Chapter 11
“Once more.” Selene stood in the wake of what she’d created. A fantastic, impossible garden. Flowers of every color. Ivy that tangled with the dark. Lilacs hung down from the constellation of stars and brought their own glowing light. “It hasn’t lost its power.”
“It will. Remember, the magic is closer here.” The ghost leaned against a giant, phosphorescent mushroom. “You have to rest.”
Selene knew he was right. Despite the exhilaration of what she had learned, she was wrung dry. Her limbs tingled with exhaustion. She was too tired to even cry.
“Isn’t there a magic for that?”
“Sleep is a sort of magic,” the ghost said. “Close your eyes, and when you open them again, the whole world is new.”
Selene looked at every corner in the dark and imagined waking up to this. There was no crime worth being trapped here for a hundred years. She wanted to tell him that. She wanted him to know that she believed that he was worthy of light.
Instead, she said, “Where do you sleep?”
“Wherever the dark won’t touch me,” he said.
“And what happens when it does?” She suppressed a shiver.
“It takes something from me.” He rolled the words around in his mouth like cherry stones.
Selene reached up and plucked a glowing blossom. “I thought the light might stay.”
“The moment I find rest, the magic leaves and the light goes, and it’s just me in the dark.”
Her heart might break, imagining the ghost fighting for a moment’s rest in a hundred years of this. Her thoughts were interrupted by the roar of her stomach.
“What will happen to my magic, when I go?” She hoped the light would stay and it would shield him.
“It fades when you wink out. Everything goes back to black.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
The ghost smirked and plucked one of the fruits she had created—a pear with silver skin. She caught it and bit the tender flesh. The inside was red and dark as blood. Cold juice washed down her fingers. The ghost held a golden apple in his hands. He watched her, even as she ate through the core.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Selene wiped her mouth with one of the velvety leaves, feeling suddenly bashful.
“I don’t need it. I am in some sort of stasis. My heart beats, but I don’t change.”
“Is that why I can’t touch you?”
The ghost wet his lips. “Do you want to touch me?”
Selene inhaled sharply, heat flooding to her cheeks. He was beautiful like the fading light of a winter day. Of course she wanted to touch him. “I don’t like being told no.”
“Relentless. I remember that.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“I would never.” His smile was sweeter than the fruit she’d dreamed up. A flash of light, and then gone. His brows furrowed with the effort of remembering. “I don’t know why I can’t be touched. I just know it’s important.”
Selene worried her bottom lip. She let the silence lengthen between them.
With each passing moment, her head grew heavier.
If only she could fall into his arms for a bit of rest and the magic of sleep.
It was not hard to imagine the weight of him, the rush of his skin.
She leaned against one of the giant leaves she’d created from blood and misery, a poor substitute.
If she closed her eyes for a while, she’d be ready for more magic.
She didn’t have to go back to a world where all her dreams were waiting to be crushed.
“Why can’t you bleed yourself free?”
“You ask so many questions.”
“You give so few answers.”
His laugh was deep and resonant. She could trace the left-handed melody. God, he was beautiful.
“If I have tried it, I left with only the shadow of certainty that it won’t work.” The ghost shifted, his hands tracking the scars on his forearms. He looked at her with an intensity even she couldn’t match. “Before you return, find a piece of sky. Bring it to me.”
“That’s not a question.”
There was something binding in his words. The air shivered around her, heavier and heavier, like a violent wind. Pushing her out, out until she could fulfill what he asked of her. She dug her heels into the ground, bracing herself as if standing in the way of a storm.
“You did not swear to answer questions.” The ghost’s blue eyes were fire bright. “You cannot return until it is done.”
“What does that mean?”
“Quickly.” He shook his head. “The other way out is one you would not like.”
Her feet slipped on the shadowy floor as the darkness ripped her from the ghost’s light.
Like the pull of a tide, threatening to suck her into the darkest part of the ocean.
This was not like her magic. This was gravitational, so much bigger than music could ever be.
Like a candle to a moon, he said. She wished she knew more.
She didn’t want to be forced out of the mirror by the tendrils of shadow that swirled around her.
She bit down hard on the pad of her thumb.
This time, she pulled the magic from the terrible reality that waited for her outside.
Her things could be packed up and she could be out on the streets.
And what she wanted, what she wanted was to stay.
But she trusted the ghost’s warning. She needed him to be true.
Let me out, she thought.
And then she was crouched against the cold stone in front of the beveled mirror. The bite she’d made in the mirror still bled. The rest of her cuts had healed, like she’d made them years before.
The water around the platform shifted and churned, the bioluminescence glowing with each underwater movement. She was too tired to sing her way out. She closed her eyes and imagined another way, piecing together the darkness inside of her to propel the magic forward.
For a moment, she was afraid it wouldn’t work. Then the threads of shadow poured from her wound. She exhaled her relief. It was easier than music, but not quite as effortless as when she was inside the mirror.
Selene wove a boat together, desperate to see if the magic would hold outside the mirror, made from nothing but blood and desire and sorrow.
Still, she wasn’t sure it was real until she placed her foot against the wood.
Solid and safe and exactly what she needed.
A lantern hung in the front. A great oar sat in the center.
Selene stepped inside and pushed her way across the water.
The water churned bright blue. Dark things slithered beneath the surface. But none of that mattered because Selene had crafted this boat from only her desperate longing and pain. She glided between the arches, past the rusted chandeliers and dripping walls.
Back to the stairs, back to the door.
