“What have you brought me?”
Selene reached into her pocket. The darkness seemed to lean in, eager for her spoils. She dropped the seed into his open palm. “A seed is a heart that does not bleed. It is the center. It is the whole.”
The ghost’s eyes lit up with surprise. He held the seed up, examining all its edges. He brought it to his lips, just as she had. Then he tossed it into the air. The darkness shot out, struck like a serpent. The heart was there, and then gone.
“This I have asked and you have answered.”
Selene’s eyes filled with tears. This seed, the smallest thing, had worked. She wished all her troubles were so easily answered. She wished a seed was all she needed for those, too.
The ghost’s brow furrowed in confusion. She wanted him to ask her what was wrong. She wanted to say it, and then have him tell her everything would be okay. That Benson wasn’t her fault. That there were good things left in this world. But she knew what his next words would be.
“What is it you want?”
Selene breathed out slowly. There were so many things she wanted. But only one she knew she could fight for. “To win.”
“This I have asked and you have answered.” He took a moment, worrying the scars on his bicep with the tips of his fingers. “Are you all right?”
Selene was not. She might never be again. And yet she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t take the time to grieve. “Is that one of your questions?”
“You matter to me, Selene. Every time you leave, I hope for your sake you don’t come back.” His eyes were endless pools of woe, like all his promises were meant for breaking.
“I want to be here.”
“That’s the trouble.”
“My friend.” Her tongue stuck on the word. She wasn’t talking about Victor. She wasn’t thinking about him. He wasn’t her friend. He didn’t even remember her. This was about Benson. “Today, he—” Selene tried to fit the right words together. He wasn’t dead. He was here, but not. Hollowed out. Gone. “He was too ambitious and paid the price.”
The ghost tilted his head, like he was trying to remember what that might mean. Something settled in his eyes and he exhaled slowly. Selene could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, even at this distance. It rippled over her and made her shiver.
“Use the pain.”
Selene closed her eyes. She was running out of time. She sang for water, like Benson had. Let it slide into mist, tableaux of what had happened projected all around them, bought with blood instead of madness.
When she couldn’t stand to look at it anymore, she sang it all into ice. The images shattered against the ground.
The ghost picked up the end of her melody and matched her, grief for grief. He knew the depth of her mourning. She wished she could share his burden, like he shared hers. But he was all scars. His voice was warm and deep, musical to its core. He could have sung off the face of the moon if he wanted to, like her father. She joined him, their voices twining. The music was stronger when they were together. They sang flames without heat, casting light into all the dark spaces. Everything was bright and burning and blood and song.
She wished she could bottle this feeling and take it with her everywhere. She wished she knew how to get him out of the mirror and take him, too. He would take the world by storm with the power of his voice and the cold fire of his eyes.
“What happens now?” He bled a tiny horse that pranced around her. “Did you give them your storm?”
“No.” Selene reached for the horse. It yielded to her touch, the illusion bending around her. “The decisions have been made for L’Opéra du Magician.”
The ghost’s cold eyes glistened. “Is it you?”
“I find out tonight.” Selene should be upstairs putting on her dress and laughing away the nerves and sharing this moment with Gigi. But she wasn’t sure there was any laughter left between them. “In a few hours.”
“Then you should go.”
“What if I can’t come back?”
“I’ll know you’ve stepped into your dream.”
“I had to see you, to see if there was something more I could do.” Selene worried her lower lip. “I don’t know how to save you. I need more time.”
“Isn’t time a fickle thing? I’ve had a hundred years and all you need is one more day.” The ghost’s voice was rich with understanding. “I will not hold you to your promises.”
There was something about the way he said it, as if this had all happened before. As if hapless girls had wandered into his prison for a blink and were then gone as quickly as they’d come. A shiver of jealousy surged through her. She didn’t want to be one of many. She wanted to be the one. She shook her head, hard enough that she lost purchase for a second and had to breathe in slowly.
