“No.” My cheeks burned with heat.This can’t be happening.“I’m just saying that it’s gone—”
“I certainly didn’t move your violin. None of my other students would have moved your violin. The only conclusion is that you forgot your instrument after Ispecificallysaid to have everything prepared for Mr. Brandt’s visit.”
Behind me, Heather stifled a giggle.
“Go.” Madame Usher snapped, waving her hand at the door. “Bring your instrument. We will have words tomorrow.”
I tore from the room, my heart in a panic. I knew I didn’t leave my violin in my room – not fifteen minutes ago, I tuned it while Aroha snorted coke. The only way it could have moved was if someonetookit.
Aroha? Possible. She left the room after me, but I looked back at her and I would’ve seen it in her. Or Dorien? He’d gone back to the bathroom—
Of course.I shoved open the door of the men’s bathroom. Sure enough, there was my violin on top of the sink.
Smashed to a thousand pieces.
The aftermath of Paik’sOne for Violin Solo.
My worst fucking nightmare.
Splinters of wood decorated the marble tiles, unrecognizable as once belonging to a beautiful instrument. Strings curled into springs that bounced in the air, mocking me.
No.
Please, no.
Tears pricked in the corners of my eyes. That violin was a gift from my mother for my sixteenth birthday. It came from an artisan luthier in upstate New York and was a work of art in its own right.
It wasmine.
Howdarethey ruin this for me?
Panic shot through me. They were all expecting me back, Hans eager to hear the daughter of Donovan de Winter strut her stuff. I still had to witness Ivan’s downfall. I had to get back in that room now and deal with this later. If I couldn’t use my instrument,anyviolin would do.
I raced through the foyer, taking the stairs two at a time. When I reached my bedroom, I grabbed the thick ring of keys from my bed and jogged back down to the first floor. At the end of the hall, just before Madame Usher’s private chambers, was a small storage room housing a variety of instruments gifted to the school over the years.
I stepped inside and flicked on the light, illuminating immaculate rows of glass cases and racks of instruments standing silent and sentinel. My fingers traced a rack of violins, passing over a Sanctus Seraphin with the distinctive reddish varnish before picking up a beautiful, simple instrument that could have only come from the workshop of Carl Becker, the greatest luthier of the 20th century.
As soon as my fingers touched the neck, I knew this was the instrument I had to play. A tingle of fire ran down my hand – the same sensation I got when I touched Titus or stared into Ivan’s eyes or traded barbs with Dorien: giddiness tinged with fear. I grabbed the instrument and the bow and flicked off the lights.
As I shoved the key in the lock and turned back toward the staircase, I noticed that the door to Madame Usher’s private quarters was open a crack. I jolted.
She never leaves this open. Never.
Unable to stop myself, I crept forward, my chest prickling. I shoved the door open a crack, and peered inside.
The door opened into a receiving room, empty of furniture, with heavy drapes blocking the light from the windows. The fire looked as though it hadn’t been lit for some years, and the floor was caked with dust save for a path of footsteps leading through to an inner door. Beyond that, I could just make out the shapes of furniture in a sitting room beyond.
My ears caught something else. The faintest snatches of a familiar melody. The same mournful song that I heard late at night – the mysterious music that seemed to flow from the walls of my room, that was familiar to me even though I couldn’t place it.
It was coming frominsideMadame Usher’s chambers.
I knew it wasn’t noise traveling from the ballroom downstairs because I couldalsohear the pounding of keys as Dorien and Heather performed their concerto.
I stepped forward, drawn by that music, by my desperate need to get to the bottom of who was haunting me, andhow. I knew now it had to be Madame Usher, but why would she leave the recording running in here when she knew I’d be downstairs?
As soon as my foot fell inside the room, I realized my mistake. My heel made a loud clack on the marble. The violin stopped. I looked down and realized my print stood out amongst the jumble of others at the threshold. Madame Usher didn’t wear heels.
Shit.Shit.
