RoseBlood(102)

My chest aches on the memory of his nightmare experiences in the human-trafficking world. I cup my palm over his hand. “I’m so sorry for what those bastards stole from you.”

His fingers fist beneath mine. “Yet we were going to do the same to you.”

“Were . . .” I whisper, to comfort him and assure myself.

His fingers relax. “How could we be so blind? Had we followed through . . . we would’ve deserved the same end as my jailors.”

The confession triggers a profound realization. “That’s how Erik found you. That’s how you became his son. He saved you from them, didn’t he?”

“Yes. He killed them all and absorbed their cumulative life years. Then he brought me here. Took me in. Cared for me. I owe him . . . everything.” He slumps his broad shoulders. The suspenders draw his shirt tight so the knit conforms to every muscle. “He has another side to him. One that wants nothing more than to be a good father. And he is a good father.”

My heart breaks to hear him try to convince me. Or is he convincing himself?

“I had my awakening when I was fourteen. Erik knew it was time, he sensed it, and led me to a whorehouse so I could feed off a woman’s energy. She was older . . . in her twenties. I crept into her bed and her dreams, and had my fill of both. After I recovered from the energy surge, I couldn’t stop remembering that another creature had done that to my own mother, spawning me, leaving her to face it all alone. The guilt became too great, and I told Erik I would never feed again. Not like that. That I’d rather starve and die. He came up with the idea for the rave club to save me, once again. A heartless beast wouldn’t do something so accommodating for a child who wasn’t even his by blood, would he?”

I want to agree with him. But Erik’s sinister plan glues my lips shut. I squeeze Etalon’s hand, hoping to transmit the same calming support his touch offers me. Our ribbon imprints flare, synchronized. His deep-brown gaze finds mine, tortured and seeking. The pull between us intensifies, but he breaks our hands apart and moves to the sink to dump out what’s left in his cup.

I stand, prepared to give him my cup, too.

His back stays turned. “Erik has a conscience about things, you see. He can’t bring himself to visit Jippetto, because he feels guilty. He can’t walk through the forest for fear of encountering the animals we’ve altered. That makes him reachable, on some level.”

I grip the handle on my teacup, forcing myself to ask a question I’m not sure I want answered. “Why does he feel guilty about the groundskeeper?”

Etalon sighs, running a hand through the dark curls on his head, leaving them disheveled. “Jippetto was twenty when his mother died, with his magic used up and nowhere to go. Being a mute, his options were limited. Erik used his underground connections and arranged for him to make mannequins for shops. He also put him up in a house in the city—a kindness in return for the information Adella had shared. When Jippetto retired four years ago, Erik invited him here, to live out the rest of his days in peace. But he had an ulterior motive, for by then Erik was formulating a plan to reunite Christine’s voice with a new body.” Etalon’s profile tenses. “Jippetto was my first, and only, human experiment to prepare my skills for the transfer. The bird whistle around his neck is hollow. It makes no sound. And the handkerchiefs he wears, they cover the scars.”

His words funnel around me—violent gusts tearing at my fortitude. My sympathy for the caretaker is shadowed by fear for my own fate. “That means . . . there’s someone else Erik wants to put my voice in. Christine’s body . . . he still has it! How’s that possible? She’s dead. She died an old woman . . . almost a hundred years ago. We are her soul . . .” My hand trembles and tea sloshes between my thumb and forefinger. I yelp.

“The hows are not your concern.” Etalon takes the cup away, setting it at the sink. “Because it won’t come down to you being on that steel table.” His voice is gentle as he takes my hand and blots the tea with a napkin to check my burn. Hard as I try, I can’t stop envisioning those long, caring fingers using a scalpel, tearing away muscle and cartilage. Slicked in blood. I jerk free, in spite of how much I crave the contact between us.

He winces and slings the napkin to the table. “Of course you fear me. I’ve done monstrous things.” Regret chokes his voice as he strides to the violin case and lifts it. “But please, know this . . . I tried not to become a monster. No animal has died under my watch. The donors are simply left mute, like Jippetto once was. And as for him? I decided if I had to commit this gruesome atrocity to give my father the happiness he’s never had, I would offer the caretaker something to make him happy, too. To soften his loneliness. So I gave him a way to talk to the birds he loved to watch from afar, and now they come seeking him, to keep him company.”

I can’t react, trying to process it all.

Etalon’s jaw muscles spasm as he grinds his teeth. “My choices have been as reprehensible as Erik’s deeds. But the difference between us is I lived long enough with a mother who loved me, to know light from darkness. Erik had only darkness from the moment he was born. To live a life with him, I learned to walk in the gray. And to be the father I needed, he learned to do the same. But gradually, Erik lost his way once more. I closed my eyes to it. Until you came, and unraveled all of my pretending. You reminded me of light, of peace and comfort. Of things I’ve not had since I stepped into the Phantom’s world. And I’m so grateful for that. I love my father. But there is no gray with him now. There is only the deepest, most harrowing black. To find him in those depths, to pull him back to the in-between, I’ll have to reach for his humanity—whatever he has left. Music and guilt. They’re the only two weapons I possess. But I need your help to wield them.”