Page 26 of Vampires of Eden
After dinner, I leave the main house and follow the trail toward the banquet hall that sits at the back of our property. The sun has set, and the evening sky is a crisp and wintery dark blue. A light dusting of snow has settled on the smooth travertine walkway. When the wind blows, the airy flakes swirl and dance around my feet. I didn’t bother grabbing my coat, so I stick my hands into the pockets of my slacks.
The massive fir and pine trees surrounding the glass structure give this area of the grounds a clandestine quality. The atmosphere is mostly silent, but when I stand still, a lullaby of nighttime sounds becomes more apparent. Wind rustling through the dry brush and the tinkering chitter of a barn owl.
Reaching the double glass doors, I pull one open because we never lock them. It’s cold in here as well, but I don’t mind.
A rectangular panel full of switches and corresponding dimmers is just inside the door. I press the one I want and slowly, the icicle lights stretching across the ballroom’s ceiling softly glow to life in the darkness. They glitter and reflect beautifully in the polished wood floors, like a frozen lake mirroring starlight.
My steps echo as I walk across the hard surface and toward the arresting instrument in the corner. Like a visual masterpiece on display at a museum, the concert grand piano sits atop an elevated stage. The twinkling faux icicles above gleam in its smooth ebony finish.
I lift the fall board and watch as the light softly dazzles here too within the pristine ivory of the keys. Not my choice—the ivory. But it is what it is. This is an old instrument and I honor the sacrifices made to construct it.
Carefully, I pull the bench out, then take a seat. The hall is silent. I lift my hands and graze the cool keys with my fingertips.
I take a breath before a tumultuous wave of emotions flow outward. The sentiments burst from me and through me. A wrath of complex sound pours out from my fingers and disrupts the oppressive silence like a cannon ball through a wall of glass.
Grave.In C-minor.
The first movement of the sonata is dramatic and powerful. Tragedy strikes like a flash of harrowing thunder. It is the melodic soliloquy for a broken soul. For a heart on the precipice of its final beat. Leaning into everything that I feel, every humiliated thought and shameful action, the melody transports me. It shrouds me like a dark cloud that lurks, haunting and determined to sweep my body and spirit away.
Just when it feels as if I’ll go along peacefully, the music tumbles down a rapid descending scale and the exposition begins.
Allegro di molto con brio.
My Achilles’ heel. But not today. Not anymore.
The tempo accelerates and fights against the despair and heartbreak. I concentrate and my pulse races. My right hand is like its own creature as it adeptly executes the vigorous melody, wielding my imaginary sword. My left hand holds thetremolosteady. An unbreakable shield.
I lose myself in the complexity of this movement, then, even more so through the depth and beauty of the second movement,adagio cantabile,and into the triumphant third movement, an acceleratedrondo.
By the final climactic note, my head is clear. I sit perfectly still in this encased banquet hall surrounded by shadowy trees and reflected lights. My heart beats in my throat as the notes echo in my ears and all around.
After a moment, I take a deep breath and let my shoulders drop. “How long are you going to stand there like a creep?”
Raphael walks forward from the back corner near the door. He claps slowly—but not in that facetious, patronizing way like I’m a jackass. He’s genuinely impressed. “Bravo,” he says. “Beethoven.Sonata Pathétique.”
“Yes.”
“Amazing, Lexie. I didn’t know you could play it by heart. It took you forever to learn it. I remember that much.”
“It took six months to master the first movement. That fuckingallegro di molto con briomade me want to tear my hair out—like my hands wouldn’t do what I was telling them to do. After that, it wasn’t so bad.”
At one point, my piano instructor made me keep my right hand behind my back, and all I’d do for the bulk of the lesson was practice thetremolo. He drilled it into me to the point where I’d catch myself bouncing imaginary notes everywhere and anywhere—on dinner tables, kitchen counters or car seats. A couple of times on Buffy, which, she was not a fan of.
Raphael joins me on the piano bench and I slide over, making room for him. “Your father is always running around, looking for new musicians to highlight at the Royal Opera. He really should have you do a concerto.”
Smiling weakly, my face warms. “Nah. I’m not bad, but there are a lot of vampires who are way more musically gifted than me.” One such vampire immediately comes to mind, but I squash that thought because he’s a mean and haughty asshole. “Plus, Madre would murder Father if he even thought about pulling me into the arts with him.”
Raphael clears his throat, then lifts his hands above his head to dramatically flex his fingers. He brings them down to the keys, rolls his shoulders, then proceeds to playMary had a Little Lamb, hunched and with his pointer fingers. This makes me laugh so hard that I almost fall off the bench.
He stops playing and grins. “I’m glad you’re still capable of smiling and laughing.”
“Thanks for that,” I say, wiping the corners of my eyes. “I needed that.” A soft silence falls over us and I catch my breath. A long beat passes before I speak again. When I do, my voice comes out quiet. Resigned. “I give up, Raph. I’ll… I’ll just do what they want. If Lord Cherrington wants me, that’s fine. I’ll play along.”
Raphael exhales a sigh that could sail ships. “I had a feeling you might say that.”
“It’s just the way it is,” I tell him, feeling my throat tighten. I clear it and swallow. No more crying and wailing. Mother is right. It’s time for me to move on. “I’m okay with it. Maybe… I deserve it.”
“You donot,” he says fiercely. “You can lie to yourself, but don’t lie to me. Nothing about this situation is okay and you know it.”
