he did this right, whoever came would hear his music despite the excellent sound-deadening qualities of the building. He—or she—would recognize it for live music, become curious, and follow it to the source. He shouldn’t get too specific, though. And he should keep the need on the lighter side of friendship. Otherwise I could end up with a case of Fatal Attraction. Oh, no; no thank you! We’ll keep this casual and innocent. Just the same kind of good times and good fun I had with some of my Faire buddies. He knew what that felt like; friends you could count on, but who gave you the space you needed. He’d taken it for granted: first, on the Faire circuit, and then Underhill, but now that he’d shut himself out of both worlds, he realized how much he’d unconsciously depended on them.
He set his thoughts in the right pattern, breathed softly into the flute, and set the magic free on the wings of the song.
Three times to repeat the song; that was what Dharinel had taught him. Once to make the pattern, twice to set the pattern, three times to bind the pattern. For really heavy work, he’d repeat his melody nine times—or, more rarely, five—but this wasn’t heavy work. There was nothing riding on whether or not anyone “heard” his call, there would be no grave consequences if no one answered. He had been careful in being so completely