Page 12 of Symphony of Salvation

“I’d like to examine your curriculum to assess what might be lacking and focus my tutelage on those areas.”

“Lacking. Right.” Niles checked his watch. “I have less than twenty minutes before my first class begins. Let’s go further explore my weaknesses, shall we?”

Be it the slight language barrier—sarcasm outside my native tongue wasn’t always immediately clear—or my sheer obtuseness, but the meaning behind Niles’s words took a beat too long to register.

Before I could open my mouth to respond or apologize for misspeaking, he walked away, leaving me alone in the dusty disorder of Timber Creek’s music library. I had the distinct feeling I’d landed in yet another prison with a warden who hated me on sight.

Chapter three

Niles

Lunch break took forever to arrive. I spent the entire morning in a wretched mood, snapping unfairly at students and deviating from my lesson plan after an unexpected early morning visitor had degraded not only my curriculum but my entire existence and sense of self.

I shouldn’t have let it bother me. My bruised ego and hurt feelings were rooted in resentment and fertilized in jealousy. But could the man have been a bigger pompous jerk?

When the noon bell rang, I dismissed the class and hustled down the long corridor, past the gymnasium, and to the nearest stairwell, where I scaled two steps at a time in my haste to catch Koa before he departed for lunch.

Rushing proved unnecessary. I found Koa burrowed in stacks of books, surrounded by mountains of papers, and reading a tattered copy ofSound and the Fury, his face contorted with concentration.

He didn’t react or move his attention from the novel when I barreled into the room and deposited my ass on the corner ofthe nearest desk, arms crossed and fuming from a morning of contained rage.

Koa’s quirks could be grating on a good day. No one could block out the world and the people in it better than a classic literary professor hell-bent on finishing a book. But I had no patience left, so after a full minute without Koa acknowledging my presence, I obnoxiously cleared my throat.

“A moment,MasterEdwidge.”

I wasn’t in the mood for the soul-soothing moniker he’d given me years ago and didn’t respond as I usually might.

He continued to read, turning a page like we had all the time in the world.

“I hate Faulkner,” I snapped. “That book was nothing but stream-of-conscious writing. God help your students if that’s what you’re teaching.”

“It’s personal reading, and don’t bring god into my classroom, thank you very much.”

“It’s junk. If it was meant to deliver a message, it failed. I had a migraine for a week after finishing it.”

With a petulant sigh, Koa set the book aside and removed his reading glasses. “It’s about the moral and social decay of a prestigious family. It explores the thought process of the human mind. The stream-of-conscious style is intentional.”

“It’s annoying.”

“You’re tetchy.”

“You would be too if you’d had my morning. They hired him. He’s apaidstaff member. Do you know what that means? I’m being replaced. No one has come out and said it, but how obtuse do they think I am? The board has always taken issue with my credentials. Parents complain, and now, a solution has landed on their doorstep. He isn’t merely better qualified, he’s a goddamn maestro. They can pretend he’s here to temporarilyenhancethe musical curriculum, but it’s bullshit. They’re phasing me out. I told you this would happen.”

“I’ll assume thehimin question is Maestro Augustus Castellanos?”

“Oh, but please, you can call him August. He’s not one for titles,” I said haughtily. “I’ve never met a more pretentious asshole in my life. Do you know what he did?”

Koa glanced longingly at the discarded book, but I barreled through the excuse before it crossed his lips.

“I was practicing Ravel’sGaspard de la Nuit—”

“Tricky piece.”

“I’m aware. Thank you, Koa. Please read the sarcasm in my tone. Well, doesn’tMr. Maestrosneak up behind me for a listen. Do you know what he said when I finished? He said I performedreasonably well.” I tore the elastic from my hair, letting the long strands fall around my face. “Reasonably well.” I mimicked August’s mild accent. “Asshole.”

Huffing, I raked fingers through my thick mane, gathered it at my nape, and secured it in a messy bun. A few shorter pieces instantly tumbled free, framing my face.

“Considering the piece’s complexity, ‘reasonably well’ sounds like praise. I’m failing to understand your temper.”

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