Sung in the Shadows (The Art of Love and Danger #2)

Chapter One

New York City Opera House

THE OPENING STRAINS OF Don Giovanni danced down the opera house hall and through the closed greenroom door, taunting Eleonora Brisbane as she tossed the crumpled playbill.

It wasn’t fair. She should be in the audience like a true and proper lady, watching Mum perform the role of Donna Anna, not here in this stupid parlor for actors.

Even watching from the wings with Father would be better than this.

But no. That grumpy rat of a manager insisted an opera house was no place for an eleven-year-old, no matter if her mum was the famed soprano Constanza Brisbane.

“My patrons would be appalled to sit next to a child.” Eleonora tucked her chin and mimicked his scowl and pompous voice to her doll, Molly.

“They come here for an evening of refinement and entertainment, not a squirming brat who wouldn’t know a flat note from a sharp.

I don’t care how prettily you have her dressed. She cannot attend.”

Bah! Mr. Louse had to be one of those blathering idiots Father complained about. She probably knew more about music and opera than Mr. Louse did. He likely hadn’t grown up walking in the wings, but she had. And Mum was training her to become a great opera singer just like her.

Eleonora stroked Molly’s matching blue silk taffeta gown. “We got all fancy for nothing.”

An annoying hairpin poked her scalp, and she yanked it out. What did it matter if her hair fell down now? No one else would see it anyway.

“Sorry, Molly.” She jabbed the two-prong hairpin into Molly’s hair and soft body.

The door opened and a man with a beard that looked like a bad toupee glued to the wrong place stuck his head into the room.

“Ah, there you are.” He smiled and stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him. “You must be Constanza’s daughter, Eleonora Brisbane. Am I correct?”

Oh! She recognized that accent. “Are you from England, like Mum?”

“Yes. She and I performed together a long time ago.” His face pinched like he was angry, but then he fixed it. His mum must have made him learn to keep a blank face too. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you. You look exactly like your mother.”

He must have bad eyes. Mum had beautiful, deep red hair. Eleonora’s was an ugly carrot orange with crazy root hairs sticking out every which way. But Mum had taught her to never disagree with a compliment.

She rose from the floor, tucking Molly under her arm, and curtsied. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Are you ready to go?”

“Go?” Her nose scrunched before she remembered to mind her face and tone.

“You are to return with me to the hotel.” “But I was told I could stay here.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that. If you come along without a fuss, I shall give you first pick of the sweets I have waiting in the hack.”

She didn’t care about any candy. At least here she could listen to the music and Mum would visit her during intermission.

“I want to talk to Father.” He’d fight to keep her here.

“He’s the one who decided you should go. I doubt he’ll change his mind just because you throw a temper tantrum.”

That wasn’t right. She never stayed at the hotel without Mum and Father. They said it was too dangerous . . . that someone might want to take her.

She looked at the man again as he laid a paper on the table. Mum had never mentioned a friend being here, and she hadn’t ever talked about anyone else from England. And that beard had to be fake. People didn’t wear fake beards unless they were acting. “Who are you?”

He grabbed her cloak off the arm of the settee and swung it around her shoulders. “I told you, a former friend of your mother’s. Now it’s time for us to leave.”

“No.” She pulled away, but he held firm to her cloak. “I want Father. You’ll get him or I’ll scream.”

He squinted at her, and she drew in a breath to prove she would.

“Of course. I’ll summon him now.” He released her and strode to the door, but he didn’t open it. Instead, he stood with his back to her doing something she couldn’t see.

Something wasn’t right. She may only be eleven, but she was familiar enough with operas to recognize a villain when she saw one.

Whoever he was, he had no intention of going to Father.

Should she scream now? Or should she look for something to hit him with?

There wasn’t much in this room. The performers came in here to relax and practice lines, but they hadn’t left any props behind.

When he turned, his fake beard dangled from one side, allowing full view of a smirk the devil would be proud of. She should run or scream, but all she could do was suffer the shiver that chased down her back.

He stalked toward her with a handkerchief in his hand. “I’d hoped you’d come along easily, but I’ve waited too long for my revenge.”

He lunged for her.

She shrieked but didn’t move fast enough.

One arm wrapped around her waist, and he lifted her while clamping the damp handkerchief over her mouth and nose.

The sweet smell turned her stomach and made her head buzz.

She scratched and kicked but couldn’t get a breath to scream.

Blackness shrank her world, then her arms and legs stopped obeying. Soon, even his devil grin faded away.

Eleonora shifted on something hard and moaned. Her throat hurt. Her head hurt. Even her eyes hurt. And her body, why was it so heavy and tingly?

“Mummy.” Her throat scratched and barely a whisper came out.

The aching whine that usually brought Mum running to her side did nothing.

Behind her, someone rattled about like they were working with a stove, and the distinct smell of burned food tainted the air. Oh no. Mum must be cooking, which meant Father was gone or sick too.

Eleonora moaned extra loud as she rolled toward the sound.

Acting wasn’t only for the stage, although she really did feel bad .

. . just maybe not bad enough for the volume she forced.

She blinked against the yellow lantern light that peeked through the gaps in the loose hair over her eyes.

Scuffed black shoes turned from the iron feet of the stove and into a glob of something thick and wet. Ewww. She was lying on a filthy floor, not a hard bed.

And those were a stranger’s shoes, not Mum’s or Father’s. Father kept his polished and clean.

The man pressed his glob-covered foot against her shoulder, forcing her to roll back and look up at him. The fake beard was gone now, but there was no mistaking that devil smile. He was real, not a bad dream she’d left behind.

