24. The Pianist
The Pianist
Monday begins with a scream, its urgency dampened by the many walls between myself and the culprit. In front of my mirror, I comb the tangles from my hair, when the shrill sound emerges from deep within the manor, full of terror.
I drop the brush and run from the room, only to stop in my tracks the moment I pass over the threshold.
Something black and scaly slinks around the corner at the end of the hall.
The voices grow louder, an angry feminine voice shouting from the main hall, nearly hysterical in its intensity. A few other voices, softer, placating murmurs echoing off the walls.
Mariane Beauchene stalks across the house in her pristine white robe, silk pajama pants underneath, accusation in her eyes. Her blonde hair is unruly. I have the distinct thought that not many people have seen this woman so disheveled.
“There’s another over here.” Nathan pauses tentatively near a corner.
And then I see what he’s referring to. A black snake, curled up against the wood paneling of the hallway, slithering slowly in my direction. Nathan just stares at the scaly creature.
Maxim has a phone to his ear, trying to coax Mariane back in the opposite direction. When her eyes land on me, frozen in my doorway, she bares her teeth in an expression so primally furious. “You. This is your fault.”
“Mar—Mrs. Beauchene, please.” Maxim quickly barks something into his phone before shoving it in his pocket, his hand extended to his boss in a soothing gesture. “Miss Doyle didn’t bring snakes into the house.”
Nathan stares down at the creature with a puzzled expression, though he seems in no rush to pick it up.
Mariane points her finger straight at me, eyes narrowed, stepping closer with every breath. “Maybe not, but he wouldn’t have done this if not for you—”
“He?” I glance to Maxim for help, not understanding.
What am I being accused of?
“He has never done something like this,” she hisses.
Instinctively, I raise my palms as she nears. “Mrs. Beauchene, I’ve been in my room all night, I’m not sure—”
She stops only when she is an inch away, glaring down her nose at me. Her manicured nails are claws, her finger pointing right at my chest, the threat to gouge my ribs hanging in the air. “This is your fault,” she repeats. “This is not what we hired you for—I should send you away—”
“Miss Doyle did not do this.” Maxim grabs Mariane by the shoulders, and it’s like the touch shocks her back to the present. She realizes what she’s doing, inches away from me, hurling accusations I’m still not sure I understand.
That mask of cool composure falls over her face again. She shrugs off Maxim’s hands. Blinks a few times. “I’m sorry.” She clears her throat, smoothing down her robe, her frizzy hair. “You must understand that waking up to snakes in your bed is a bit—jarring.”
Why would she assume I had anything to do with this? And who is he?
My heart stutters, for only a few beats.
He had left me angry last night. Is this my fault? Was I the one to push him to do this? I replay the moments before he left in my mind.
Haven’t you thought about why they are so scared of me?
It’s not just rage in Mariane’s eyes. They are glistening with fear, even as she straightens her spine and becomes the image of the perfect matriarch again.
The chill scatters across my body, the realization that I should have listened when Bastien warned me.
Do you think that’s smart? Offering yourself to me like this?
My hands are still frozen before me as Mariane and Maxim step away, the latter ushering her back in the direction of her rooms. He only gives me a furtive glance before they round the corner.
A breath shudders through me.
“Does… she mean the Ghost?”
Nathan and I meet each other’s gazes, and we’re both equally stunned by Mariane’s loss of composure.
“I don’t know,” I say.
Then he tilts his head, inspecting the snake, which is inching closer, its small tongue darting out every few seconds.
“You know, this one is a black racer. Isn’t even venomous.”
All I can do is laugh.
I resign myself to acting like nothing happened. My lesson with Henri will still go on. The snake was just a misunderstanding. Nathan didn’t wait much longer to grab it, insisting he would let Mariane know she’d never been in any real danger as he carried the animal elsewhere.
Just a misunderstanding.
I’d always assumed I got this job because of my ties to the symphony, that the director had recommended me.
