“And now,” Rafe continues, “let’s clear the floor for the Blackwillow Ballet Ensemble, proudly presenting ‘Ashes to Light’, an original piece choreographed for Foggy Hollow’s Bicentennial celebration.”
The dance floor begins to clear.
But I remain in place, hardly breathing.
I look up at Jude. “You’re leaving?”
His expression says it all.
Finally, Rafe has given me a truth.
With my heart in my throat, I make a beeline for the nearest exit. I spot Twig and Naomi entering from the terrace and change course. Mr. and Mrs. Calloway laugh as they come in from the antechamber, and I pivot again. I head toward the far doors leading into the east wing like a salmon swimming up stream.
By the time I reach the corridor, it’s empty. I tear off my mask and stride toward the conservatory. From there, I can slip into the night. I can catch a proper breath.
Jude takes my arm. “Selah, wait.”
I turn on him.
He’s removed his mask, too, and for a moment, his tortured beauty undoes me.
“You’re just going to leave?” I ask. “Disappear?”
The same as my mother.
But I can’t say those words.
They’re too painful.
“I’m trying to keep you safe,” he says.
“How will that possibly keep me safe?”
“If I stay, you die!”
The lights flicker.
Jude shoves his hand into his hair, then grabs at his chest like he’s trying to tear out his own heart. Like doing so might show me the truth of it.
He opens his mouth.
I wait with baited breath, but no words come. We stare at each other across the impasse, a chasm too immense to cross.
He drags his hand down his face. “We just need to get through this week. If we can keep him from the tomb?—”
“You think this will be over in a week? He’s been waiting for two hundred and sixty-eight years, Jude. If he doesn’t get what he wants, there will be hell to pay.”
“Then let me pay it,” he says, his voice ragged. “He needsmyblood. If I keep it from him, he’ll come after me.In Europe.If he wants to torment Ezra’s descendants, then let him torment me there.”
While I’m in torment here.
Tears sting my eyes. A knot of emotion rises in my throat. Jude looks at me like I am spun from glass and he is nothing but a hammer. But he’s not the hammer. Doesn’t he see? It’s the curse, not him. Maybe together, we can figure out how to break it.
The sound of weeping intrudes upon my pain.
Someone is crying.
It’s coming from the music room.