“Good. You’re not dead. At least not yet.” He dug his fingers into her arm and dragged her toward the other side of the room.

“Let me go!”

When he didn’t, she bit down on his dirty hand.

“Why you little—” He struck the side of her face, leaving behind a burning sting. “Stop that, and no crying or I’ll kill you before your mother gets here.”

She quit fighting, but she couldn’t stop the tears as he dragged her along.

Something sharp stuck up from the uneven floor and scraped down her leg until it caught on her hem.

He yanked to break her free of the snag, and her shoulder screamed almost as loud as she did.

Finally the fabric tore, and he swung her into a corner.

“Sit there and be quiet.” He squatted and coiled a strand of her loose hair around his finger. “At least until I need you, then you can wail all you want. The more your mother suffers, the happier I’ll be.”

Someone knocked on the door.

He dropped the strand and rose to his feet with a growl. As he crossed the room, he grabbed a gun from the table. “Not a sound, or I’ll shoot you.”

Eleonora curled into a ball and wrapped her cloak around herself.

What could she do now? A gun meant he didn’t have to be near her to hurt her.

Think. She bumped her head against the wall.

You have to think. A hairpin scraped against her scalp, and she winced.

Then blinked. If a hairpin could hurt her head, maybe she could use it as a weapon if he came close again.

Keeping her eye on the man’s back, she pulled the painful pin free and hid it within the folds of her cloak.

The door creaked, but when she looked up, the man had only cracked it and blocked whoever it was from view. “I thought we were meeting at the bridge.”

“Our plan’s ruined. They went to the police. She won’t be coming.” Anger burned in a woman’s voice.

The man glanced at Eleonora. “What do you want me to do with her?”

“Make her suffer for Katherine’s insolence, but be quick about it. You haven’t much time. Leave her body where it will be found. I want Katherine to know that her choices led to her daughter’s tortured death. When it’s done, lie low until I contact you.”

But Katherine wasn’t her mum. Constanza Brisbane was. They’d taken the wrong person.

The door shut, and he faced her, his cold glee freezing Eleonora to the spot.

“I never thought I’d be the sort of special wretch to torture and kill a child, but . . .” He made a show of cracking his neck and then popping his knuckles, all the while moving toward her.

Eleonora curled tighter into her corner, slipping the U-shape end of the two-prong hairpin over the crook of her finger so it would be easier to jab. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had.

He crouched before her. “You look so much like your mother, I’ll just pretend you’re her.”

Eleonora whimpered.

He smiled as he ran a hand through her hair again and twirled the end. “So many ways to hurt you and so little time.”

If she didn’t do something, she’d never see Mum or Father again. But where could she stab him with a hairpin that wouldn’t just make him mad? His shirt collar protected his neck, but nothing protected his eyes. Eyes were soft . . .

She yanked the hairpin free of her cloak and aimed true.

His howl rang in her ears, and his hands flew to his eye.

Eleonora didn’t wait. She jumped to her feet, skirted around him, and ran for the door.

Ugly words filled the room.

“I’m going to kill you, you little—”

His voice followed her into the hall and downstairs to a narrow foyer.

Bitter cold met her as she stumbled into the dark night.

The street was lined with tall buildings, but no one traveled it or sat on the stoops smoking.

What should she do? Mum always warned that going out by herself was dangerous, but was it more dangerous than the man upstairs?

A thud sounded behind her, followed by more angry words. He must be coming for her already. Better the dark street than the angry man who wanted to kill her.

She yanked up her skirts and ran. At the first street, she turned, then again when it connected to a bigger one. Street after street she turned until she smacked into a police officer.

“Help! He’s trying to kill me.”

The thin man knelt down and took her by the arms. “Whoa now. What’s this? Who’s after you?”

The words poured out between pants. “I’m Eleonora Brisbane. My parents are Constanza and Marcellus Brisbane. Someone took me from them, and now he’s going to kill me.”

“Brisbane? We’ve been looking for you. Come with me. We’ll get you back to your parents.”

It was a long walk to the station, and the inside was full of people just as scary as the man who’d taken her.

“Don’t worry about them. We’re heading to the chief’s office. You’ll be safe in there.”

He led her up a set of stairs, where it was quieter, and then into an office at the back.

When the officer introduced her to him, the chief pulled a peppermint stick from a jar on his desk and offered it to her while he asked a bunch of questions.

She wanted to answer them, really she did, but she couldn’t think anymore.

Now that she was safe, all her body wanted to do was shake.

“It’s okay. You were a brave girl tonight. You can rest here until your parents arrive.”

Someone brought in a cot and a blanket so she could lie down, but how could they expect her to sleep?

The memory of that man chased her every time she closed her eyes.

But sleep must have come, for the next thing she knew, Mum and Father cradled her between them, crying as hard as she.

Once they settled, the chief asked Eleonora again to share what happened, taking down her description of the kidnapper and asking Mum if it matched the man she knew as Winston. Finally, they were allowed to go.

When they reached the hack, their trunks were packed and loaded.

“Are we leaving for the next city already?” Usually they spent two weeks in a place, but it hadn’t even been one yet.

Mum and Father exchanged looks.

Mum smoothed back Eleonora’s hair. “What do you say to living in a real house with a room full of toys? You can go to school with other girls and make friends with children your own—”

“You’re sending me away?” Eleonora couldn’t breathe. She’d always known the children of other singers lived away from their parents, but she never thought she would.

Father gently took her face between his hands. “No, dear. We would never send you away. We’re starting a new life together, in a new city with new names. You’ll finally have a normal childhood.”

“But I like the opera and traveling.”

“I know, but this is better. You’ll see. You’ll never have to be afraid again.”