Faustian Malice in E Minor

1. Harlowe

Two words just fucked up my entire life. The words that followed just sealed it. Those two words were you’re fired followed by my manager informing me they were keeping my last check and tips to pay for the meal that wannabe influencer dined and dashed on.

The kitchen staff creeped on him when he made a big stink and mansplained to me that real Caesar dressing didn’t have anchovies and demanded it be made without it. They told me he had eleven followers and then handed me a plate with ranch.

He didn’t know the difference and then expected me to comp his four hundred dollar tab. We didn’t do that and no one had agreed to it ahead of time. This man slapped me on the ass and told me to go get my manager. When I finally dragged Wayne out of his office, they’d already dined and dashed.

He told me I could just pay for the meal out of my own pocket, which was illegal. So was firing me for refusing and keeping my last check. Thing was, fighting with unemployment and the labor board was going to take time I didn’t have.

I’d just drained my savings again to pay Mom’s hospital bill. She was bipolar, but a complicated bipolar. She had diabetes, so she couldn’t take the newer antipsychotics because they messed with her blood sugar. She got Lithium poisoning, so that was out.

They had her on Haldol, which made her really dizzy, and she fell a lot. This time, she broke her hip. She was still in the hospital and she’d have a long recovery ahead of her.

I worked at an upscale restaurant and tips were good, even if my manager was a jerk.

It was Friday when I got fired, so I had all weekend to make my rent…

until I lost all my tips and the rest of my shifts.

Saturday was Halloween, and the restaurant had this entire menu planned with a free cocktail if you came in costume.

The money would have been good today if I hadn’t gotten fired yesterday.

I was stressing about money and making rent, so I did the only thing I could do.

I pulled my violin out and hoofed it to the subway.

Before Mom got really sick, she worked extra shifts until she could buy me a Joseph Curtin violin.

There was no way she could have afforded one.

She bought it second-hand for way less than it was worth because someone’s son just wanted to get rid of it, but the thing was sexy with gorgeous sound.

It was actually a steal. If I told a violin player what she paid for it, she’d get accused of taking advantage.

I was going to be professional once, but in my senior year of college, everything changed when Mom got Lithium poisoning. I couldn’t join an orchestra or tour the world after that. I mean, I could, but I’d be too worried about Mom to actually be any good at it.

But I was good at it.

I opened my case and set it up where people could drop money in it.

The whole situation sucked, but I had an entire arsenal of pieces I could play on the subway on Halloween.

Some of the Classical and Romantic composers were spooky bitches.

I was a spooky bitch, and I’d been composing since I was a kid.

I even broke out the theme song from the movie Halloween.

Shortly before I intended to wrap up, I took a small break to rest my hands, but also tune my E string down to an E flat to break out some Devil’s Tritones. There were two pretty famous pieces I could play, but I liked composing with it.

I played a few I wrote and then launched into some classics.

I was halfway through the Devil’s Trill Sonata by Tartini when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as if I were being watched.

I was busking in the subway dressed like an adult, sexy Wednesday Addams, so yeah, people were going to stare.

I adjusted my violin so I could look out. I had a small crowd, but my eyes went straight to one man. He was massive, but gorgeous. He was golden in every way. Bronzed skin, messy blonde hair, and when our gazes locked, his eyes were so hazel they were nearly gold.

He was dressed to the nines in an expensive suit, and I had no idea what he was doing in the subway. He looked like he would get around by paying someone to drive him. Damn, he was pretty and totally not my type, but I couldn’t look away.

He looked like he wanted to devour me, but I just had this feeling it was the fact that I happened to be the one making the music and not how I was dressed or what I looked like. This guy was into the music, not me.

I couldn’t look away, and I only did when someone knocked over a garbage can. My neighborhood was like one giant jump scare, so it didn’t interrupt my playing. My eyes just darted to where the noise came from.

There was another massive, pretty man who looked like he intentionally kicked the can over. This one was also blonde, but I guess since he wasn’t standing in front of a light, he looked less golden. He shook his head at me like he was trying to warn me away from the intense golden man.

I didn’t know what their drama was, but they could have it somewhere I wasn’t trying to raise enough money to pay my rent. When I looked back, the golden man was gone. Not walking away because he was tall enough for his head to be above everyone else’s, just gone.

