Elena stuck her tongue out at her brother and slammed the door in his face.
“Please, play for me the concerto again,” she said, folding her hands into her lap and settling back with a contented look on her pixieish face.
* * *
Elena wasn’t the only one acting odd. Ever since Master Radcliffe told us we’d be playing together at the recital, Dorien made excuses not to practice with me. Finally, I cornered him. “I know you don’t give a fuck what your parents think of you, but I need this to go well. If you’re not willing to play with me, I will perform on my own.”
I didn’t have the power to make those decisions, and we both knew it, but Dorien’s shoulders sagged. He flashed me a smile tinged with sadness at the edges, the kind of smile that could shatter a girl’s heart from a million paces. “I’ll behave, Sprite. I promise.”
As we played through the piece, I could tell his head was a million miles away. His fingering lacked its usual aplomb, and the result was wooden, devoid of the emotion I desperately needed to convey in the piece.
I scratched the bow across the strings, creating an almighty screech that echoed through the room. Dorien jumped, his fingers tumbling over the keys.
“Fuck.” He pounded the lid of the piano.
“That got your attention.” I glared at him. “I told you not to fuck this up for me. Yet, here you are, fucking it up.”
“I know.” Dorien rested his head in his hands. “It’s my parents. I’ve played for sold-out crowds in some of the greatest concert halls in Europe and Asia without breaking a sweat, but the thought of playing in front of them withyou…”
“Just tell me what’s got you twisted up so you can cry about it and get over it. They probably won’t even recognize me from all those years ago.”
Dorien shook his head. “They’ll remember you. They remember everything. And they will want to know why I’m playing with you and not Heather. Fuck.” He slammed his fist on the lid again. The tension in his shoulders could launch an arrow into space.
“Maybe they won’t come?” I tried. “If they’re as into this cult thing as you say, then maybe they’re not allowed out to enjoy a recital?”
“They’ll come. Madame Usher will make sure of that.” Dorien’s eyes glinted. “I can’t hide you from them, and Heather won’t let mepretendto be her girlfriend. She demands the real deal. They’ve painted us into a corner, and they know it.”
“I wish you’d tell me instead of talking in riddles. I can help, you know. I’m quite clever.”
“You are.” Dorien lifted my fingers to his lips and laid a searing kiss on my knuckles. “But right now, the truth is dangerous to you. Unless I can find a way to convince them…yes.” A spark of brightness shone through the storms in his eyes. “I think I have a way this could work out, for all of us.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Faye
The whole house buzzed with excitement about the recital. Aroha danced around singing traditional Maori songs when she heard her parents would fly over. Heather seemed to have declared a truce with me and the Muses – or at least, she was too busy focused on improving her playing to put any effort into her torture attempts.
Elena slipped into my practice room again.
“You play beautifully,” she whispered after I finished my as-yet-unnamed composition.
I snorted. “Sure. When people aren’t hiding my instrument or ruining my performances.”
Elena nodded but didn’t offer up any kind of apology or explanation. People like her never had to do that.
“Do you want something?” I snapped the words, trying to show her that I wouldn’t be intimidated by her beauty like others.
Elena winced. “I can accompany you. Would that be okay?”
The words ‘Go to hell’ danced on the end of my tongue. For a moment, I relished the satisfaction of denying Perfect Elena something, of seeing her face when she realized the whole world didn’t automatically bend over backward to her whims.
But she was the one who warned the Muses about Heather’s attack. I was so desperate for someone,anyone,to talk to. Not even a friend – just someone friend-adjacent. This was the first time since I’d bummed smokes from Aroha that someone at Manderley had reached out. Dorien and the Muses didn’t count because I couldn’t tell what was going on in their fucked-up heads.
I shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”
Elena walked over to the piano and opened the lid, raising her hands to the keys with soft wrists, like a witch conjuring a spell. Without asking me what I wanted to play, she launched into Beethoven’sViolin Sonata No. 9– a piece I loved for its raw beauty and that richness of musical color Beethoven gave to all his music.
She slowed the tempo from what I was used to, giving the opening an even more melancholy air. When she reached the lightning-fastPresto,her fingers danced along the keys with impossible lightness, like a butterfly flitting between flowers. I tried to match her deft, light style, but it was tough just keeping pace with her.
