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Setting the bin aside, I sneak into the hall, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. I can still see the light in Salomé’s bedroom at the opposite end of the hall. It’s no surprise the woman doesn’t sleep. Evil rarely does.
I set out in search of my husband, the house's silence an eerie feeling around me. I tiptoe down the stairs, cautious that one noise might summon Salomé, and move around the house like an apparition. Every room I pass through is empty, but as I near the library and step into the darkness, I can hear that faint melodious sound again.
I pause to listen, realizing it must be a piano. But for reasons I can’t explain, this seems to be the only room in the house I can hear it. I know it’s because it must be in the dark wing, as Bec called it. But I haven’t yet figured out how to get to that part of the house.
Given the age of the house, I consider that there might be a secret door, but as I run my fingers along the shelves, I don’t notice any discrepancies. In the movies, it’s always a book that has to be removed or something equally as dramatic, so I take note of the Delacroix collection. There seems to be a vast array of books, many of which appear to be leather-bound first editions of the classics, along with French titles I’ve never seen. A large selection of old tomes rests on one shelf, their spines battered from years of carrying their hefty weights.
I drag my fingers over them, pulling out a couple to inspect them. They are bound with leather straps and untitled, so I don’t know what they contain, but I’m curious. Just as I’m about to untether one to see for myself, a faint voice behind me nearly scares me half to death.
“What are you doing?”
I shove the tome back into place, whipping around with a sheepish expression to meet Bec’s gaze. I half-expect to find a look of reprimand in her eyes, even though she’s been nothing but sweet to me. I can only imagine how strange it is for her to have someone snooping through her house.
But a strange expression flickers across her face when her eyes dart to the tome I replaced, which only makes me more curious.
“I heard music,” I confess. “I can hear it in the library but no other part of the house.”
“It’s Azrael,” she tells me. “He plays the piano at night.”
“Oh.”
There’s so much I want to ask about that, but I don’t want to look too eager, and Bec seems uncomfortable with the notion of explaining. I imagine it’s because the piano is in the dark wing, and she knows it’s a place we aren’t supposed to venture.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she says. “I came down to get a glass of water and saw the light on in here.”
“Are you feeling alright?” I ask cautiously.
She nods reluctantly, shifting her weight while she works up the courage to ask me something. “Could you…” She hesitates, her hands twisting in front of her nervously. “Could you fix my necklace for me?”
“Did it break?” I ask, concern bleeding through my voice.
It’s never a good sign if a protection necklace breaks.
“Something like that.” She dips her gaze, leading me to believe it had some help being broken.
“I can fix it,” I assure her. “Where is it?”
“I’ll go get it.” Her eyes light up with relief. “Can I meet you in your room?”
I nod at her, and she slips out of the library, barely making any noise as she goes. It makes me wonder how much practice she’s had sneaking around these halls, trying to stay hidden.
With one glance at the tome, I make a mental note to return later to examine it before I switch off the light and go back upstairs. Thankfully, when I reach the top floor, Salomé’s light is off. I don’t know if she’s asleep or lying in wait, but I’m hoping it’s the first.
In my room, I do a quick job of hiding the burned remnants Salomé left for me. I have about a minute to pick up a few stray pieces of clothing before the knob twists quietly, and Bec peeks her head in.
“Can I come in?”
I offer her a reassuring smile, sad that she feels she needs permission for every moment of her existence.
She closes the door and bows her head as she clenches the necklace in her fist. Her body language is guarded, like she’s afraid I might get angry. And when she reaches me, it falls upon me to offer her more encouragement.
“Let’s see the damage. I’m sure whatever it is, we can find a fix for it.”
Reluctantly, she opens her hand, revealing the bent wires and shattered amethyst that’s now in three pieces. Definitely not an accident. Wherever the chain is, I’m sure that’s in pieces too.
