Chapter 9 #2
“Uhm.” My face flushed. “Yes. Are you feeling better?”
“My body is whole.”
I understood his meaning immediately. Vittorio had confirmed that vampires possessed healing abilities. I pictured Hassan, bloodied to a pulp, lying in the entry hall, screaming. What did it take to weaken a vampire so brutally?
The thought sent chills down my arms.
“You must be Miss Shaw,” Hassan continued, helping to fill the silence between us.
“Oh, yes. Sorry. Lily Shaw. Everyone keeps calling me Miss Shaw. Or, pet. Or, darling. No one seems to call me Lily. But…you can call me Lily, if you’d like?”
“Lily,” he said, sounding out the name on his tongue. “Like the flower.” I nodded. “Very well. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m sure I will see you around. Good day, Miss Shaw.”
He disappeared, so he didn’t hear me snort. Or maybe he did, with his vampire hearing.
The room felt even quieter after his departure, the only sound coming from the grandfather clock in the corner.
The drawing room was large, with three separate sitting areas, an expansive fireplace, a card table, liquor cabinet, and a few chairs placed around the perimeter.
Expensive drapes framed each window, looking out over the front of the grounds.
Retrofitted gaslight wall sconces gave the room a gothic, elegant mood.
It was a space designed for evening entertaining.
I could picture the vampires gathering here after a meal, spending hours in merriment.
I glanced down at the piano bench tucked beneath the instrument.
I slid it out, lifting the bench lid. A flash of excitement stole through me.
There was a stack of sheet music hidden within, some of it aged, browned with time.
Quietly, I lifted the stack and moved over to the sofa, placing it on my lap.
I leafed through it, a faint smile softening my mouth.
Much of it was above my novice abilities, nocturnes, overtures, sonatas, symphonies, et cetera. My smile widened when I found an Impromptu in C-Sharp. Music I’d once played. I set that aside, then continued, selecting other pieces that looked manageable.
My training wasn’t extensive. I was no prodigy. But I liked to think my passion made up for my lack of experience.
The manor remained silent. My fingers twitched, all but begging me. It was my embarrassment, though, that kept me rooted to the sofa.
I didn’t play for other people. I wasn’t good enough to. Sure, I’d been forced into informal performances as part of my elective coursework at Tioa City College. Even those small instances had made me so nauseous, I’d wanted to barf.
Piano was a hobby. It had always been for me and me alone. If I played now, there was a chance I’d be overheard. And once that happened…
I let out a soft snort. These were vampires. Whoever owned this piano—Laurent?—could probably play Blake Clay’s Rhapsody with their eyes closed. My stomach squirmed. And yet, in the days I’d been here, it hadn’t been played a single time.
I’d been waiting to hear someone play it, and that hadn’t happened.
I stood abruptly, going back to the bench, replacing the stack of sheet music, keeping the sheets I’d selected on top.
I grabbed Impromptu in C-Sharp and set it on the stand, lifting the lid, exposing the keys.
A shiver raced over me. With a mind of its own, my body took a seat at the bench, adjusted it for my leg length, placed my feet over the pedals, then lifted my hands over the keys.
That was where my fingers hovered.
My gaze darted toward the entryway, open to the shadowed hallway beyond. A faint huff came from my chest. I was being ridiculous. This was a Powell. It had probably cost two hundred thousand dollars. Maybe more. It was the most beautiful instrument I’d ever seen.
I ached to hear it, to discover the richness of its notes, the purity of each string as it vibrated. I swallowed, eyes darting to the sheet music, settling on the first measure. I already knew the song by heart, but I would follow along anyway.
I touched my fingers to the keys, thumbs hovering over middle-c, and began to play.
The moment the first chord struck, my shoulders relaxed.
I fell into it. Measure after measure, line by line, the song lifted into the air, notes floating around me.
Suddenly, I was no longer a captive. I was no longer a woman who’d sacrificed so much over the past six years to earn a degree.
I was not a product of a tortured upbringing. I was no one and nothing but the music.
It sounded so different from the second-hand upright I’d scored for five hundred dollars at an estate sale.
My lips melted into a smile. I lit up from the inside, my body tingling with eagerness. Happiness. For the first time in three days, I felt joy. Pure, undiluted joy.
A sigh exploded from my chest. I fell more fully into the motion of my hands. My fingers skipped over the keys, stretching and pressing each note. I stumbled a few times, slowed down over a couple of the more difficult measures, but that didn’t matter.
The keys were heavier on this instrument. It took a bit more finger strength compared to my upright. But I quickly adapted.
As I reached the final measures, I followed the instructions to poco rit, to slow down gently. Then I let the final notes hang in the air, holding my hands motionless. My heart hammered with delight. My cheeks hurt from smiling.
And the hairs on the back of my neck gently lifted on end.
I looked toward the entryway and my stomach lurched. Laurent stood, casually braced against the threshold, an unreadable expression gracing his features. His silver eyes didn’t carry their usual coldness. I opened my mouth—to apologize?—then shut it almost immediately.
“You play beautifully, Miss Shaw.” I almost shivered.
There was something different in his voice—a warmth I’d never heard before.
As if the music had stripped away his usual icy indifference.
His brows were knitted, as if he couldn’t conceive of the fact.
“Please accept my apology. I did not mean to interrupt you.” With that, he tipped his head and disappeared.
My first instinct was to discount the compliment. How could I, a mere human who’d lived for twenty-three years, play beautifully? He’d surely been alive long enough to hear actual composers like Jason Edwards and Riffan Carlson perform their greatest works.
But the sincerity in his expression, the emotion glittering in his eyes, the slight pull between his brows. There’d been surprise, perhaps even a tiny measure of admiration? No. It couldn’t be.
Could it?
Warmth burst through my chest. I pressed my hands against my cheeks to cool them.
No. He’d meant nothing by it. Just a compliment to be nice. But when had Laurent ever gone out of his way to be nice to me?
I shook my head, then scooted off the bench. Another realization sank in and my heart began to beat faster. He’d heard me play. He’d heard me play! Laurent had heard me playing piano. How long had been standing there, listening as I stumbled over mistakes?
My stomach squirmed. I was going to be sick, wasn’t I? I replaced the sheet music and closed the lid. Then I strode from the room, returning to the safety of my own.