Chapter 117: Jeremy San Rafael — 1875 Beethoven

Ryan watches history roll over him, images flickering with light from the past. He listens to Jeremy’s fiddle playing on strings of memory.

It is a winter grey day. A small midnight-black cat emerges from the woods, one ear torn and caked with blood. He crouches on the lawn outside Jeremy’s window, leaping to happily bite the tails off the lizards who lie frozen, listening to the sounds of their hearts pulsing in slow rhythm to Jeremy’s adagios.

Jeremy has never before seen a creature unaffected by his melodies. After he finishes his eight hours of practice, Jeremy washes face and hands and changes for dinner.

“Mother,” he says entering the drawing room. “There is a cat outside. May I keep it, please?”

Gayle looks out onto the lawn, the cat waves its tail with fluid grace, staring at her with unwavering eyes, greener even than Jeremy’s.

“We can’t,” she says. “He may belong to someone.”