Chapter 20
“C heck.” Cillian’s satisfied grin pissed me off.
My fingers tapped the chessboard as I studied the position of Cillian’s useless white pieces.
“Something is on your mind. It’s not like you to lose so easily,” Kay said, perched on the arm of Cillian’s chair. “Especially against Cillian.”
Kay and Cillian exchanged baffled glances before the inevitable squabble began, much like schoolboys, while my mind was cluttered with my white-haired thief. Her name was a sinister melody that had taken root in my psyche. I even reduced myself to jerking off in the shower because no women were entrancing enough to ignite a quarter of the effect she had on me. I stooped that low. And worse, I was nice to her. I didn’t do nice.
I rose from my seat, retrieving my jacket. “Who said I’ve lost?”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Kay asked, his half-empty bottle of alcohol dangling casually in his hand. “The night is young, and I heard the Guardian girls are hosting—”
“I have other plans.” I grabbed my keys and pointed toward the door. “You two can vacate my dorm when I return. Cillian, we’ll continue this game tomorrow.”
“Yeah, run away, coward.”
“Does the white-haired ghost girl have you grabbed by the balls?” Kay made a hand gesture to illustrate his point that no one here needed to see. “You’re leaving me alone with Cillian, who does not have our penchant for chaos.”
Resting his elbow on the chessboard, Cillian snorted. “Maybe he’s in love. ”
“I don’t like her.” Kay pouted, sidling up to my side and slinging his arm around my neck, his breath reeking of alcohol. “She is nothing special, while you’re special to us, and you’re prioritizing her over our friendship.”
I narrowed my eyes on both of them and attacked. “Cillian, still terrified of intimacy? As for you, Kay, your desperate need for attention is destined for one person only, not me, so take your arm away from—”
Kay raised his hands in surrender. “Point taken. Forgot you’re a frigid asshole. Good luck to her.”
“Who is she? Or is she a he?” Cillian didn’t miss the opportunity.
“No one,” Kay grunted. “And fuck you, Levi!”
Their argument resumed, providing me the perfect excuse to make my escape toward the library roof. I navigated through campus and arrived at the promised land. A quick scan ensured that the librarian at the front desk remained immersed in her perpetual ten-book dystopian series—gifted by me as a lure since my arrival at Pantheon.
I eased open the restricted door leading to the roof. Just as I approached the staircase, a hand yanked me into the cramped, dark space beneath the stairs. I stooped low to avoid hitting my head. What the—
“Dalia?” I uttered as the light from her phone revealed the tight confines of where we were, resembling a makeshift coffin. “Is that a scheme to get me locked up with you?”
“I panicked,” she whispered.
Our chests would have been touching if it wasn’t for her violin case between us. And there was this scent, like sweet fruits and fall. Pumpkin. Peach. Hibiscus. It was everywhere. “What’s this scent? It smells of something orange.”
Like something I’d want to bite into and consume.
“That would be me,” she admitted.
Great. Even her scent didn’t leave me indifferent now.
“You know if you wanted some alone time with me, all you had to do was beg, and I’d have considered allowing you to suck your first—”
“Never,” she spat, her eyes managing to remain big in a lame attempt at being menacing.
We were still arguing about that. Her acting as if this was one-sided. She still didn’t realize I’d take her every first. It was just a matter of when. She had screwed us both, so she’d deal with the consequences.
“I’m—” She shook her head. “This is ridiculous. First, I fell asleep in class because of you. I walked around all day long with a pen mark on my cheek, and, second, I almost got arrested because of you!”
“Arrested? Don’t you think you’re being a tad dramatic?”
“There are people on the roof.” She lowered her voice. “They told me to leave, so I excused myself and hid, thinking they wouldn’t find me here if they ran after me. Then I decided to wait for you here, for some reason. I’m not good at breaking the rules.”
I tilted my head back with a chuckle. “And it never occurred to you that those people shouldn’t be here either? You should have stood your ground for the spot.”
“I’m a nice person, Levi.”
“Not to me. You’re not so nice.”
“That’s because you don’t understand the concept of kindness.”
“Because it doesn’t exist. Humans are only interested in themselves. They only do good deeds to have something in return or feel good about themselves.”
“I don’t!” Her scream startled a spider lurking in one of the many cobwebs behind her, sending it scuttling closer, its silken thread weaving a path toward her.
“Really? You’re helping me with the music score because you want to feel good about yourself by redeeming yourself. You can’t stand that someone on this earth doesn’t like you.”
She pouted. “You seem pretty taken with me.”
My lips curved into a faint smirk as the spider settled on the hair by her shoulder. “I told you not to confuse my interest with you with liking.”
“Fine, if kindness doesn’t exist, then how about love?”
“Love?” I snorted. “It’s a willing submission. A lie.”
“Prove to me how empty you are, and maybe I will.”
“Are we really doing this here? You’re surrounded by cobwebs, with a spider perched on your shoulder.”
