The Kiss Of Death

Chapter 1

9 years old

T he door of Mrs. Delombre’s manor opened to reveal beautiful, stormy eyes.

They were silver gray, without a hint of blue or green, just like the rain around us. I clutched my violin case tighter to my chest, facing the unsmiling, silent boy—he must’ve been Mrs. Delombre’s son. He looked like he’d come out of a black-and-white movie, his wet, dark hair framing his pale face.

I used to watch the kids playing outside from my window before Dad closed the curtains. While the other kids were loud and playful, this boy wasn’t like them. He wasn’t afraid of the silence, like me.

He didn’t move to let me in or offer me shelter from the rain. He just stood there, letting it pour down on me.

“I’m your mom’s new violin student,” I explained, my voice a little shaky. I didn’t talk to strangers much, and I’d never been this close to a boy before. Not that I’d met many. Dad said that boys were bad. “She said I could come in while she parks her car.”

I peeked to the side. Mrs. Delombre’s car maneuvered into her garage, and the doors gradually sealed shut behind it. She seemed nice. She’d let me listen to my favorite classical music on the car ride.

For the first time, I was allowed to leave our estate. Neither Dad nor Grandma could teach me how to play music that would reach the heavens so I could talk to Mom. Mrs. Delombre was the only music teacher in town.

“I know who you are,” the boy said, his words sharp.

The wind played with the shutters of the old manor, rattling them like the giggles of ghosts. I flinched, but he didn’t. I felt frozen in place, unable to blink until my eyes started to burn. He had the coldest gray eyes I’d ever seen. They were so dark and intense, it was like they could banish monsters with just a glance.

I shook off the spell he cast on me and glanced down at the glass jar in his hands. A butterfly was trapped inside. Her wings fluttered as she struggled to get out. It seemed like the boy, too, didn’t have any friends to play with.

I clasped my hands together. “What’s her name?”

“This is 1111. I just captured it. The last one lasted two days,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “You have abnormal hair.”

I reached up to touch the ribbon holding my hair in a half ponytail, feeling it slip through my fingers. “My mama’s hair. She said that white is the presence of all colors, so my hair is like a rainbow.”

I felt a twinge of sadness. I couldn’t style my hair as well as Mom used to, creating princess hairstyles with ribbons. Dad was always too busy with work to help me out, and Grandma’s firm grip hurt me with the brush.

“You have a big, ugly spider crawling on your rainbow hair.”

“Oh.” I stepped forward to him, crossing the creaking threshold. “Can you help me without hurting her?”

The boy blinked, his brows creasing as he backed away, avoiding my touch. “You’re not scared?”

“Why? It’s not her fault she’s a spider.”

“This house is haunted; there are ghosts.”

I smiled for the first time in months. The boy was funny. The interior felt so tiny, like it couldn’t fit any ghosts. It resembled an antique store filled with cracked porcelain dolls, 3D puzzles, and a tall clock with frozen hands on the wall.

“Your eyes are red.” He took a little step closer, bending down to my eye level. He smelled like pine trees, like he had just come out of a spooky forest. “Were you crying?”

Grasping my violin case with a firmer hold, I dropped my gaze to his hands, which were delving into the jar. They were dirty like he’d been playing with something grimy.

“I make people cry easily,” he continued. “Do you think I could make you cry?”

I thought he was playing a game with me, so I played along. “Do you think I could make you smile?”

His frown sank even more as Mrs. Delombre emerged in the room, likely coming in from the garage. She and the boy looked so similar physically, but her gentle smile contrasted with the drab, monochrome boy.

“Sorry to have made you wait, Dalia. I’ll show you to my music studio.” She pointed at the door to the left, next to the wooden staircase.

I nodded and instinctively reached for her hand. I used to hold my mom’s hand a lot. Realizing what I’d done, my eyes bulged. Mrs. Delombre’s smile faded. I’d made her uncomfortable. Grabbing strangers’ hands wasn’t polite. I still sometimes forgot that my mom wasn’t here anymore. I sometimes still searched around every corner of the house but could never find her. I would never feel her hand in mine again.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Delombre. I…”

“It’s okay.” Mrs. Delombre graced me with another smile, not pulling her hand away but clutching it tighter. “But call me Lucie, okay?”

The boy squinted at our hands clasped together, then lowered his face to shoot me a menacing glare. I quickly let go of Mrs. Delombre’s hand.

The boy continued to look at me, so I whispered, “You should set 1111 free. I’m sure she’ll come back.”

He stayed silent, holding the jar closer to his chest. I dashed inside the music studio, not wanting to keep Mrs. Delombre waiting. My eyes widened—broken instruments hung on the walls next to a table with tools.

“Instruments are like humans,” she said, her voice soft. “Broken but capable of producing exquisite music when treated right.”

One of the instruments made my heart thud, and my mouth gaped in wonder. It was the most magical violin—made of dark, almost black-varnished wood. It seemed to shimmer in the light as if dipped in ink. I imagined that the strings were woven from the finest strands of unicorn hair.

“It’s the Cigno Nero,” Mrs. Delombre began, her fingers caressing the violin’s neck like a mother rocking her baby to sleep. “It was crafted in the 1700s, in the heart of the ancient Violin Forest where a lone luthier lived. It was born from the rarest of woods and touched by the magic of the luthier’s black swan.”

I listened closely, my eyes wide open. I was seeing it. The violin’s neck did look like a swan.

“One of its black feathers was nestled within the very heart of the violin,” she continued, and I gasped. “Legends tell that the Cigno Nero’s melody—when played right—had the power to heal wounded hearts. For those who listened, it carried their hopes and dreams on its silken wings,” she whispered, like a secret between us. “Its sound has so many colors, so deep and warm. It’s an instrument that yearns to soar, just like the swan.”

“Could its music reach all the way to heaven?” I asked. I could talk to Mom again. “Can I play it?”

“One day.” Mrs. Delombre’s fingers trembled as they left the violin before she clutched her hand to her chest. “You’re not ready for it yet.”

“When will I be ready?”

She turned her back on the Cigno Nero and swallowed. “The day you become a true musician. When you’re able to express everything you want with your violin.”

I smiled wide, fiddling with my fingers. “I want nothing more than to become a true musician. I promised my mama that I’d perform at Pantheon’s Winter’s Symphony someday!”

“And a promise should always be kept.” Mrs. Delombre’s gaze shifted to the floor. Her eyes, unblinking, lost their sparkle and seemed dull now.

I took a hesitant step closer to her. “Can you make the Cigno Nero sing for me?”

“I can’t.” Her voice broke slightly, her fingers curling. “I can’t play as well as I did before. I would alter its timbre, I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” That was why she was sad. “Then I’ll have to become worthy of playing it for you.”

Mrs. Delombre gave me a warm smile, the kind my mom used to give me. “Can you close the door, please, before we start?”

Nodding, I moved to shut the door but noticed the butterfly jar on the floor as I reached for the handle. The butterfly wasn’t moving. Shivers crawled down my back. The boy had set her free, but not in the way I had hoped. When I looked up, the boy sat on the stairs, his cold eyes aimed at me through the spindles.

“Levi!” a loud man’s voice boomed from upstairs, causing the walls to tremble. “Did you disassemble my computer again?! Dammit!”

His name is Levi, I thought.

“Dalia?” Mrs. Delombre called out.

I panicked and slammed the door shut, closing him and his haunting eyes out.