I reached down and smudged the print with my hand, but that only mademoreobvious. It was too late to do anything. I backed out and shut the door behind me.
Heather and Dorien were finishing when I entered the room. Dorien’s eyes flicked to mine, and he raised an eyebrow at the violin in my hands. Hans stood and clapped, his eyes shining.
“Beautiful and enchanting. Dorien, you were adequate, as usual.” But he said it with a twinkle in his eye, because obviously Dorien was the superior of the two. “I’d like to hear from the Nicolescu twins next.”
Dorien slid out from behind the piano and inclined his head to Elena. Ivan picked up his violin case and opened the latch. As he took out his violin, the bag slid out onto the rug at Hans’ feet.
Ivan’s eyes bugged out when he saw it. It took everything I had not to burst out laughing to see stoic, buttoned-up Ivan Nicolescu look so completely shocked.
But this was no laughing matter.
The entire room fell silent as Hans bent down and picked up the bag, holding it up to the light and inspecting it as if hoping the substance inside might magically transform into table salt.
“Well, Ivan,” he said mildly. A vein throbbed on his temple. “What do you have to say about this?”
Ivan said nothing. He masked his face with ice, even as his shoulders sagged. Dorien and Titus rose to stand behind him – silently throwing their towel in with their friend’s crimes.
Hans dumped the bag into Madame Usher’s claws. “This is your mess to deal with. I won’t say a word about what I saw here today, but you must know I cannot host any of the Broken Muses for our residency.”
“What?” Titus’ deep voice rose at least two octaves. Dorien looked like he was ready to cut someone. Ivan stared at a spot on the wall behind Boris’ head. I recognized the vacancy in his eyes – it was the same way I felt when the doctors talked about my mother’s chances of recovery. I left my body and floated somewhere behind my shoulders, watching the scene unfold before me with cool detachment. It was a survival mechanism – if I didn’t detach and become Faye the floating ghost-girl, I’d go postal, and hospitals tended to frown on displays of Keith Moon-esque destruction.
That was what Ivan had done – he’d floated away so he could deal. Knowing I had something in common with him made my stomach church with a sensation I didn’t like – sympathy.
Nope. Not gonna feel that shit. This is my revenge, and I’m going to enjoy it. Ideserveto enjoy it.
Madame Usher glared at the three boys. “Ivan, leave. Now. The rest of you, either you go with Ivan orsit down. I don’t want to hear another word about this.”
Dorien stepped forward. “But it’s not—”
“I said,not another word.” The two of them glared at each other, a battle of wills playing out on an invisible chessboard stretched between them. Dorien might have been a raging storm trapped in the body of the Prince of Darkness, but Madame Usher was like some ancient fucking demon goddess. She held dominion over storms. Hell, she could castrate the Devil himself with that glare.
Dorien backed away, lowering his eyes. Ivan swirled on his heel and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Elena didn’t move a muscle, but a single tear rolled down her cheek.
It was that tear more than anything that shattered my triumph. In getting back at Ivan, I’d cost all three of the Muses their chance of the residency, and ruined Elena and Ivan’s performance.
Then I remembered my beautiful violin smashed to pieces, and I shoved down that rotten feeling of regret. Ibaskedin Hans’ tight face and Dorien and Titus exchanging worried looks while Elena played through a solo piece – her notes all the more heart-wrenching because of the silent tears cascading down her cheeks.
“Brava,Elena, you were fantastic.” Hans rose to kiss her damp cheeks when she was done. “Who is next?”
“I see Miss de Winter has returned, so perhaps— What are you doing?” As Madame Usher turned to me, she shrieked. “That’s not your violin.”
“Someonedestroyed mine.” I glared at Dorien as I held the Becker in front of me, like a shield. “I took this from the instrument room to play for tonight, until I can get a replacement—”
“That’s not yours!”
For the second time that night, the room fell deadly silent. Madame Usher strode forward and tore the instrument from my hands. Beneath her caked-on makeup, her face had gone as white as a sheet.
Any other night I might have been able to calm myself enough to find a way out of this, but between my terrible sleep and Ivan’s revenge and seeing my instrument bashed to fucking pieces, something had broken inside me. I leaned right in Madame’s face and screamed, “What am I supposed to do, then? My violin is gone, and I need toplay.”
Madame Usher tapped her foot. “I’m disappointed. This isn’t the behavior of a professional musician. Master Brandt, please don’t accept Faye’s attitude as a representation of our students. You will not perform. Dorien, you will go next – perform one of your solo pieces.”
I headed for the door, but Madame grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin.
“You stay,” she hissed. “For your insolence, you will suffer through his perfection.”
Bitch.
I froze, my body riveted in the spot by Dorien. He playedA Graveside Story, his most famous composition, the piece that made his career with Broken Muse. It was everything he was – dark and seductive, dragging you under a fierce and choppy ocean and holding you until the water closed your throat and you couldn’t breathe for the beauty of it. For he was perfection. Every note was a blade slicing through my skin, baring my soul for him to devour with those slate eyes.