She didn’t flinch, seemingly unfazed by the arachnid unless she didn’t believe me. “Think of this as a confessional.”
I plucked the spider from her hair, holding that repulsive thing on my index finger, its vicious legs clinging to me. Unwanted monstrosities attract each other. “Do you remember the butterflies I trapped in my jar?”
I didn’t know why that story was coming back to my mind.
She gulped, her big eyes firmly locked on mine. “Yes, you killed one on the first day I met you.”
“There’s a much darker fate than death.”
That incident was unfortunate. I wanted to chill young Dalia to the bones, so I killed the only pure beautiful hope trapped in this jar. Hurting myself was a small price to pay to ensure she’d leave me the fuck alone. It didn’t work.
So no, I didn’t kill butterflies. I did worse than that.
I reached up and returned the spider to one of the webs on the ceiling as she fled. “I deprived them of their freedom, trapping them in a jar that I had carefully ventilated so I could observe them flutter by my side until their death.”
“You were alone. I’m sure you have regrets now.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I curled a strand of her hair around my finger. “I deprived them of their only few days of freedom because it pleased me. And I did it again and again.”
For once, I could possess something beautiful and innocent.
“That’s because you were never loved,” she dropped, then bit her lips.
Exactly what my old therapist used to say. I lacked love, so at the slightest proof of love, I would capture it and never release it again. I didn’t think I was worthy of being loved, so I forced things, blah, blah, blah .
“I’m sorry, it’s not what I meant, I—”
“You’re right,” I said, all my muscles going rigid for some unknown reason. “Now, let’s do this my way.”
I grabbed her clammy hand. With a firm hold, I urged her to the spiral stairs, her steps quickening to match my heavy strides.
“What are you—”
I flung the door open, revealing the Pioneers’ group bathed in the glow of their cigarette tips, polluting my rooftop with their cancerous substance.
“What can I do for you?” one of them had the decency to ask.
“Finally, someone who asks the right question.” My voice grated, drawing the collective gaze of the group.“You could get the fuck out.”
“You could be polite.” Dalia nudged my shoulder.
I nudged her back. “And you could be quiet.”
“We can share the roof, and we’ll even let you in on the good stuff,” one of them said, strutting around like he owned the place. He probably inherited his sense of entitlement from his crooked lawyer of a father.
“No,” Dalia and I deadpanned at the same time.
I took one step in. “You know who I am, so don’t make me act like an asshole because I don’t give a fuck about you, your secrets, and what shit you’re smoking. Also, patience is not one of my many qualities.”
“You can have the roof,” the voice of wisdom of the group sneered. “But we’re keeping your buffoon. He’s entertaining.”
I snapped my eyes to the small figure with slumped shoulders beside them. Michel. He had become the guinea pig of the Pioneers who could sniff out vulnerability from miles away. Michel took a tentative step toward me; desperation etched across his face as he reached for my shirt. I recoiled; when was everyone going to learn I didn’t like being touched, for fuck’s sake?
“Levi, I don’t want to go with them, please,” Michel pleaded, his voice a desperate whisper for only me to hear, drowned out by the group’s jeers. “The Pioneers got me at Hazing Night, and I failed their tests. I cried when they told me not to cry. I went to the headmaster for help, and since then, they won’t leave me alone.”
Pioneers and Tacticians tried not to get involved with each other. Otherwise, it’d be a bloody war on campus. If Michel went running to the headmaster to denounce them, the Pioneers were entitled to be pissed. Their reputation was at stake. He’d betrayed a pact as old as time. A tradition.
“That’s not my problem.” I gestured dismissively, signaling the group to depart, while Dalia watched with scrutinizing eyes.
“Levi,” he implored again. “Talk to them, tell them—”
“Grow a pair, Michel.”
The Pioneers hooked an arm around his shoulders, dragging him away from my roof. Pioneers didn’t hold grudges for long, but they were emotionally intense. Impulsive. Dalia crossed her arms, facing me with a lifted eyebrow.
“Is he going to be okay? He seemed like he needed help and—”
“He’ll be fine,” I said. “They’ll get bored of him in a week and find another person to torment, and he’ll have learned a valuable lesson in the meantime.”
To never reveal weakness to bullies. To never let them sink their teeth into you—life was a power struggle you had to face alone. The sooner you faced and learned that, the sooner you’d become invincible.
“You can’t be that soulless,” she fired back.
“We already had that discussion, but by all means, if you want to help him, go after them and be their next target. I’ll be watching.”
She clamped her mouth shut. That was what I thought.
“Lesson number one, little thief; if you care about what others think of you, you’re as good as dead. The only person you hold accountability to is you. Be more selfish.” I sat on the edge of the roof, her wide eyes on me. “Worried about me, now?”
“I don’t want people to think I’ve pushed you to your death.”
“See, selfish. You’re learning fast.”
