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“But I took my phone from him.”
Mr. Blackbourne pursed his lips. “I’m proud of you for it, but I believe it was planted. I think he wanted you to take it.”
“He did?”
“Luke mentioned you weren’t very good at pickpocketing.”
He had told me that. “He wanted me to find it? He wanted me to go to Victor’s house?”
“I don’t think he ever planned to fulfill the promises he’d made to Muriel. Muriel herself may never have pursued her overzealous feelings for Mr. Morgan. I believe she was lured into it by this Volto. He saw an opportunity and pushed her into it to get to what he wanted.”
“Victor said there wasn’t anything important on his computer.”
“That might be true,” he said. “But Volto may be able to piece together a few things. There might be a few clues.”
“Academy secrets?”
Mr. Blackbourne pursed his lips. “Maybe, but he doesn’t seem interested in the Academy itself. He seemed focused on our group. There are much easier Academy targets if he really knew his way around like he says he does.”
“He almost made it sound like he was in the Academy before.”
“I doubt it. He’s not our type.”
“He’s smart.”
“He’s manipulative and dangerous. He’d never get past registration. Whatever he thinks he knows, he’s picking up from outside sources. He’s stringing together bits and pieces and possibly coming to the wrong conclusions.”
I wanted to ask something else, but the tempo to Victor’s song changed dramatically. I turned, and his head was lifted, his eye caught mine. Now I was sure he could see me. He started to smile now.
I sensed Mr. Blackbourne stepping up behind me. “Miss Sorenson,” he said, the authority and command stripped from his voice, replaced by something much softer. “How did you know it was me in that room? I could see you turn when you wanted to run. You paused and called my name. How did you know?”
My cheeks heated. I hoped he wasn’t close enough to see my cheeks from where he stood. “I could smell you.”
“Smell me?”
I nodded. “Spring soap. It was on top of everything else, like you were right there. I could have been wrong, but I was pretty sure.”
He was quiet for a long moment.
I watched as Victor lost himself into the music again. His head swayed back and forth, similar to the way he often walked beside me, drifting to the beat of music in his head. “Victor said he asked you guys not to come to his concerts.”
“He did ask, but we show up anyway,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “We attend them all, when possible.”
I knew the answer to this, but I asked anyway. “All of them?”
“We never really leave one of our own. Mr. Morgan rejects the idea of seeking out any pleasure in the concerts he performs. He didn’t want to enjoy the same music his father forces him to play.”
“He’s okay with me being here,” I said quietly.
Fingertips brushed my arm soothingly. “Maybe you’ve finally shown him. He doesn’t have to do it for them. One day, his parents won’t be able to control his life like he allows them to now. One day, his parents will fade away, and all that will be left is the music he really does love.”
Another scent caught at my nose, something stronger above the soft musk Gabriel had placed on me earlier and Mr. Blackbourne’s spring soap. It took a moment, but when I recognized the heady rose scent, I turned.
Mr. Blackbourne held a bundle of stemmed Chrysler Imperial roses. Offhand, I thought there were a dozen, thinking that’s how they were sold. When I checked again, I counted nine.
“I’ve been told you didn’t want any gift,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “I hope you’ll forgive this one exception for your birthday. We didn’t want you to think we’d forgotten or that it wasn’t important.”
I wanted to say something, anything, but the tears choking my throat threatened to take over.
Mr. Blackbourne said nothing, but passed the flowers to me. I curled my arms around them, surprised by the weight. My fingers found the petals, touching each flower as if doing so was touching each of them.
The music changed. Caught off guard, I didn’t recognize it at first. I turned again when I recognized Winter by Vivaldi, a song I once told Victor was one of my favorites. It had been so long since that day, the day I first met him. But he remembered.
And he looked right at me as he played, his fire eyes an inferno.
“Thank you,” I said, to both Mr. Blackbourne and to Victor, even though I knew Victor couldn’t hear me.
“You’re always welcome, Miss Sorenson.” I felt Mr. Blackbourne’s hand touch at the base of my neck, warming my skin.
That tiny touch, that soft turn of affection, was the last straw for the tear that slid down my cheek. It was the first time that I felt it. It was the first time that I was sure. That special link that I had been looking for.
