RoseBlood(50)

Thorn’s heartbeat stumbled. “You’ve been visiting the academy? I thought we agreed you shouldn’t venture there without me.”

Erik shrugged. “Just a quick trip up. I was careful to go while most everyone was away.”

Thorn didn’t respond. Erik was stronger than he’d been led to believe, if he could venture into the halls of his tainted past alone.

“The point I was making,” his father said, “is Rune has had her awakening, and lost control in the process. When she comes to us at the club, she will lose control again. And then, when she’s fraught with torment, I’ll offer her comfort and understanding. I’ll become what she’s been seeking for so many years: a father. You’ve already set the stage by earning her gratitude. In my full mask, I can easily step into your shoes without her ever knowing.”

“Our voices sound different . . . she’ll know,” Thorn asserted without thinking.

Erik’s lower lip curled on a scowl. “You spoke to her? What did you say?”

Thorn measured his answer. “I said that she and I are the same.”

Erik chuckled, a lyrical vibration that at first trickled like sweet rain, then bristled the hair along Thorn’s nape as the beauty soured to silence. “Making the first incision with the razor’s edge of sincerity. Well done. I’m apt at mimicry. I can sound enough like you to fool her. Although, I could simply erase you from her mind. She’ll forget ever hearing your voice once she hears mine.”

Thorn’s ears grew hot as that irrefutable truth ignited a flash of envy, no doubt visible to Erik’s discerning eye through the auras he was so adept at reading. Thorn struggled to compose himself.

“So what else is there?” Erik stroked the swan’s velvety red feathers, raking off the dust. “Why do you still seem so shaken?”

Because I’ve shared dream-visions with her for ten years. Because your pigeon is my mirror soul, but I didn’t know until she arrived. Because I touched her. As hard as I tried not to, I couldn’t resist. Our heart chakras have connected, and I’m helping her master her songs, against everything you asked me to do. I’m making her stronger instead of weaker.

The truth sat immovable in Thorn’s chest, and he couldn’t decide if it was fear, rebellion, or something else entirely motivating his silence. Under the scrutiny of Erik’s studious gaze, he felt his insides quake.

“I was ashamed to tell you how I’d failed,” Thorn answered at last, to ease the tension between them. “I know you wanted to be the first to make contact.” The excuse drizzled from his tongue like honey, sticky enough to make a mess but sweet enough to soothe the ache.

“I will still be the one to lead her to her identity and purpose. To free her of her cancerous songs. You merely interacted for a moment. You did what you had to do.” Erik stood, tucking his shirt into his pants. His fingers crept toward his mask and trailed the edge that covered his missing upper lip. “Unless there’s more.”

The accusation resonated on silvery notes, rising like a creature with wings, fluttering gracefully over to Thorn and tugging with its audible beak at the secrets he held caged behind his ribs. Thorn cringed at the tension in his chest, as if his breastbone actually shifted from the strain. He told himself it wasn’t real . . . buried his secrets deeper to keep them contained.

He’d learned hypnotism from Erik, although he couldn’t utilize his shattered voice for it. His talent was with his eyes and his touch. Yet, knowing how to wield such a weapon didn’t make one immune to it. Resistance was a skill that took all of his will and concentration.

“You’re not hiding anything from me, are you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a dare, and it didn’t come from Erik’s lips. It gargled up from Ange’s bill, a dark, trumpeting croak . . . it burst out of the bubbles on the surface of the fish tank . . . it hummed from the strings of Thorn’s violin housed within its case on his floor.

The barrage of disembodied voices was disorienting, even knowing his father was behind it. The first time Thorn experienced Erik’s ventriloquist wizardry, he was a child and it was entertaining and silly fun. Thorn practiced on his own so he could throw his voice, too, but never became as adept as Erik. Over time, seeing his guardian utilize the trick as a weapon to torture victims until they bent to his dark whims, Thorn lost interest in it altogether.

Just as bad as watching someone else be a recipient of the technique was being one himself. Ange squawked and waddled at his feet, sharing his discomfort.

Her ruffled reaction shook Erik out of the perverse and savage game—his default when he felt threatened. As if waking from a fugue, he blinked behind his mask, then glanced from Ange to Thorn. “Forgive me.”

Thorn wasn’t sure if the apology was directed to him or the swan.

“I can sympathize with what you’re feeling,” Erik continued, clarifying. He bent to pick up Thorn’s violin case. “This girl’s rhapsody and beauty have reawakened your muse. But know this: it’s temporary. Inspiration is a fickle and vicious mistress.” Bitterness laced his words as he tossed the case atop Thorn’s bed. “Rune was born for one purpose and only one, and she will accept this. If she doesn’t come to us, I will capture her myself. I know every catwalk, maze, and trapdoor. I redesigned the damn opera house to make it so. If your way doesn’t work, we take her by force.”