Jackpot.
I knew enough about drugs to know I was looking at aseriousquantity of cocaine.
Apart from the occasional joint, I’d never even seen drugs up close before. But Ihadseen the effects at Mom’s business events. Guys completely whacked out, chasing women who didn’t want to be chased. Women believing they were invincible because they had money and a shield of drug haze. In our last apartment, I got to see another side – addicts on street corners, shop windows punched in. Once, a guy chased me four blocks while loudly declaring his desire to slit me open and eat my intestines.
This baggie of white gold was exactly what I’d been looking for – it was the shovel that Ivan would use to dig his grave. I just wasn’t expecting quite such a large shovel.
This wasn’t a personal stash – it was enough for a Robert Downey Jr. yoga retreat or a Hannaford Prep study party. And people who dealt drugs tended to be dangerous, or have dangerous friends.
But then I thought of how I struggled to sleep, of how I looked over my shoulder every time I walked into a room and had to check under my bed in case one of the guys was hiding there. I thought of my eroded sense of safety, of peace, and I squared my jaw.This is the right thing—
“What are you doing?”
I jumped at the voice, hitting my elbow on the open drawer. My hand flew behind my back, shoving the coke into the waistband of my skirt. I glared at Ivan, who leaned against the doorframe and looked me over with eyes of ice and sapphire. That impenetrable stare that would make any girl long to be the one to crack open his frosted heart.
I straightened up, trying to paint my face into a picture of innocence. “What does it look like? I’m dusting, like a good maid.”
“You usually dust in underwear drawers?”
Heat burned in my cheeks. Ivan folded his arms, and something tugged at the edge of his mouth. On anyone else, I might have mistaken it for a smile, but Ivan Nicolescu didn’t smile. He was a glacier – hard and cold, and if you dug beneath the surface, there was just more ice.
That was just the thing. I couldn’t see Ivan as an addict or a dealer, but then… Manderley was a house of secrets. I couldn’t back down now that I’d uncovered his.
“Fair’s fair. You were in my room.” I straightened up, trying to move my body without letting the bag slip out from my shirt.
He didn’t deny it. Instead, he took a step toward me, his long legs stretching over a pile of his sister’s junk. My heart hammered. “You believe this makes us even?”
Even his voice sounded glacial – slow and primal, that Romanian accent edged with ice. It vibrated through my body even as I took a step away from him. As Ivan picked his way closer, I noticed the way he moved – a tightness in his limbs, a tension in his step. He battled to maintain control.
We circled each other like two animals ready to pounce, but what would happen if one of us made the move – bloodbath or fuckfest? Both were equally likely outcomes, but only one made my body tingle with anticipation.
Ivan stepped toward the bed, and I circled around the wall until I had a clear run for the door. As I backed into the hall Ivan spoke again. “Faye?”
My name on his lips was fuckingpoetry. I raised an eyebrow.
Ivan’s features didn’t waver, but something flickered in his eyes – a hint of emotion, a clue that he wasn’t entirely made of ice. “Be careful.”
I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, but he’d slammed the door in my face.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Faye
The day of the conductor’s visit arrived. I’d stayed up past midnight the night before, preparing the evening meal so that I would only be heating things up the next day. I polished the silver setting until it shone. When I’d finally crawled into bed, I longed for sleep, but the Muses had decided to step up their torture. Instead of the creaking footsteps in my room, the faintest sound of violin music scratched the air.
It had to be a recording – it was too quiet to be someone playing in the storage room, and no one would dare play downstairs this late at night for fear of Madame Usher’s wrath.This is their assault on me because they know I was snooping in Ivan’s room. They probably know I’ve got the coke. They’re trying to keep me awake so I play badly tomorrow. Well, bet they didn’t know that after my father left the only way Mom could get me to sleep was to put on recordings of his concerts. I love falling asleep with music playing. So there.
Only, it turns out, I wasn’t a kid anymore, and violin music can be fucking annoying when you add it to a stuffy attic, performance nerves, and the plot to destroy a Muse. I tossed and turned all night, fighting for every snatch of sleep I wrestled from the disturbed darkness. When the alarm went off at 5:30, I threw it across the room.
I dragged myself downstairs, made grilled cheese for myself, set out granola and yogurt for the royal dickweasels, and loped back to the attic.
Back in my room, I began my daily inspection of the cupboards and corners for an intruder. I shoved aside the bed, bureau, and locked chest to stomp on the floorboards. Then, I pressed on every wood panel and clawed at every crack in the room, searching for a secret passage. I hated that I was letting the students get to me even after I had the lock changed, but knowing they could come into my room any time they wanted and touch my stuff had me permanently on edge. Every creak and groan of the old house had me sitting upright in bed, heart in my throat.
I didn’t believe in ghosts, but I honestlywishedI was being haunted. It would be easier to deal with.
I crawled out from under the bed, satisfied that no one was spying on me today. Moving to my clothing rack, I pulled my concert dress from its dry-cleaning bag and hung it over my chair. Mom brought me this dress for my audition for Juilliard last year, back before she got seriously sick, when both our futures looked bright. Bonus, it had a little secret pocket in the seam of the skirt – perfect for a cocaine stash.
I stripped off my scratchy black dress and stepped into the shower, lathering up and rinsing as quickly as I could, my heart in my throat. Usually, I liked to take my time, letting the heat of the water melt away any performance nerves, but I couldn’t rid myself of the itchy sensation of someone watching me. The Muses had stripped away that simple pleasure, too.
