RoseBlood(78)

“He’s your familiar, isn’t he?” I traced the key at my chest like a person reading braille. It was a metallic skull with jagged teeth, like the ones every student and teacher used to unlock their dorm rooms.

“You could say that.” The fidgeting scrape of Etalon’s soles on the ground indicated either discomfort with the subject, or a desire to hurry the conversation along. “Although no one is his master. He’s my companion and accomplice, when he chooses to be.”

“And the collar is to make him appear to be a normal pet.”

“The collar is for Ange’s benefit. She’s half-blind . . . needs the advantage of the bells to warn her of his whereabouts.”

“Ange?”

“The swan.”

“Oh, her.” The red one from the chapel. “So, whose familiar is she?”

Etalon didn’t answer, as if he’d already said too much.

“Why have you had Diable following me?” I asked, trying to pull him back so I wouldn’t be alone in the darkness.

“That was his decision. You earned his trust and respect, because you tried to rescue him. Is that so hard to believe? Isn’t that what our friendship has been based on—from both sides—for the last few weeks, and for years before in our dream-visions?”

I curled my lips over my teeth and bit down.

“He may be a cat,” Etalon continued, “but he has the nose of a bloodhound. He’ll know what door that key opens, and will lead you there. Meet me tomorrow night after lights-out.”

I fisted my hands, frustrated by the limitations imposed upon me, both the blindfold and the fake trance. “Why then? Why not tonight? I need answers now. You owe me that after what I almost did to my friend.”

“I owe you more than that. But, your friend will be all right. They all will. They’ll only recall the moments that were safe. Every harmful memory will be blocked. The drug has that effect. Tonight, you need to get back before curfew. And I have to do damage control here, if I’m to protect you and your friends. Meet me tomorrow. I promised you your father, and I can give you that much.”

I huffed through my nose, though the apathy was forced. “More bait to lure me into another trap?”

Etalon made an exasperated sound. If I could see his dark-lashed eyes, they’d no doubt be narrowed in tempered frustration. How strange that I would know such a detail. It’s because I know him—on some level that defies explanation.

“I have his Stradivarius, Rune,” he answered, snuffing out my astonished introspections. “Black as oil, with the initials O.G. carved into it. I’ve been playing the instrument for you since you were seven and I was nine.”

Any response died on my tongue. My grandma said she mailed Dad’s violin back to her own address here in Paris ten years ago, when he became too weak to play it. So how did Etalon come into possession of it?

I couldn’t voice the question; his confession had left me mute and numb.

After leading me to the hearse, Etalon drew my coat flaps together to hide the necklace. As he knotted the belt, I caught his hands and held them at my waist, craving that electric charge of contact one last time.

The moment spun out, breathless and silent.

Tomorrow night. With only those words spoken to my mind, he cupped my elbow and helped me into the car, then sent me away with my friends.

Upon our arrival, the driver took off our blindfolds and deposited us on the same street where we’d been picked up. I pulled out my phone. First, I used it as a mirror to study my eyes. No light reflected back. Like my experience with Ben, the glow had passed. Relieved, I activated the screen and checked the time: 8:30 p.m.

Somehow, only two hours had gone by, even though it felt like an eternity. I called a taxi and watched over my friends until they started rousing.

When our ride pulled up, we all squeezed into the backseat, whispering about the night’s events. Just like Etalon promised, they each had partial amnesia. Quan and Sunny remembered being on the dance floor and getting approached by a tall, well-built employee with a raspy voice, asking to see their wristbands. He accused them of forging their invitations, and escorted them to the elevator. After that, nothing . . .

As for Jax, he remembered more: chasing Quan and Sunny, then stopping to watch an “out of this world” show put on by a masked opera singer. But he couldn’t remember how the performance ended. Everything faded to black until he woke up on the curb.

The relief that he didn’t recall my attack made it easier to suppress the guilt, and pretend that I, too, remembered nothing of consequence.

But, today, here in the theater, surrounded by the scents of the club locked within my hair, the indelible memories refuse to relent.

Kat’s audition ends on a pristine note. She still hasn’t mastered Renata’s madness and range of emotion, but she’s perfected all the gesturing and poses, and technically, she did everything right. Almost every student in the auditorium applauds as she steps off the stage.

Bouchard calls on Audrey next. Our friend turns our way, her smoky-eyed gaze bouncing from each of us, as if absorbing support and confidence. When she stops at my face, pain flickers behind her expression.

My jaw tightens. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to offend her.

Jax tries to touch her hand as she steps into the aisle, but she brushes him off. He casts a stormy scowl over to Quan on the other side of Sunny.