face. "You didn't trust me?" he asked admiringly.
"No, I did." Germain laughed. "But I thought I'd throw you off the trail just in case."
"Huh." Machiavelli leaned back. He looked up at the American. "Are you going to play for us now?"
Billy opened his eyes. "Sure," he agreed shyly. He kissed Machiavelli through his curls and settled the Italian next to Scathach. The Shadow slung an arm around him and pulled the blanket off of the back of the couch. Billy swung a leg over the piano bench and played a scale before smoothly changing into the beginning notes of Come Sail Away.
"You're good," Germain said with admiration, coming to stand behind the younger man. He began to hum along with Billy as the outlaw played. Billy grinned up at him and changed the tune. Germain sat with him on the bench as they belted out I've Got You Babe.
"Like I said, all rock songs," Billy said, finally after Germain dragged out the last notes.
Scathach grinned over at him, showing her pointed teeth. "Can you play Walking on Broken Glass?"
"That Annie Lennox song?" Billy asked. He flexed his fingers experimentally. "What does that start on, an F?" He looked over at Germain who nodded. "I could probably wing it. Are you going to sing?" He smiled. "Excellent."
Scathach untangled herself from Machiavelli who shifted to let her get up. Scatty's green eyes glinted with excitement. Nicholas smiled at her and let her pull him to his feet. She wrapped an arm around his back and sashayed. The Frenchman was surprisingly nimble on his feet. As the song finished, Nicholas kissed her lightly on her forehead.
They made their way through a repetoire of songs. Finally, sometime after midnight Machiavelli got to his feet. He swayed slightly. "I think I'll go to bed now," he said approaching Billy. "Will you sing me a song before I go?"
Billy looked at his reflection in the piano for a moment. He smiled softly. "I'll sing you my favorite song. It was first published in 1873..." He played a few notes experimentally before he began to sing.
When your hair is silver white,
And your cheeks no longer bright,
With the roses of the May,
I will kiss your lips and say
Oh, my darling, mine alone, alone,
You have never older grown...
