Still, if you feel you'll gain by the deal,
You'll play with the old Morning Star – Leslie Fish, “Chickasaw Mountain”
Deep in the mountains, it was said, there lived a man who could grant your deepest desire – for a fee, of course.
Jesse laid his bedroll out on the ground, took his guitar from its case, and sat down to tune it. He wasn't sure why he bothered; the humidity would just throw it out within ten minutes anyway. For a week he'd done the same: hiked deeper into the heart of the mountains by day, sung until the stars were bright, then slept until the sun woke him. It had been dusk when he found the small clearing, and he had hurried to build a firepit and find wood. Not that he needed the warmth; just the light.
The first thing Jesse noticed when he woke was the darkness. He checked his watch: the sun should have been up, but the sky was dark, as though threatening rain.
The second thing he noticed was the small house not twenty yards from his makeshift camp. He'd missed it, concealed in the eaves of the forest, in the dimness.
Then he saw the handsome man sitting across the fire from him. His hair was black, shiny, and pulled back into a neat ponytail over his casual suit. He didn't look like he belonged in a cabin in the back woods. Jesse rose with a start.
“Good morning,” said the man. “I would have come out last night, but it might have startled you more. I enjoyed your singing.” He smiled and walked over, hand extended. “My name is Lucius.”
“Jesse,” he said, shaking hands. Up close, Jesse could see that the eyes behind a pair of designer glasses were deep amber with slitted pupils, like a cat's, and hypnotic.
“Please, come inside. Bring your things. Do you like coffee, Jesse?”
He nodded.
“I'll start some, then,” Lucius said and walked to the cabin.
Jesse stood as if dazed until the door closed behind Lucius' back, then hurriedly rolled up his bed, shouldered his knapsack, and grabbed his guitar. At the door, he fumbled a bit, trying to open it, until Lucius opened it for him.
“Let me get that for you,” he said, as he reached for the bedroll and guitar. Jesse held tightly to his guitar, abandoning his pack to the stranger, who carried them to a back room.
Jesse was surprised to find that the small cabin had a second story. The wooden furnishings were minimal without being sparse, elegant with a hint of rustic.
Lucius came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Jesse nearly jumped. “Would you like to put that down and join me at the table? Next to the sofa, perhaps?”
Jesse nodded and walked over to lean his guitar case against the simple wooden sofa, then joined Lucius at the round table, where the other man was pouring coffee. A board with bread, cheese, and coldcuts sat in the center, with a plate in front of both chairs.
“It seems you've been looking for me. Most who do don't find me,” Lucius said.
“I was lucky,” Jesse remarked, stirring sugar into his cup.
Lucius' lips curled up into something resembling a smile. “You could say that.” He moved around the table, and his mouth was next to Jesse's ear. “Or you could say I let you find me,” he murmured. “It's been a long time since I could get out of the office.”
Jesse tried to pull away, to avoid the feeling in the pit of his stomach and the heat growing in his groin.
“You're mine now,” Lucius whispered, fingernails raking down Jesse's chest. He slid back to his chair and sipped at his coffee.
Jesse took several deep breaths. “I was expecting someone ... older.”
Lucius laughed. “Most people do.”
“What's the price?”
“Getting down to business, are we? What is it, exactly, that you want?”
“To move people's hearts with my songs. To be famous. For people to want to hear me sing.”
“Is that all?” Lucius smirked. “Oh, I can do it. Fame is everyone's motivation, it seems. I was hoping for something more creative.”
“The price.”
“Your life belongs to me.”