Page 22 of Petrify

Then again.

Sitting in silence and mapping out the movements, studying the notations, the scratched handwriting. In my head, the song keeps going, the melody continuing, the chords repeating, over and over, an endless loop.

I’m halfway through another run, my mind wandering, focused on the music, and then crashing to screeching a halt when the hair stands on the back of my neck.

The eyes are on me again. I’m being watched.

Someone’s behind me.

Not justsomeone.

Him.

Bastien.

I will myself to finish, my fingers shaking against the keys. The last note rings out, a jarring ceasing of sound.

He has stalked me. He watched me when I was most vulnerable. There’s no telling what else he’s done, what he’s seen, and yet…

“You left that music for me, didn’t you?” I say it out loud before I can stop myself. It had been a nagging feeling, so outlandish and entirely unplausible.

He doesn’t know he’s dead.

I can’t stop thinking about it. Their son, who would be twenty-six if he were still alive. Two years older than myself.

“Miss Doyle.”

I whirl around, an ugly sound crashing from the piano’s keys.

Maxim stands in the doorway. Irritation furrows his brow. “Curfew. It’s getting late.”

My heart is stuttering in my chest and I feel sostupid, talking to an empty room and expecting an answer.

The clock on the wall says it’s five minutes to nine. I’m cutting it dangerously close. “Of course. Sorry. I lost track of time.”

Maxim’s suit is unruffled, dark hair impeccable, even this late in the day, prepared to continue seeing to the demands of the family. “Good night, Miss Doyle.”

Each utterance of my name is a threat, a reminder, that my position hinges on making the family happy—and that if anyone has sway over the family, it’s him. I knew, even that first night when I arrived, not to get on his bad side.

I don’t want to make enemies, certainly not with him.

I stand and quickly gather my things. On my way out, I force my face into something pleasant. “Good night, Maxim.”

When I wake, there is another sheet of music on my nightstand, handwritten in the same scrawling script, each line carefully drawn out. A continuation of the piece that’s consumed my thoughts. Only a few lines, but enough to continue the puzzle that is this melody.

At the top of the paper is a note?—

For you.

Chapter 12

The Ghost

She has takento playing in the evenings after dinner when the rest of the house is winding down. She’s always alone, always completely engrossed in the music, so that she does not even notice the few times she’s drawn me from my hiding place behind the wall. I’ll be halfway across the room before I realize I’m no longer in the safety of the shadows.

Being in her space is addictive. Knowing I could touch her.

She is within reach.