Page 44 of Petrify

My mouth goes dry. “Well, if someone killed him, he must have done something to make them so mad.”

“It’s just a rumor,” she insists. “We don’t know for sure what happened.”

With every word, itsoundslike there’s a murderer in this house. Arnie’s “death”, Reece’s injury, and now this? But who’s the culprit? And how many others have mysteriously met their end here?

Too many strange things conveniently explained away.

“Will you play something for me?” Julia pushes away from the table, her chair squealing against the floor.

My mind lags at the change of topic. “Oh. Sure.”

“Everybody talks about how good you are. We can hear you play at night.” She leans closer. “They did tell you about curfew, right?”

“Yes, I—” Don’t know what to say. I can’t exactly tell her that Bastien has made me practice late into the night. And I haven’t thought too hard about why no one has reprimanded me, what that might mean.

“Just be careful. You don’t want to make Mariane angry. Though, maybe they are enjoying the music, and that’s why they haven’t said anything?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

We clear our dishes, bringing them to the kitchen staff, who give us friendly smiles. Everyone has a more relaxed air about them today. There’s no need to rush, nowhere else they need to be. They don’t know how dread is looming over me, shadowing my every step like a pitch-dark rain cloud over my shoulder.

The practice room is empty. Julia stares at the Steinway, keeping her distance, even when I sit at the bench.

“Any requests?” I ask. I push the fallboard back to expose the keys, stretch my fingers.

“No. I don’t know. What’s your favorite?”

The one song I’m itching to play, and yet I can’t. My practicing can be heard through the door at night, but it’s not ready, it’s not done, it’s only forme, until it’s finished.

So instead, I play Chopin’sScherzo No. 2, starting about halfway through the piece. My heart stutters at the familiar notes, a reluctance to allow me to continue, and yet my hands obey, even when I slow the song down and take my time with it. Emotions I shoved down long ago try to lock up my muscles, make my fingers fumble.

It’s been two years since I even thought about this piece. I don’t know why it’s spilling from me so easily now.

A concert hall, the audience forgotten in the shadows, only one person I was trying to impress.

And he wasn’t there.

My fingers stumble, cutting the song off on the wrong chord, which rings out, filling the room, permeating my memories. I can play this off like I just forgot the rest of the song. I can pretend it wasn’t my body refusing to go on.

Julia claps, nevertheless delighted. “You didn’t tell me you could play likethat.”

“I thought you could hear me practicing?” I force a smile.

“Only bits here and there. Nothing compared to standing right here and watching.” She’s beaming, her eyes sparkling with that awestruck-look all performers get addicted to. “No wonder they hired you.”

Playing for Julia is so much easier than practicing for myself. She has no real expectations. No musical training. I could playClair de Luneand she’d probably like it.

“They’d be crazy not to extend your contract,” she says. “Henri’s had some good tutors, but they never really played anything. At least, I never heard them play outside of lessons.” She’s still smiling. “Imagine that: you, a permanent part of the staff.”

“Yeah, that would be…”

“And Henri seems to really like you. I don’t know why they would want anyone else teaching him.”

Has she heard something? Does she think theywon’tchoose me again?

She’s right. On paper, I am the obvious choice, I know it.

But something tells me the added complication of Bastien might somehow hinder me. Especially if he is able to make demands to the Beauchenes, like letting me play late at night.