RoseBlood(21)

I’m drowning.

My skin freezes, my lungs burn; my mind grows dizzy, numb. I kick against the wooden walls, but I’m too weak, too small, too scared to break through.

Unconsciousness ebbs.

The violin revives me. It becomes more than music. It becomes a voice.

My maestro speaks through it, coaxing me to fight my way to freedom. I grit my teeth and kick again. Everything I do is in slow motion, until finally, my left knee bursts through, leaving a gaping gash in my skin. It will be a scar one day.

But all that matters right now is I’m free.

The box bursts open and I swim to the surface. Overhead the night sky greets me, blanketed in stars. The musical laser-light show becomes planets in chaotic disarray. I drift upward until I’ve joined them, in the middle, at the epicenter of the Milky Way, where it’s warm and comforting like a velvet throw.

My own song breaks free to join the violin, a duet both celestial and powerful. The spaces resonate in my head, lining up behind my mouth and nose and transitioning to my upper register. My voice lifts—a high C so pristine it forms a golden glow—a bubble made of glittering energy. It matches my maestro’s sparkling eyes.

The planets and stars in the galaxy float around us, aligning, riding upon the melody the violinist and I now carry as one.

Two halves united.

With the heavens aligned, all is right with the world. Music and love and happiness. Also, peace.

The universe belongs to us. Together, we own it.

Together, we won.

“Rune.”

The whisper warms my ear. I curl up and pull the covers over my head, reluctant to leave the private haven of REM sleep.

“Come on, hon. They’re serving breakfast in the atrium. You need to eat so you can get to class on time. How are you feeling today?”

The concern in Mom’s voice shatters my utopia, but I already know the details of that dream by heart. It’s the same one I started having shortly after Dad died. The dream that pulled me through the darkest and most terrifying event of my life, when my grandma tried to drown me. When I was falling unconscious, his music roused me and gave me the power to save myself.

Even after that, my maestro continued to keep my subconscious company for a long time during nightmares of the event, until I suddenly stopped dreaming of him two years ago. I’ve missed our duets in my sleep. It felt so good to finally be in that place of comfort again.

All this time, I’d always assumed Dad’s spirit was the one playing the violin . . . my deliverer of music. And that his eyes shifted from hazel to flashing coppery-gold to serve as my beacons in the darkness.

But yesterday, I saw those eyes shining inside the gardener’s hood. And now I’m having my dreams again.

What does that mean?

I shiver, only partly because Mom drags off my covers to expose my skin to the chilly room. I squint at her. She’s holding the bed curtains open, and soft lavender light filters into my comfortable cave from the lava lamp. It still looks like midnight in my tiny room. Her stance is blocking my digital clock.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Seven thirty a.m.”

The answer shocks me enough to sit up, so fast I almost bump the top of my head on the antechamber’s low, arched ceiling. “You’re supposed to be at the airport by eight! Why didn’t you wake me up earlier? I wanted time to say good-bye.” I feel like a little girl again, needing that red thread around my wrist so I can let her go.

Mom pats my hand. “It’s okay. I called and got my flight changed. I’m going to stay till the end of the week, to catch up with Lottie and to do a little sightseeing on my own. I can buy a few outfits to wear while I’m here. Maybe I’ll even find the perfect wedding dress, yeah?”

“Mom . . . you should be back home with Ned, planning the wedding.” Newly engaged, and he’s all alone at our house instead of spending quality time with his fiancée.

She shakes her head. “You’re my priority, Rune. I just don’t feel good about leaving yet. Your spell was . . . different this time.”

Her unspoken I’m worried you might be going completely bat-monkeys like Grandma Lil echoes in the silence. The lava lamp makes a soft burbling sound and the fluorescent light casts everything in eerie shadows. Mom looks like half of her face is gone.

I cringe and roll my shoulders to alleviate the sense of dread and confusion rising around me like the freezing water in my dream, adding to the guilt I’m already wrestling with over so many things—including making Mom stay longer, all because I faked fainting yesterday.

Not only did she have to call the airport, she had to notify her boss at the house-cleaning service, too. Now she’s using up vacation days that should be saved for her honeymoon. She must be really upset to disrupt her life like that.

And to think, she doesn’t even realize how screwed up I am.

“Let’s get a move on.” She nudges my left knee with her palm, almost touching the scar that’s exposed by my lace-trimmed shorty pajamas. “The seniors have last breakfast while the juniors start their classes. It’s the perfect time to meet the kids you’ll be graduating with.”

I cringe. After the “fainting” incident yesterday, I stayed in my room the rest of the evening and was able to avoid meeting any of the students other than Sunny. However, most of the teachers breezed through for introductions.