“That’s actually your special place.” Her smile lit up her features. “You can’t stand that someone else apart from you is here.”
“It’s not,” I grumbled, irritation gnawing at me from within.
Laughter emanated from the gardens, a sound fueled by the very Pioneers I had expelled. Michel was making a non-athletic run for it back to his dorms, running insanely slow for someone in such a hurry.
“Sure.” She beamed. “Something is distracting you? Are you perhaps keeping an eye on that student from earlier? Maybe a part of you wants to check on him, see if he’s—”
“No.” I cut in. “Now, don’t make me waste my time. Play for me.”
She posed her violin case on the ground, followed by the music sheet she rewrote. “You’re the worst possible audience.”
“You don’t have the luxury of being picky.”
Last time I tried to have a stab at sight reading the music score, I destroyed a violin and wasted a week of my time on a worthless computer program.
“I still don’t know why the answer to the code was seven measures,” Dalia said, probably stalling.
“Do you know binary?” I counterbacked, and she shook her head. “Seven in a binary count of four beats represents 0111.”
“Binary. Like the butterfly you named 1111.”
So we were back on that topic. But yes, like the butterfly.
“What could it mean?” Dalia asked.
“I have a little idea about that, but we’ll never know if you don’t start playing now.”
“Right. I think I can do this,” she muttered to herself. “I just need to feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“Lucie didn’t teach me to read music but to feel it. Each color represents a part of Lucie’s psyche.” She paused. “I’m not as technically gifted as other musicians. That’s why I play better alone. I’ve never—it’s not important.”
A surprising part of me wanted to hear more, to know every single thought of hers. “So you’re a terrible musician, then.”
She frowned. “Maybe, if we judge by Mr. Delgado’s standards, but I think I’m decent enough to play in an orchestra one day.”
“You couldn’t play in an orchestra. That requires you to blend in and play like the others.”
Her music wasn’t soulless, clean, nor perfect. It was dirty, messy, and inhabited. She was a composition all to herself. A soloist. She would take all the spotlight.
“If my music is so atrocious, why did you ask me to play?” I struck a nerve, judging by the way her voice caught in her throat.
“Because I revel in it,” I responded. “Now,” I gestured toward the makeshift stage, “play for me.”
The fire in her eyes reignited as she rested her violin against her neck, staring at the opera house right behind me. “Alright, I’m ready.”
At the very instant that first note resonated, I couldn’t have been more sure that Dalia Mercier was a world builder, an artist. The cold air seeped through my pores, carrying the dying whispers of falling leaves.
The music invoked a haunting sense of déjà vu. It transported me back to my mother’s nightly ritual when she thought I was asleep. I’d descend the stairs to her music room and hear her pour her soul into the notes until she could play no more. She had never noticed me.
Dalia’s frown deepened as skeletal branches crackled like an impending storm. Goose bumps prickled across my entire core. I loomed closer, yearning to reach out and touch the melody she conjured.
Her bow danced gracefully across the strings, her knees drawing inward. The wind seemed to sync with her rhythm, causing the ribbons in her hair to flutter and take part in this danse macabre . The moonlight faded behind shifting clouds.
That dark horror melody was taking its toll on her. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her lips trembled as she fought to maintain her composure, leaning forward as if on the verge of falling. She avoided all the missing notes of the music score, the silence even more chilling.
With the final, shrieking notes, she arched her back, craning her head back like possessed by a demon, her eyes drifting skyward. She let her violin dangle to her side, her fingers trembling, one of them bearing a fresh cut that oozed blood. Her hand bore the marks of a fierce battle, fingers bruised and battered from countless hours of playing.
She was muting the silence with pain.
“This music is horrible,” she muttered, struggling to catch her breath. “So much violence, so much pain, it’s like a descent to hell. It’s almost impossible to play. My fingers… it’s like she wanted to hurt herself to numb the pain.”
I firmly clasped her hand and removed the violin. My fingers ensnared hers. She met my eyes with a curious interrogation right before I brought her bruised fingers to my lips.
“What are you doing?” Her voice trembled as she glanced at her fingers. “They’re ugly, I know.”
I sucked on the finger she’d hurt. No, not ugly. Exquisite.
“It’s macabre, isn’t it?” I mused, tilting my head slightly.
A tear traced a treacherous path down her cheek. “Yes. It’s like a plea for help as if she’s stuck in a nightmare, and… maybe 0111 could be a date? In French, it means November first.”
“You’re right.”
Dalia swiftly brushed away her tears and clutched the sheet music, her quivering fingers tracing the inked lines and haunting notes.
“Oh, Lucie”—her voice quaked with emotion—“what horrors happened to her that day?”
“I could tell you,” I said, my face hardening.
My mother’s legacy to me consisted of two music scores. Her ultimate dying wish was for me to unravel its secrets.
“Tell me,” she pleaded.
Leaning in closer, I whispered the stark veracity, “My birth.”