Page 43 of Mistaken

Was Abdul playing music on the sound system in the living room?

No, that didn’t feel right. Her room was down just a short hallway from the main part of the house, while this seemed more muffled, more distant.

And it sounded a lot like….

She held herself still, listening intently.

Was that “Think of Me,” Christine’s opening aria from Phantom?

A piano arrangement, but she supposed that wasn’t too strange, as various pieces from the musical had been reimagined as everything from piano solos to full-on rave dance extravaganzas. But then she heard the music pause and start over again midway through, as if whoever was playing hadn’t been satisfied with their performance and wanted to make sure they got it right.

No recording would sound like that.

But…it couldn’t be what she was thinking. That was impossible.

Well, only one way to find out.

She finished getting dressed, combed through her damp hair one more time, and emerged from her bedroom. Yes, the music was louder now…and it definitely seemed as though it was coming from the wing of the house where Abdul had conjured a piano only the day before.

The door to that room was pulled partway closed, but since it wasn’t locked, she assumed it would be all right to enter. As soon as she was inside, she saw that Abdul actually was sitting on the piano bench, hooded head bent close to the keyboard as though to make sure he didn’t miss a single note.

“I didn’t know you played,” she said once she was a bit closer, and immediately, his fingers stilled on the keys.

“I did not,” he replied. “Or rather, I did not until this morning.”

Her eyes widened, and she came to stand by the side of the piano so she could get a clearer view of the keyboard. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting — that he’d installed some kind of weird player piano setup? — but all she saw was his hands resting on the keys.

“You just…taught yourself how to play?” She knew she sounded incredulous, and thought she had every right to be. After all, djinn supposedly had all kinds of crazy powers, but she’d never heard of them just deciding to play an instrument and mastering it in less than the space of a day.

Okay, he hadn’t completely mastered the piano, or she wouldn’t have heard that bobble she’d detected a little while earlier. But still, it was incredible that he’d been able to play with that level of skill.

And that didn’t even take into account what she’d heard through the grapevine in Los Alamos, that djinn might have collected human art and listened to human music, but they didn’t have any real inclination or ability to create it for themselves.

“I thought it would help you with your vocal practice if you had someone to accompany you,” Abdul said. “It is not as if I expect to play at Carnegie Hall.”

Even that very mild quip made her smile. No, what she’d heard so far wouldn’t have made Martha Argerich or Yuja Wang quake in their boots, but Sarah thought her djinn companion might turn out to be a very serviceable accompanist.

If, of course, she gathered enough courage to actually sing in front of him.

“Maybe not,” she said. “But you sounded great. And I think it would help to have you playing rather than trying to accompany myself. Right now, though, we should probably have some breakfast before we get started, don’t you think?”

At once, he got up from the piano bench, saying, “A very good idea. I would not expect you to practice on an empty stomach.”

And he led her off toward the kitchen, asking if she would like eggs and toast, or perhaps something lighter so she would not have to wait so long to digest before they came back to the piano room to work. Not sure whether she should be amused or utterly stressed out, she told him that fruit and toast would be fine, and not so long afterward, they were seated at the dining room table and having their morning meal.

The whole time, her brain kept trying to come to grips with the odd reality that Abdul had apparently acquired the gift of playing the piano overnight…and the inevitable realization that very soon, she would have to sing in front of him.

No matter what.

“Stick close to the lake and the highway,” Miles said. Lindsay could tell he still wasn’t too happy about contravening the elders’ orders and sending out a search party anyway, because his mouth was tight and every inch of his lean form seemed to indicate he would much rather be somewhere else.

Or maybe he just looked that way because he wanted to be in his beloved lab and not here in City Hall, giving instructions to Shawn and José.

“Yeah, we know we need to stay away from Ghost Ranch,” Shawn replied. Unlike Miles, he appeared utterly relaxed, clad in a T-shirt and jeans and hiking boots, a full backpack resting on the floor next to him. A few feet away, José Padilla, maybe a year or so older than Shawn and several inches shorter, was similarly clad and also didn’t seem too worried about the expedition that lay ahead of him.

“Although it sounds as if that’s the one place our girl might be found,” José remarked, and Miles crossed his arms.

“We don’t know that for sure,” he said, sounding waspish. Most likely, he wasn’t too happy to be making Lindsay’s arguments for her, and she decided that was probably a good place to step in.

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