Mr. Blackbourne seemed to understand me completely, reading my thoughts. “I tried to deny it before, too. I can’t any more. You belong with us.” He reached out, his finger catching the tear on my cheek, cleaning my skin. Mr. Blackbourne, the perfectionist. He leaned down, his voice a soft whisper in my ear. “Stay with us. Always.”
~ A ~
When the concert was over, Victor hustled into the dressing room. This was the worst part of the evening. He’d already gotten word that Sang had to be escorted out of the building. He was glad for it, but sorry he couldn’t see her before she left. He would have liked to have held her one more time before having to hobnob with the snobbery-elite. It probably would have calmed his nerves a lot more. It couldn’t be helped. Sang had to avoid being noticed.
Playing concerts wasn’t really the worst part of these soirees. It was being forced to put on a smile and behave in front of a crowd that wanted nothing more than to wait for you to mess up so they could tear you to pieces. Gossip was highly sought after. The rich were bored and gossip was a temporary relief for it.
Having Sang attend had actually been more pleasurable than he could have imagined. He smiled into the mirror at the thought of her sweet eyes, and that incredible look of surprise when he started playing “Winter.” It was way too early in the season to be playing such a song, and he was sure to hear it from his father. There would be an argument later about following the set list. Victor didn’t care. He did it for her. He’d do it again. He’d play all her favorite songs next time.
He hummed a few bars of “Winter” as he slipped out of his stage tuxedo. When the doorknob to the dressing room rattled, he didn’t flinch. His life had always been under a microscope. People walked in on him all the time. It was usually Gabriel, wanting to tell him what to wear next or how to style his hair in the latest trend. Victor didn’t really care, but Gabriel did, and he knew his stuff. When he stepped out for the after-concert party, he got plenty of praise on both his playing and his style. This appeased both the press and his parents most of the time. As long as Victor Morgan appeared to be perfect, that’s all that mattered.
“Mr. Morgan,” Mr. Blackbourne’s familiar voice drifted to him. Victor had once thought Mr. Blackbourne could have trained his voice for singing, operatic perhaps. Mr. Blackbourne had complete control of his tone. While he played the piano and the violin, though, Mr. Blackbourne never hummed and never sang. Victor thought it was a real shame.
“Weren’t you driving Sang back?” Victor asked. He opened the closet, finding a pair of black slacks, his usual white shirt, and a tuxedo coat. Gabriel never seemed too busy to put his wardrobe in
to place.
“She’s with Kota,” North’s voice hit Victor, and Victor flinched. North was usually the last one to show up after one of his concerts, but given the crazy happenings, he probably shouldn’t have been too surprised. Mr. Blackbourne wouldn’t be traveling alone anywhere for a while, not when Volto had targeted him, too.
Victor looked over at them as he started changing into different clothes. North stood by the door, his arms crossed. His shirt and pants were the usual black. At least he was clean instead of grungy from motor oil and sawdust. North could have passed for a security escort for Mr. Blackbourne, but he hoped North wasn’t going to join them for tonight’s after-concert required hobnobbing. His father usually made a scene if one of his friends showed up, and Victor had little patience tonight. “Sang’s going home?”
“She needs sleep,” North said.
“Where’s Muriel?” Victor asked. Despite what she’d done to Sang, him, and the others, he still felt responsible for her. He’d found it unusual when she called, and showed up at odd times upstairs and in his bedroom. He had dismissed it because she was usually so very observant and obedient, more so than any other maid his family had hired before. Most maids they hired were pretty strict and maintained the discreet distance his parents usually required. The help was supposed to be invisible.
Even when he returned to the house, and asked for her help in setting up his ruse, she’d complied, for the most part. She agreed to it probably too quickly. There were other things, too. Avoiding the other guys. The looks she gave him that made him uncomfortable. How did he not notice her oddness before? It seemed so apparent now.
“She’s gone,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “She won’t be back.”
Victor nodded solemnly. If there was one thing the Academy could do, it was see to it that such threatening people were removed completely. She was too dangerous to leave in town. He wanted to ask where she went, but he knew the answer to that, too. Most likely, after she was hospitalized for any injuries, she’d disappear into one of the many recovery facilities connected with the Academy to get over her obsession. She would be treated well, but she’d never be allowed near their team or him again. She’d probably never return to the state. “What about the other guy? This Volto?”
