Page 113 of Our Strange Duet

But there was a piano.

And the artists’ commissary offered coffee and tea on demand for as long as rehearsals were in session.

And…

I pushed that thought away, banishing it to the dark recesses of my mind before it had the chance to fully form and tempt me into consideration.

But its allure was hopeless to ignore.

It wasn’t just a quiet spot I needed, nor a piano, nor coffee. I needed—

No!

My inner voice pushed aside the treacherous, twisting thought for a second time with a vehemence that dazzled me. But still he returned…

Erik.

He was the only person who could help me. Not Ubaldo, not Monsieur Loggia, not even Maestro.

Erik had written this music.

Erik was this music.

He understood it better than anyone.

He understood me.

Before I could think through the reckless absurdity of my actions, before my brain could stop me with its reasonings and logics and doubts, I turned for the dressing room.

“Erik?” I called out, storming into the room and twisting the knob for the gas lamps. They flared high before settling to their usual glow, making it seem as if the shadows were tangible creatures, fleeing to the corner to cower and wait.

I dared to approach the mirror, watching its edges glitter. If I’d expected it to instantly transform, revealing him to me, I’d been mistaken.

The room was silent, with a careful watchfulness.

I tossed my reticule on a side table. I set the score upon the stand. I closed the door, shutting out the world and any chance for me to change my mind.

With gooseflesh all across my arms, I sat before the piano and began to pick out the opening notes of the Aminta and Don Juan duet.

It was a painfully slow process, as I stopped every few notes, pausing to listen for the telltale change in the air that would give away Erik’s arrival.

Nothing.

I tried again, purposefully missing a note in an attempt to draw him out with ire.

Still, the mirror remained as it ever had been.

I sat back, balling my fingers away from the keys.

What was I doing? If Raoul could see me right now, he’d think I’d lost my mind. Only days before, we’d fled from Erik as he hurled bolts of fire at us, declaring war upon Raoul, war upon me.

But now, here I was, summoning him to my side, begging for his return.

He was a murderer.

He was a monster.

He was—