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Does he know that Dahlia was a witch? Does he know the details of me?
“I don’t know,” I say again. “I know I’m a vampire, it’s just, when I turned I felt this change inside me, some kind of connection to the earth.”
He relaxes. “That’s why you think you’re a witch?”
“I made a lightning strike happen.”
His eyes slide over my face thoughtfully. “Were you able to do it again?”
I try to shake my head though he’s holding me in place. “No.”
“Did you try?”
“Not really.” That wasn’t true. I made a few half-hearted attempts but it was nothing like when the lightning struck our deck.
Finally he releases my chin and moves back slightly. “You’re not a witch, then. That just happens sometimes when you turn. You become more in tune with the natural world. It’s not unusual to hear of vampires having supernatural abilities connected to the elements.”
“Really?” I ask and I’m being genuine. This is the first I’ve heard of that.
“Really,” he says. He gives me a quick smile. “Though if you did end up being a witch, I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. You could help me decipher the rest of the book.”
Now is my chance to ask him about it. To find out more about it. To see it, maybe even hold it in my hands. To find out where Bellamy and Leif are. Maybe even see if his spell of erasure can be reversed. But I know he’s baiting me at the same time, and so I won’t rise to meet it.
Instead I push it out of my head and let my body take the lead. A change in subject, a change in activities. I’m here for a reason. I shouldn’t let him forget it.
And if usingmy lordhad the power to bring back another phrase from the past, perhaps a musical instrument could do the same.
I let my body relax and gaze at him through my lashes, adjusting my body just enough for him to notice it.
He does. His eyes go to my breasts, then down to my thighs. If my tunic were any shorter, he’d be seeing everything. When he looks back up, heat has replaced everything that was cold and dark.
“You said you no longer play any musical instruments,” I say to him, my voice growing sweet. “That seems such a shame to have them around, getting no use.”
He raises a brow, trying to figure out where I’m going with this. “Sometimes it’s nice just to look at things and appreciate their beauty. I have a tendency tobreakthe things I touch.”
I ignore the raw sensation in my throat, reminding me that I know firsthand what he means by that.
“You know, I play,” I tell him, clearing my throat. “I could teach you the things you’ve forgotten.”
His mouth twists into a crooked grin. “You think you could teach me things? Weren’t you a virgin until last night?”
I bite my lip coyly, something I know used to get him all worked up in the past. From the flash of heat in his eyes, the flare of his nostrils, I know it still works the same. “I’m not talking about sex.” I give him a cunning smile and slide off the piano, walking over to the organ.
I sit down at the bench and I’m caught by feelings of reverence and joy all at once. It feels good to slide my bare feet over the pedals, for my fingers to graze over the keys. I stare up at the pipes, the way they go in and out of the stone, and I can only hope that I remember to play as well as I think I do.
“You look like a natural,” Valtu says, his voice low. He’s not coming any closer though, just observing me where he is.
I shrug. “I’m sure I look like a lot of things to you.”
Then I start to play.
The notes sing and come back to me as easy as breathing. I close my eyes and I slip back into being Dahlia, back to the time spent learning how to play, then my time at music school in Venice, Valtu being my teacher. Because magic had influenced so much of my ability, I feared that I would lose all my talent if I ceased to be a witch. But now that I’m here and I’m a vampire and I’m Rose and I’m playing, I realize that either the magic or the talent has survived death.
I’m playing Moonlight Sonata, a piece usually meant for the piano, and the stone walls vibrate with Mozart’s moody sounds, sounding all the more Gothic and deep when played through the organ. My feet know where to go, my fingers find their way, and I keep my eyes closed as I go. It feels like being swept along a sonic river, an experience that elevates me higher and higher until I’m one with the music itself.
When I finish the piece, I feel so unbearably alive that a tear is rolling down my cheek. My hands and feet are tingling, my chest feels effervescent, like champagne. The whole room seems to reverberate with the last notes, unable to let the song go.
Then I hear a slow clap.
