Heard nothing.
Then, cautious, Bells opened the door slowly to reveal Remi playing Kyan’s old violin with her eyes scrunched shut. Her usual harp was discarded, perhaps so she could stand and move, but no sound emerged. She’d used one of her mother’s soundproofing devices to mute the room, covering Remi in a clear dome that shimmered with prismatic colours. And inside—
Worry cinched hot in Bells’ throat at the sight.
It wasn’t just the tortured expression on Remi’s face as she played, or the tear gliding down her cheek, but the way she kept opening her mouth, hesitantly, desperately, as if needing the power to emerge.
Had her Siren song come to her in the six months they’d all been parted? Each Siren’s was different, some deadly. But it wasn’t Remi’s expression that worried Bells the most, it was her hands.
There was blood on the violin strings.
Something was making her play until her fingersbled.
Bells slammed against the protective sound barrier.
Remi’s eyes flashed open with horror.
The barrier blasted outwards, stealing Bells’ breath as her feet slid and her back hit the wall, sharp pain lancing through her shoulder blades, the gun falling to the floor.
Remi’s hand went to her throat and she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
‘Remi,’ Bells tried to rasp.
With tears in her eyes, Remi bolted from inside the barrier, then through the door and down the stairs.
Winded, Bells pushed herself off from the wall and slammed into the nearest room – her father’s. Before she could try to speak, she realised the guest room was empty.
Confusion and worry scattered her thoughts. Had something happened?
He was always with them. Where was he?
She couldn’t figure it out now, though, and she couldn’t draw a breath to shout. She scanned the rooms on the bottom floor, hoping he was in the kitchen with a late-night snack. But only dark silence greeted her as she staggered down the steps.
And Remi, bolting right out of the townhouse.
Bells didn’t have time to gather her wits. The pain in Remi’s gaze had been enough motivation, it had seared her straight through, colder than some of the visions she had. She recognised Remi’s helplessness. She dealt with it every time she was trapped in a vision and couldn’t get herself out. The only person who oftencouldhelp her was Remi, and tonight, she needed someone.
Bells didn’t even pull her shoes on as she burst out into the night after her.
Remi ran down the street like a lost princess in the dark, her white nightdress flashing around her legs, the violin in her grip, the streetlamps strobing her.
So Bells sucked in a painful breath, and ran after her.
Ronan
THE MUSE STOOD IN HER FOURTH-STOREYVICTORIAN GREENHOUSE, the city an inky painting beyond.
She was halfway through tending to her plants – every genus from every painting she’d ever been in – when she sensed him.
She sprayed another glittering mist of water. ‘I wondered when you’d come.’
When she turned to see Ronan with the poppy, the delicate stem twirling between his fingers, the Muse met his unreadable eyes. ‘Are you here to kill me, old friend?’
‘No.’
Affection filtered through her strange eyes. ‘Thank goodness. I’d hate to finally go when things are growing interesting. I take it the girl doesn’t know about you, still?’
She put down her mister, and Ronan’s body grew heavy, as if finally being around someone who knew more about his past allowed him to experience some of the exhaustion of hiding it. Even Verin didn’t know much, despite the Vampire’s fascination. Telling him more would only endanger him.
