“When my father went mad, he tried to rip my throat out. This is my only chance to clear his name, to remind people who he was. Not the madman, but the mage.”
The ghost took a step closer. Brought his hand up, as if to trace the network of scars that circled her throat. He never touched her but was close enough that Selene could feel the heat rising off his skin. There was a spark of something in his eyes. He knew what it was to bleed.
Selene fastened the buttons around her collar. The ghost ran his thumb against his forefinger, warring with the idea. She watched him, tried to keep herself from falling to her knees and begging. She needed whatever would give her an edge. Madame Giroux wouldn’t be able to say no to this kind of power.
No one would.
“Please.” Selene let the desperation creep into her voice, real and raw. She had to have this.
His exhalation came so softly, but this close, she could feel warmth and the resignation. “You have to promise me that you won’t teach anyone else.”
That was easy. Selene wouldn’t give any more fuel to her competitors. “I promise.”
“There is a price.”
Selene didn’t even try to count the beats of her heart. She’d worked for years to be good enough with music, and even then, it wasn’t enough. This magic came as easily as breathing. She didn’t care what it cost. “I’ll pay it.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He turned away fromher.
For a moment, Selene was sure she’d seen a glint of something dark in his eyes that made her wonder. She’d fallen through the mirror with this beautiful, monstrous man who could teach her impossible magic. It was all too strange, too convenient, tooright. She should be questioning it, fighting against the ease with which this bargain appeared.
But Selene was decided.
“Then tell me.”
“The magie du sang requires your pain.”
Selene laughed. “It can have it.”
“More than that.” The ghost smoothed his dark hair. She counted the scars on his hands, wondered if she’d soon share in that tapestry. “If I am to teach you, there are things you must agree to. There is a magic older than pain. I’m bound to it; I don’t know why or how. I just know what must be done.” All these magics secreted away. There was a part of her that doubted him, doubted the realness of the magie du sang and whatever this older magic was. In her world, there was only music. But how much of her world had she actually seen? Selene could count the cities she’d been in on one hand. She could count the days she’d spent out of the opera house in the last seven years on two. What did she know?
“I’m not afraid.”
He regarded her thoughtfully. His eyes were so blue, they seemed to glow, like gems caught in the light. “Every day I will ask of you three things. One for the magic. One for you. And one for me. If you cannot answer these three things, you cannot come back.”
Selene took a breath. “How do I know that you won’t ask me something impossible?”
His smile coiled like a serpent. “You don’t.”
“All right,” Selene said. “I’ll do it.”
The ghost took out the little knife. Selene was drawn to thekaleidoscope of colors, comforted by the vibrancy. At least there was color in this place, some proof that he might have been real.
“We must swear to it.” He made a shallow cut down the palm of his hand and then offered the knife to her, hilt first, careful to keep his fingers from touching hers. “Swear on something that matters.”
His blood still warmed the knife’s edge. Proof that this wasn’t a dream, proven again when the blade sliced into her skin. The pain was nothing compared to the elation. “I swear on the soul of my father that I will do all you ask of me.”
“I swear on my name that I will teach you magie du sang.”
His name.
The drops of blood that ran down her hand onto the ground stopped their descent. They lifted to the space between them, mingling with the ghost’s blood. They twisted and twisted together until they evanesced into shadow.
“Let us begin.”
Chapter 10
“First,” the ghost said. “What is it you want?”