Yeah, that was weird, and my fingers were starting to get sore, despite frequent breaks. My grand finale was going to be Saint-Saens Danse Macabre and then I was going home and seriously thinking about setting up an Only fans where I played my violin in my bra.

I wrapped up my sonata and paused to drink from my water bottle. I shook my arms out and moved the money I’d earned so far from my case to a pocket. I wasn’t trying to have a violin made by a famous luthier broken because I had to tackle someone stealing from my case.

A few people from my crowd disappeared, but yet another guy joined who was dressed to the nines and looking around like he’d rather lick a subway station toilet seat than be anywhere near the subway. This one was much older and less painfully beautiful than the golden man who had watched me before.

I figured I’d just give him a good show and get out of here. Maybe he’d drop some cash in my case, and maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe when I was back here tomorrow with a different set list, my audience would be less weird.

I lost myself in the piece. I tended to do that when it was Saint-Saens or Paganini.

I closed my eyes when I finished and then bowed to the people watching me to let them know I was wrapping up.

A few people dropped money in my case and left and a few just left, having enjoyed a free show.

The older guy in the suit that probably costs several months' worth of my rent was lurking.

I put my violin safely away in case he ended up being some kind of pervert.

Except he walked over and handed me a card.

Oh, fuck me. That wasn’t some random rich guy slumming it in the subway.

That was Doctor Johann Faustus, headmaster of Blackvale Academy.

This was one of the best performing arts grad schools in the world.

Graduating from that school pretty much guaranteed people knew your name and got you in front of the right people.

I was also dead ass broke busking in the subway to pay my rent and would never be able to afford the tuition and Mom’s treatment. I opened my mouth to say literally anything, even though I hadn’t figured out what I wanted to say, when he held up his hand to stop me.

“Harlowe Lopez, you’re formally invited to Blackvale Academy as a freshman.

Your tuition, room, and board have been paid, as has your mother’s treatment.

She’ll be transferred to the best hospital upstate near Blackvale to recover so you can visit, and she’ll have a health aide looking after her as long as she needs it so you can focus on music. ”

Maybe I was about to ruin everything by opening my mouth again because you’d have to be an idiot to turn any of that down, but I also wasn’t stupid. Johann Faustus had no reason to know my name or any of my business, and nothing in life was free. Someone was paying for all of that.

“You have no way of knowing my name, much less any of that.”

“No, but you managed to attract the attention of a powerful man who has a thing for the Devil’s Tritone and supporting the arts. He wants you to be one of the many artists he’s a patron for.”

It had to be that intense golden man. I could be wrong, but he’d been super into my performance and he was dressed like he had money.

I’d played two pieces with the Devil’s Tritone I’d written myself before I moved on to other composers.

I felt him on the third piece. There was also that strange man who kicked the garbage can over to break our staring contest and shook his head like he was warning me about something.

Patrons weren’t really a thing anymore. Supporting the arts and artists had fallen out of fashion for mega-yachts and space rockets.

Still, the golden man was intense, but I could tell he was more into the music than me.

We never spoke. We only had a brief staring contest, but I didn’t really think he was going to show up at graduation and demand I pay him back with sex.

Also, I’d never spoken to him, and we only stared at each other for a few minutes, so he very well could show up and want repayment in sex.

“What does he want in return?”

“He’s just an eccentric with too much money and a bunch of conspiracy theories about the arts. You’ll probably never see him, and if you do, it’ll be brief. He’ll just want to talk your ear off, wanting to know if you’ve used the Devil’s Tritone again.”

Interesting. The major conspiracy theory about that was that the church banned it because it summoned demons, but that was just an urban legend.

It was just not used often because it was difficult for a chorus to sing, but it was used if a composer wanted to write something spooky.

It was dissonant and jarring in the hands of a bad composer, but quite beautiful in the right one.

They used it in the theme song to The Simpsons.

Doctor Faustus looked like he didn’t want to spend any more time in the subway than he needed to and didn’t particularly want to be talking to me.

“Be honest, and we can both go home. What does he really want?”

“Honestly? He’s paying for you to explore the Devil’s Tritone.

That’s all he wants from you. You’ll get a top-tier musical education that will open any door you want, and your mother will have someone looking after her.

If you ask me, you’re getting way more out of it than he ever will.

Here is a train ticket that will take you to Blackvale.

Use it or don’t, but be there on Monday if you expect to attend classes. ”

He wasn’t giving me much time to mull it over, but I’d be stupid to turn this down, right?