Bloodspell (The Cruentus Curse, #1)(25)

Despite not having played for years, Victoria loved it so much that one day after rehearsal she sat at the piano and just let her fingers drift over the keys. Her playing was halting at first and then grew more confident. It was only a one-sided rendition of a piece meant to be played by two people but the music still soothed that place in her heart occupied by memories of her mother. When she finished, she let the tears come and was so lost in her thoughts that at first she didn't hear the soft voice beside her.

"Are you all right?" Christian asked, as she wiped her eyes hastily. He hadn't spoken more than two words to her in two weeks and suddenly he cared why she was crying? Victoria wanted to tell him to go away, but a part of her was so desperate for comfort that she found herself sitting with him and telling him about her parents and her mother's life-long love affair with music.

"I stopped playing after they died," she told him. "She loved Tchaikovsky, this piece in particular. I'd forgotten how much I loved it ... her ..."

Then she cried again, and he stayed with her talking until the custodian came to clean the building. He told her funny stories about his brother when they lived in France as children and some of the pranks they'd played on each other.

"Lucian was a trickster. I was always the one who got away, being my mother's favorite. No one could tell us apart but even when we switched identities, she always knew," he said.

"Were you close? You and Lucian?" Victoria asked.

"We were inseparable." Sadness thickened his voice. "I remember when we were ten," he said with a nostalgic smile, "we'd gone sailing and as we often did, got into a scrape about something. I don't even remember what it'd been about. But one thing led to another and we both fell in. In those days ... winter," he said, after a glance at her, "clothes were thick and heavy. I pushed him out first, but then I started sinking. He jumped right back in to save me, and in the end, we both had to be rescued. That's how it always was. We protected each other even if it meant hurting ourselves to do it."

"Sounds like you loved each other very much."

"Yes." His eyes were far away then, but his hand gripped hers tightly. She squeezed it sympathetically.

"So, why did you go sailing in winter?" He sent a startled smile her way. "That sounds like something I would do."

They talked for hours and Victoria found herself telling him things that she'd never told anyone else. Memories of her parents and living in New York, mundane but beautiful things she missed about the city, about them, about her life.

"My father was quiet," she told him. "My mother was not. They were polar opposites, but you'd think they were a match made in heaven the way he loved her and she, him. He'd sit and listen to her play for hours like it was their special language. I miss that the most, their music. It made me feel ... part of something beautiful."

Christian was understanding and sweet and funny, making her sadness disappear, and despite their earlier interaction, it seemed like they could be friends.

"Thank you," she said to him after he'd walked her to her car. "You didn't have to give up your entire evening for me."

"I wanted to."

"I feel like I should apologize for thinking you were a bad person," she confessed, as she got into her car. "I misjudged you, and I'm sorry for that. I'd really like it if we were friends."

He stared at her then, his light eyes unfathomable. Victoria felt them on her long after she'd driven away and was out of his sight.

THE NEXT DAY Christian reverted to his other personality, the one who couldn't bear to look at her or be near her. It was as if someone had flipped a switch inside of him and the night before had never existed. He was agitated and angry, snapping at her when she brought him the wrong music, until finally she lost her patience with him and yelled, not caring who heard. "It's pretty obvious we can't be friends. You don't like me, and I don't like you. And you can get your own music!"

Over the next few days, Victoria stayed as far away from him as possible during rehearsal, and when he performed his solos, she usually tried to find something else to do in the office. His music undermined every strong thought she had against him, flowing into her as powerful as actual words. It left her weak. And he knew it. Those were the times that she left practice running for her car, desperate to escape his presence, the amulet in a death grip between her fingers.

Once they ran into each other at Willard's, the local diner in town, and despite their attempt to be civil to each other, the conversation was forced and fake. He wasn't even able to look at her. Even Charla gave her a quizzical look over Christian's obvious rudeness.

"What's with you and hot-French-boy?" she asked.

"Nothing. He's doing a solo for the orchestra, and he's a prima donna," Victoria responded, still smarting from his coldness.

"Devereux is a band geek?" she laughed. "That's just rich."

Angie surprised Victoria by commenting in a sour voice. "He's not a band geek, he does solos every year at Windsor and Harland. My parents said he played at Carnegie Hall last year for some charity benefit."

Victoria and Charla stared at her with twin expressions of astonishment.

"What? I'm just saying," Angie said, ducking her head.