Page 102 of Petrify

Is it anything less than they deserve?

Chapter 47

The Pianist

After a day spent bruisingmy fingers at the piano, memorizing the last section of the waltz, I wander to the roof for some quiet. Up here, the sky is infinite above me, and I have all the room I need to justthink.

It’s dark, and I’d already changed into my night clothes, my old sweatshirt and shorts, before climbing to the roof, ignoring the sting of the cold. It clears my head, forces me into my body.

The waltz is done, the party is only one more day away, the year is almost over, and I still don’t know what my life will look like on the other side of all of this.

I’ve aligned myself with a murderer. Let him into my bed. And the worst part is that I can’t blame him for what he’s done, not really.

Nothing will be the same after the party. Even without Baz and his plans, it could be a night where I get recognized. It’s every musician's dream—to be noticed by someone who opens doors, and if the guests are notable enough to keep company with the Beauchenes, this could beit.

I can get what I came forandleave the manor, like Mariane wants.

But then who will tutor Henri?

Baz is right, that Henri is blameless in all of this.I won’t let him harm Henri.

Without Leo and Mariane, would Henri still want to play? Is it possible he’d love the instrumentmorewithout their looming expectations? I’ll continue to guide him, if he wants it. We can continue our lessons. But it’ll behischoice.

Maybe that’s why Baz is doing all this—so that Henri could have thechoice.

A shiver rolls through my exposed limbs, the chill seeping deep into my skin.

I become aware of his presence as I do every night. His footsteps are almost silent, except I’ve become used to listening for him, trying to catch every sound, every glimpse of him.

He stops behind me. I continue to look out at the grounds, basking in the breeze, knees pulled up to my chest. He doesn’t say anything for a while, perhaps seeing what I see: the pattern of trees in the blue moonlight, the way the branches wave in the wind, the twinkling of Orion and the Pleiades above in the sky. The blinking of a plane along the horizon. The smell of frost on the breeze.

I’ve come to enjoy the quiet away from the city. I didn’t realize how much I wouldn’t miss the constant bustling of businessmen and honking cars and fluorescent advertisements.

A gentle tug at my hair—his fingers, perhaps, but it could have been the wind.

“You’ll freeze to death.”

“Sit with me,” I say.

I can feel his tension, his hesitation. But after a moment, I see his dark figure sit next to me, out of the corner of my eye.

Still wearing his mask.

“Do you ever come up here?”

Every time I have his attention, it’s like being caught in the gaze of a starving lion. “No.”

“I think it’s quite nice.”

He’s silent for another moment. His form is rigid, his shoulders tense near his ears. His stare trails from my face, down my body, and back up. Hungry, ravenous, but not for my flesh.

“What is it?” I ask, turning to him again.

The black hoodie turns him into a reaper, his pale wrists crossed over his knees. Dark hair curling under his hood, deep brown eyes glinting in the moonlight. The mask turns a pale blue, almost glowing under the stars, and I itch to run my fingers along it, cup his cheek, bring his mouth to mine.

He only continues to stare, the only evidence of his unease is the way his fingers twitch. Maybe he’s itching to grab me, too.

“I’m debating dragging you inside.” His voice is a low rumble amidst the whispering of the wind.