Page 107 of Petrify

Chapter 49

The Pianist

I didn’t packany formal attire, so Julia lends me a dress that is a sleek indigo and reaches the floor around my heels. The rest is simple—the necklace Jason gave me is gone, so there’s nothing but the mesh collar of the dress around my neck and the small hoops at my ears match in silver.

As I ready myself in front of the vanity mirror, I remind myself that tonight is not technically for me, even if Baz says so. This could be a pivotal moment for Henri, too, even if this event is somewhat informal. If Baz is right, there will be people in high places attending.

I pin my hair back at my nape, twisting the length until it curls into a somewhat neat bun, holding it in place with a dozen pins. I am swiping on mascara when there’s a knock at my door.

Julia enters before I can respond and gasps when she sees me. “Mallary, you’regorgeous.”

“Not too gorgeous, I hope.” Something tells me that the less attention I get outside of the performance the better.

I wonder what Baz will think. This will be the first time he’ll see me in something other than my night clothes or a sweater.

He’s not watching me now. I can’t feel him, haven’t since last night, but his absence doesn’t feel permanent, especiallyafter the way he insisted he wanted our lives to be so deeply enmeshed.

“Are you kidding?” She rushes closer. “This dress is stunning on you!”

I notice she is wearing her usual uniform of plain, dark clothing. “Are you not going?”

“Oh. No. I am helping Daria and Cook tonight. The catering company is taking over the kitchen. There are always guests with… particular requests, and they’ve told us to accommodate as best we can.”

“That’s too bad. I was hoping that we could at least have some champagne together.” My palms smooth down the fabric at my stomach, soft and silky. The dress is form-fitting and slim all the way to the floor. The more I stare at the girl in the mirror, the less I recognize her.

“Maybe next year,” Julia laughs.

And she has no idea. She doesn’t know who I am, what I’ve done, what Iwilldo.

She doesn’t know about the Ghost’s plans. She doesn’t know what’s to come.

“Stop worrying,” she chides, standing next to me. “You’ve been tutoring him for weeks, and he was getting lessons before that, too. He knows what to do. And you’re going to play later tonight, right?”

“They’re not here for me,” I say.

“Maybe not, but you’ll still blow everyone away. Both of you.”

“How many are already here?” Even though the gathering doesn’t officially begin until eight o’clock, I could hear guests arriving and being escorted through the house early this afternoon.

“Maybe a hundred?”

I know it’s not everyone. Baz warned me how these things usually go. Hundreds of people with thinly veiled contempt foreach other drinking, and trading secrets, and sometimes even indulging in their vices together.

I understand Baz’s distaste, but I can only hope he’ll behave long enough my playing is heard by the right people.

It’s so close that the impending gratification is syrupy on my tongue. So close I am almost manic with it, knowing that tonight is only the beginning of the rest of my life—if Bastien is to be trusted.

The manor, grand as it is, has a room large enough to host the majority of the guests, a modern ballroom. The lights have been dimmed to a scintillant golden, the curtains at the windows drawn to expose the powdery white of outside. The Beauchenes have hired additional staff for the evening, walking around with serving platters and glasses of champagne. There’s an open bar at the far wall, a buffet of sweets, and in the center of it all sits the piano, shining a glossy black amidst the sea of suit jackets and sequined attire.

Henri stands nearby with his mother, who holds his hand tightly. His little face is tense, a nervousness scrunching his brow as he scans the adults crowding around him, until he spots me and he relaxes.

“Are you ready?” I ask once I’m close enough for him to hear. A steady murmuring fills the room.

He nods.

There’s still half an hour before he’s supposed to play. I know things will go fine. He’s worked hard these last couple of weeks, even asking me for extra practice time, and for how little time we had to prepare, I’m impressed with his dedication.

I keep telling myself that only he and I will know exactly how the Prelude’s been modified, how we’ve had to drop a few notes from the chords. To an untrained ear, it will be perfect. He’s going to impress his parents, all the guests, and they’re all going to knowIcoached him.