It was the reddest sunrise I’d ever seen.
I had just typed the last words of Cam and Lilith’s story and was gazing out my window at the sun’s crimson hands pressing through translucent palm leaves. I heard a soft rap on my front door—and then a girl’s mesmerizing voice.
I opened the door. The voice was nearby yet elsewhere, haunted, alone. It held a high note for a few exquisite moments before bending downward in pitch and vanishing.
I stepped outside, searching for the source of the music. On a bench at the edge of my porch lay something small and square: A CD case, tied with a red bow, with one word scrawled across the disc in black.
Headphones on, I slipped the CD into my computer and pressed Play. A girl inhaled sharply, then began singing . . . a song from the book I had just written. A band rose up around her. Immediately, I knew their names and instruments. The disc had only four tracks. You can get them here, exclusively, for one day. Tomorrow you can find them on itunes and spotify.
I didn’t write these songs. Lilith did. Well, Cam co-wrote one of them. I’ll let you figure out which one. How they came to be recorded and delivered to me, I’ll never know. I learned long ago not to question Fallen‘s magic, but to accept it with a wink and a whispered, “Thank you.”