Page 5 of Sound
A girl around my age sits close to where I’m leaning around the corner. When she lifts her cup, she greedily gulps the contents. The glass isn’t even placed on the table before she waves her fingers at the handful of people holding large trays with drinks perched precariously on them, balancing them on one hand. Zeroing in on the drinks, my fingers tighten on my violin. I have no doubt in this moment that Seraphina is giving these people the same thing she is giving me. But why?
I know it’s her. Somehow, she is sucking out my energy while I play. These people don’t play music. So what is it that she takes from them? Or is it like a drug they get hooked on so they keep coming for more? Shaking my head, I lean back and thump my head on the wall behind me. No, it can’t be that. The people that get invited here are never the same. A headache stabs me in the back of the eyes and blurs my vision. Seraphina’s voice brings me out of my turbulent thoughts.
“Tonight I have a treat for you.” She makes a dramatic pause to build the anticipation in the room. “Our young violinist will play just for you, the beautiful Partita No. 2 in D minor by Bach. Not one eye will stay dry in this place before the night ends. Are you ready?” She stretches both arms to the side, as if hugging the place, while the crowd hoots in excitement.
Cold sweat trickles down my back and my heart gallops wildly against my ribs. One spotlight comes to life, the blinding light falling on the only chair on the stage, which is erected in the middle of the wide space. I feel the tug at the center of my chest making my feet move on their own to pull me out of my hiding spot. Seraphina’s cold, hungry gaze finds me immediately, and a blast of arctic chill spreads through my bones. That’s exactly how she looks … hungry.
A hush falls over the room, the clicking of my heels on the tiles echoing like gunshots and bouncing off the walls and high ceilings. Everything in me screams to turn around and run away to safety, yet I move more gracefully than ever before as I make my way to her outstretched arms. She hugs me like a mother would a child, her gesture earning her the sighs from the audience she expected. Goosebumps pinch my skin where she touches me and I grind my teeth, unable to say a word. Fingers squeezing so hard my nails dig into my skin, she tilts her chin to one side of the room, then the other. My gaze follows her direction and a lump forms in my throat when I see Viola on one side, Harmony on the other.
My friends watch me with parted lips, their eyes too wide on their pale faces. I haven’t seen them since last time she made me dress up to play. The dark circles under their eyes are the same ones I see in the mirror before I cover them with the makeup Seraphina supplies. It’s like putting on a new skin, enough to fool anyone into thinking I am as healthy as a glowing red apple, but no one can see the worms eating you inside. Do my friends think I’m better off than them by seeing me all made up? The terror in their eyes tells me no, tells me they can see through this mask. They know I’m just as bad as they are.
I lose sight of both of them when Seraphina jerks on my arm and forces me to sit on the lone chair. With a barely there touch on my hair, she drifts away and leaves me staring at the violin in my hands. I want to rebel. I want to jump up and smash the instrument at my feet into pieces and scream from the top of my lungs for all of them to run. The violin swings gracefully in my hand, my chin lowering gently on the rest to hold it in place. The bow comes next, hovering above the strings as I squeeze my eyes tightly shut.
The first note is a dagger in my chest.
Such a beautiful piece of music by Bach is sublimely satisfying when you hear it in its original form. A single violin, no matter how good the musician is, is only able to hint at the vast implications of it. A good performance, like the one I forcefully offer, may be taken as the best guide to interpretation on the organ the composer favored so much, yet it’s still unable to encompass it fully.
I hate it that I’m enjoying it so much, but I can’t stop myself. It speaks to something inside me, even while I feel my strength trickling down, the golden cord snaking from my chest glittering in the spotlight. My arm feels heavy where I hold the bow sawing at the strings without a moment of a pause. The notes rise and fall until I can barely summon enough strength to suck in tiny sips of air.
The music stops.
My head hangs low on my neck, tears soaking my cheeks and plopping against the back of my hands, which are folded in my lap. I hear the murmurs of people leaving, the shuffling of their feet fading away. Silence presses on my shoulders so thick I don’t know how I’m still able to sit on the chair. With great effort, I lift my head and my heart stops.
Blue eyes—ones I know too well because they haunt my every dream—lock on mine from across the empty room. Confusion and rage twist the handsome face that has no right to exist in this world. No one is that perfect. No one. My heart kicks up painfully in my chest when he takes a step toward me, coming out of the shadows that were covering him. Lips parting, the scream for help lodges in my throat when I hear Seraphina hiss from behind me like a feral animal. Her nails rip the skin of my shoulder when she yanks me back, the chair falling along with my body. The violin I am clutching for dear life drops from my numb fingers only to clatter on the floor.
“Please …” is all that can pass my unmoving lips as the world disappears around me.
The last thing I see before darkness takes me is the beautiful man sprinting in my direction with determination stamped on his face.
But he is too late.
4
Étienne
“Idetest magic.” Unlike my two brothers, I hate the vile thing.
Lucien grins at me as if I told him a joke while we watch humans trickle inside the abandoned church. What used to be a pile of ruins—which we saw with our own eyes the night we followed the damn cat—is now a brand-new building staring me in the face with doors wide open. I was being serious when I said I detested magic a few moments ago. The three of us are acutely aware of it, more so than anyone else of our kind. More so than my father was. Nothing good can come out of something that can trap you, or worse, trap your mind.
Centuries ago, witches and vampires worked well together as allies. Until one magic user decided to test a theory about draining a vampire to achieve immortality without being dependent on blood. The records of it are lost and no one knows if it has ever been achieved or not. But since then, we do know we are mortal enemies. I will sooner rip the throat out of a witch than an assassin hell bent on killing me.
A shiver rattles my bones.
“Shall we—”
“Not yet,” cutting off Lucien, my eyes narrow at the church.
The wards erected around the place shimmer before my eyes like a cobweb catching light. The spell is a complicated one crisscrossing over the dome, too many triggers flashing through it as if daring me to try my luck. Unassuming humans push through, the magic like ghostly fingers clinging to their clothing and hairs, solidifying my theory that they are unfit to survive in this world. Regardless of being unaware of anyone else existing aside from them, they are willing prey. I can’t even blame the magic user for luring them in.
“What are we waiting on?” Lucien grumbles from my right. “An invitation? We have three; let’s go.”
“Do you not see?” Fists clenching at my sides, I search for a loophole, a way to trick the wards or break them apart.
I get nothing.
“I see the wards.” Snarling at me, I can feel his scowl on the side of my head. “I also see there is no way of sneaking past them. So fuck it, let’s just storm inside and rip it apart.”
“And then what?” Turning to face him, I let him squirm under my glare. “End up trapped in the wards until the sun comes up or alerting the witch so it flees and we can’t find them?”
