On that last morning, he spoke quietly, reassuringly. “Don’t worry about us. Your mom and I will be fine. This is something we need to do.”
I opened my mouth to protest again, but he shook his head.
“Listen…if anything should happen to us, stick with the Progeny. They’ll take care of you.”
“I don’t want them to take care of me,” I told him. “I’m an adult, Dad. I keep telling you, I’m ready to be on my own and fend for myself.”
“That’s not up to you,” he replied, a hint of sternness in his voice. “You have a responsibility as a Chosen female to marry within the Progeny and keep our bloodline pure—”
“God, do you hear yourself?” I exclaimed with an incredulouslaugh. “I wish I could convince you to let go of all this Progeny crap. We could do so much on our own, just the three of us. Why don’t you and Mom understand that?”
His face darkened. “Why don’tyouunderstand that after everything we’ve devoted to this cause, everything we’ve sacrificed, wecan’tjust leave it behind?”
It was the first time he’d expressed anything akin to regret. Silence hung between us, the kind of silence only penetrable by months of family counseling.
After a long moment, I whispered, “I just don’t want to lose you.”
Dad sighed, pulling me close until I could hear the double thump of his heartbeat. “I’ll make you a deal. If anything happens and we cross to the Afterworld, I’ll come back and haunt you.”
“Screw that,” I mumbled against his shirt. “Send me a guardian angel or a muse, something that grants courage. Something that might actually be useful.”
“Hey.” He pushed me gently back and clasped my shoulders. “You’ll find your courage one day. You were born to sing. All you need is the right teacher to give you confidence.”
I swallowed the sob sticking in my throat. “So if you die for Wolfsheim, you promise to send me a supernatural mentor from beyond the grave?”
“I swear, I’ll send you the best one I can find. Protection and inspiration…a guardian angel of music.”
I couldn’t help laughing a little, even as I brushed away tears. Mom’s voice rang through the house, yelling that they needed to get on the road. Dad gave my shoulders one last squeeze, picked up his leather bag, and walked out of the study.
I never saw either of them again.
It’s been over a year, and there’s been no ghost, no muse, and no guardian angel. Another disappointment from my disappointing family. Proof that the Afterworld they believed in doesn’t actually exist. This life is all there is, and after death…nothing. If I can’t manage to pull myself together and go after my dreams, I’m going to languish here at the New Orpheum Theatre until I die, and my life will have been entirely pointless.
“Christine!” Meg’s excited voice comes from the doorway behind me, snapping me back to reality. “Was that Carlotta Vanetti?”
I’m grateful for the interruption. A few more minutes in that mental space, and I would have dissolved into hopeless tears.
I clear my throat and straighten my spine. “Yeah, that was her.”
“Shit,” Meg says reverently. “Mr. Richards is going to be thrilled about this. Did she justwalk in? No appointment?”
“Yup. She wants to have her birthday party here in October. Some kind of masquerade deal with spooky Halloween vibes.”
“That’s so awesome!” Meg hops onto the desk and literally kicks her feet. She’s tiny, with the frame of a birdlike ballerina, gorgeous bone structure, and dark eyes. Her dad is from France, her mom from China. They moved to the States six years ago, but the marriage fell apart shortly afterward, and Meg ended up in Nashville with her mom. Mrs. Giry teaches in one of the New Orpheum dance studios, and they live in a slightly larger version of my apartment at the end of the same hall.
Mr. Richards says the New Orpheum is a haven from the world—a place where struggling artists and creatives can take refuge and get on their feet. I think he’s just hungry for cheap labor. He takes advantage of people with no other options.
Meg expertly pulls her glossy black hair into a bun, her gaze fixed on me. “Are you all right? You seem sad.”
I’ve never told her about my last conversation with my dad, andI can’t bear to mention it now. Unfortunately, I have another reason to be depressed.
“I got the call today. It’s done. My attempt to contest the will has failed—no more appeals, no more hope. My parents’ life insurance money, their house,everythinggoes to that cult they were in. I don’t get a cent. And I still have to pay the estate attorney, even though he did fuck-all to help me. It’s a lower fee than it would have been if I’d won, but still.”
“That’s so wrong.” Meg’s brows pull together. “And you can’t appeal to the cult members or whatever? Maybe they would give you something out of human decency.”
Humandecency—I almost laugh, but I’m too heartsick. “No chance of that. Not after I took them to court and called them a bunch of shit-sucking vultures. I’m utterly broke. I’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future.”Probably forever.
“Well, I’m selfishly glad about that part. I’d hate to lose you.” Meg reaches over to pat my shoulder, then jumps lightly off the desk. “Are we going out tonight?”