She closed it behind herself, shifting a set piece to block it, in case someone happened to wander down.
She looked toward the staircase that led to the dormitories.
She’d have to creep through the whole hall to get back to her room.
Everyone would be asleep in their beds, and Selene didn’t trust the silence of her steps.
Instead, she took the stairs that went up to the grand foyer.
She slid off her boots and padded across the marble floor.
The dark wasn’t quite as dark as she’d always thought, now that she’d seen inside the mirror.
This was all shapes and shades of gray. A hand reached for her, but it was just a statue.
The golden faces along this hallway observed each and every transgression.
There was a light on in the library.
Benson was there, surrounded by books. He wrote furiously, no doubt finishing his composition for the auditions. There was ink splattered on his nose and chin and all over his hands. He paused for a moment and cross-checked something among three open volumes, then went back to writing.
Selene pushed open the door. The noise startled Benson out of his seat, knocking over several of the books and nearly dumping ink over his pages.
“Sorry,” Selene said. “What are you still doing up?”
“Rewriting my music from scratch.” He rubbed his temples. He looked dreadful, like a candle burned down to the nub.
Selene was sure she didn’t look any better. “That’s bold.”
“Like doing an entirely new song for your audition?”
Selene held very still. “How’d you—”
“Your practice room is next to mine, Selene. Why didn’t you tell Madame that Revelio took your music?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
Selene slumped into one of the chairs. She was tired, down to her bones. “How do you think that went?”
Benson made a face. “I can—”
“Don’t you dare.” Selene didn’t want to think of what Madame might do. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“For what it’s worth, you were brilliant with that tempest piece. I bet you still make it in.”
Selene shook her head, thinking of the way Madame had looked at her. “It’ll take a miracle.”
“Or a disaster.” Benson’s grin turned into a yawn. “It’s going to be us, Selene. You, me, and Gigi.”
Selene was so tired; she pressed her head against one of the books in his stack.
A miracle, a disaster, all out of her control.
What if she could make her way back into the competition?
Who would stop her if she went to the stage and layered song with sorrow?
Madame may say no, but if the palace representative saw what Selene could really do, there was no way they would keep her from performing before the king.
It might be delusion from the lack of sleep or it might be her salvation. She wouldn’t know until the morning.
“And what will you do if you win?”
Benson grinned. “I’ll sing for seven years and then marry the beautiful ballerina mage, who will undoubtedly be changing the world on her own.”
Selene fought to keep her eyes open. “And if she wins?”
“Then I will be but a humble servant to her until I can make her my bride.” He bowed his head with a flourish.
“Hmm.” Selene could sleep in the library. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing that happened tonight. “And if I win?”
“I’ll marry her next week.”
Selene sat up. “Really?”
Benson’s eyes were full of stars. He was genuine. “I’ve loved Gigi since the first day I saw her, Selene. I won’t waste another day.”
Selene smiled wickedly. “You should definitely forfeit, then. Make that dream happen faster.”
“I’ll consider it.” His laugh turned into a yawn. “What are you going to do?”
Selene considered the words she could string together like smoke. She’d met a man in a mirror who taught her how to bleed shadows. She’d found a ghost with untold secrets, even to himself. She’d fight her way back in.
Instead, she scanned the room, eyes grazing the familiar titles of the books for something that would give up secrets of the ghost. She found exactly what she expected: nothing.
In the last seven years, she’d read almost every book in this room.
They were mostly music and magic theory, history, and scores and scores of sheet music.
There was nothing here that would explain the boy trapped in the glass or what he could do.
“I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“You do know.” Benson found the shape of the silence and filled it. “Gigi asked me if this was all worth it. Years off our life. Tears, sweat, blood.”
Selene absently ran her finger along the raw edge of the wound on her thumb. “Of course it’s worth it.”
“That’s what I said.” Benson leaned back in his chair. “Even without the competition, I’m not sure I’d do anything else.”
“Not even with a needle and thread?”
“That’s my father’s passion, not mine. Writing music, shaping magic, it’s like living a dream. It’s the best and worst thing I’ve ever done. I can’t imagine my life without it.”
“I’ve tried.” Selene took one of the books from the stack and flipped through it. It was a collection of sheet music from competitions past. She paused briefly at her father’s. “I don’t like who I am without it.”
Benson put his chin on his hands. “That is a different problem, Selene. Who you are and what you do are not the same.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Selene traced the notes on the page, the music taking shape in her mind. That feeling—the push and pull of passion and the overwhelming need to be part of her art—consumed her. “You’ve had a life outside of this.”
“Are we going to talk about it?” Benson’s voice was gentle.
Selene stilled. ‘Talk about what?”
“That doesn’t work on me, Selene.” Benson reached for her hand. “This must bring up a lot for you.”
Selene exhaled. Benson had no idea how much, though he clearly sensed it. Selene’s mask must be slipping. “It’s a lot for all of us.”
He gave her a look too close to pity.
“Now, off to bed with you.”
“I need a few more minutes.” Benson tapped his page. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Selene rose and paused at the door. “It’s already morning.”
By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she was out of thoughts. It took all of her will to drag her feet the remaining steps to her room.
Dawn crept up through the scattered rooftops and buildings, shattered into fractals until the light broke through her window. Gigi’s snores were soft and elegant. Her foot hung over the side of the bed, bandaged, like any dedicated dancer’s.
Selene wrapped herself in her quilt. She was so tired, the exhaustion almost crushed her.
Sleep was quick and heavy, the pull of a curtain, and into dreams.