The Beauchenes reached out to me about this position.
It had all fallen into place so conveniently, so easily.
In between jobs, after a long string of nothing, practicing the music when I could on the broken electric keyboard in my room, occasionally taking the trip to campus to play their concert grand in an empty hall. Wasting the days away, moving nowhere.
Until that call. A job tutoring the son of one of the oldest families in the northeast. Which meant connections, networking, finding something better after. Getting everything that I deserve. Getting out of that apartment in the city.
There’s a game being played in this manor, and I’m not sure of the rules.
Mariane Beauchene hates me. I don’t think I could have prevented it. And if she hates me, if they fire me, if they kick me out, I won’t get all that was promised to me.
The girl in the mirror is breathing heavily, her shoulders rising with each deep inhalation. Fingers digging into the wood of the vanity—the same wood she was fucked on top of last night by the ghost haunting this manor.
I shut my eyes. Because everywhere I look, I see him.
All of that can be yours again. That, and more.
Leaving is not an option. Going back is not an option.
I’m too caught up in ruminating on my way to the kitchen that I don’t notice someone standing at the end of the hallway. My shoulder collides with the form, the momentum causing me to stumble. “Oh! I’m so—”
And then I see who it is I’ve run into.
Reece?
“Mallary!”
I blink in shock.
His hair is a mess, longer than when I last saw him. Circles darken the space under his eyes, but there’s still a brightness to his irises, a charm to his growing smile. “You’re still here,” he says, almost sounding relieved.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shrugs. “I hoped that when I came back you’d still be here. I mean, we never got to talk much, and—”
My eyes fall to the bandage wrapped around his hand. A thick white bandage, encasing his entire left hand, up past his wrist.
Degloved, Em said.
He glances down at it. “Oh yeah. This.” A laugh. “I’m alright. Hurt like a bitch, but the meds they’ve got me on are sweet.”
“I’m sorry that happened. I can’t imagine.”
“By all means, if you feel the need to coddle me.” His grin widens. “My offer from before still stands.”
I scowl, but I can’t really be mad. “Did they…”
“Walk with me, and I’ll tell you all about it.” He offers me his good arm.
“You’re not working, are you?” I don’t slip my arm through his, though I walk next to him. “I mean, there’s no way they’re expecting you to work with only one hand.”
He laughs again, unbothered by my small rejection. “No, I won’t be working for a while. I can hardly move my fingers.” His throat bobs, even though his smile doesn’t falter. “Just thought I’d come back and recover here.”
The way his voice softens a little has more questions springing to mind.
“They were able to save pretty much everything,” he says, steering us toward the staff wing.
Breakfast will still be out for everyone.
“Put everything back in the right spot and sewed me up.
I just have to go to physical therapy and a bunch of doctor's appointments for the foreseeable future. You know how it is.”
“But you came back.”
He shrugs again. “I didn’t feel like going anywhere else. I have a few cousins not too far. But the Beauchenes were nice and paid for everything. Can you imagine? Losing a hand and then having to pay for it?”
It’s generous, for sure.
I don’t hear another word Reece says as he leads me to the kitchens.
I help make him a plate of the usual fare, listening with unhearing ears as he prattles on about the strange event leading to his injury: the car had turned itself on, somehow, startling him so bad his hand got stuck.
He doesn’t remember passing out. He doesn’t remember anything, up until he woke up in the hospital bed.
But the way he relays the story, you wouldn’t think he was traumatized at all.
I push away from the table once the clock on the wall ticks closer to the time my lesson is supposed to start.
Reece grabs my wrist with his good hand.
“I have to go to Henri,” I say.
“Eat with us tonight?” he asks, something hopeful shining in his eyes. At my hesitation, he groans playfully. “Come on, Mal, I just got back.”
Mal.
I paste on a saccharine sweet smile. “Sure.”
His stare bores into me all the way out the door.