Page 166 of The Kiss Of Death
I crumpled to my knees, holding on to the violin like it was a fractured part of my soul that had been returned to me. “Thank you.”
I closed my eyes, attempting to steady my racing heart. For him, I’d erase the ghosts of our pasts and create our ownbeautiful world. The applause signaling the end of Gunther’s performance echoed through the walls.
“Play like nobody’s watching.” Levi crouched by my side, his warm breath brushing against my ear right before his lips met the single tear that had trailed down my cheek. “I’ll be there.”
I knew why all this time I’d been obsessed with the Cigno Nero. The violin was just like him. My own dark swan. The quiet, misjudged boy who taught me how to fly with my own wings.
“Thank you for everything. I’m ready now. I’ll be okay, you’ll see,” I said, keeping my eyes shut, afraid that if I opened them, I would be consumed by my emotions. “And Levi, I wanted to tell you that I—”
“You’ll tell me after. This is your moment.”
His footsteps faded into the distance, and I willed myself to regain control from where I was still curled into a ball. I drew strength from the memories that flooded my mind: the hours spent in Lucie’s studio, the wonder with Mom every Christmas at the opera. None of it would be for nothing.
I felt a cold draft, like a silent push urging me to my feet.
I’m ready.
My eyes blinked open, and with a determined push, I swung the heavy door wide. When I stepped into the stony hallway, the sharp echo of my footsteps reverberated off the walls, creating a rhythmic cadence that matched the pounding of my heart. There, I found Gunther, his breaths ragged as he leaned against the wall, a white-knuckled grip on his inhaler. His reddened face betrayed the anxiety that I’d soon face. Our eyes met, exchanging a silent nod.
Taking my place behind the closed red velvet curtain, I couldn’t shake the clammy sweat that coated my palms. The notes of the violinist’s flawless Bach performance hung in the air. She or he was technically perfect. Goose bumps invaded myarms, the smell of dust filling my nostrils. The freezing darkness of the opera enveloped me, seeping into my bones.
The music stopped, replaced by the sharp call of my name. The third-year violinist pushed past the curtain, and she glared at me. But with a creak of the floor under my loafers, I entered the stage.
The floor was fixed, but ladders still leaned against partially completed columns. The judges appeared minuscule at the far end, their stern expressions fixed on me.
“Dalia Mercier, who will perform her own composition, ‘Broken Doll,’” Mr. Delgado announced.
My gaze lingered on the back door, the opera seeming to close on me. I waited for it to open like in one of my nightmares. I waited for men with skull masks to shatter my dream.No, I could do it.I would face my demons.
I clenched my fists.
Silence.
That silence was suffocating.
Mr. Kravinsk cleared his throat. “When you’re ready.”
At the center of the stage, the harsh spotlight blinded me, casting a stark contrast against the surrounding darkness and the particles of dust hanging in the air. I knew Levi must be lurking somewhere within the shadows, watching.
I drew my bow across the soft strings, and the sound emanating from the Cigno Nero was like nothing I had ever heard before. It was rich and warm, each note ringing out with clarity and depth. I unleashed a torrent of music, driving out the demons that plagued my mind. Every fiber of my being quivered with intensity as I poured my soul into each note, the haunting melody of the Cigno Nero resonating with a dark and searing heat.
I became one with my demons, summoning the ghosts of Los Calaveras one by one.
My fingers danced across the fingerboard, every staccato note, every legato phrase resonating with a life of its own. Lost in the music’s trance, I surrendered control, my body swaying and bending like I was being ripped apart. A few stray notes slipped from my grasp, my vision clouding, even if I dared to open my eyes this time. The specters of masked men couldn’t stifle the music. I fought back, each note erasing their presence one by one.
Mom, I’m talking to you.
Through the music, I imagined running into my mother’s arms on time and shielding her from them. I imagined her beaming smile as she watched me from the heavens like an angel.
Lucie, I hope you can hear me.
I imagined Lucie’s sad face shattering, her lips curling slightly. She’d be at peace with herself, ready to leave the earth to join the heavens at Mom’s side.
Soon, each ghost—Lucie, Mom, Los Calaveras—had disappeared, and only I remained on stage.
With a final, breathless crescendo, I unleashed the last note that echoed in a lasting cry.
I glanced up at the judges. No words of praise or applause to fill the void. Instead, they scribbled notes on their papers.
