Within These Wicked Walls(84)

But Magnus jolted and held me close, because there was something else echoing, too. Some sort of slapping sound coming from the game room.

“God, what was that?” he whispered. He grabbed my hand as I moved toward the questionable sound. “What are you doing?”

“Stay here,” I said, rushing to the door, but Jember’s laugh made me freeze before I could enter the room.

“Are you trying to break me?” I heard him say. “Your skin is hard enough without you using full force.”

Definitely questionable.

I peeked into the room and saw Jember and Saba standing on opposite sides of the billiards table, their hands flat against the fuzzy surface in front of them. I felt blessed to witness the full glory of him and Saba playing the slap game. Both at once, they each shot their right hand out, attempting to slap their opponent’s left hand. Jember won that round, managing to move his hand out of the way and slap Saba’s.

It didn’t have an official name, and as I grew older I wasn’t really convinced it was a game as much as a method Jember had invented to torture me. We’d played it when I was little, as something fun to pass the time between possible dinner and leaving to see a client. My left hand was usually red and sore by the end. I was fast, my reflexes good, but Jember’s slaps hurt.

To be honest, I was glad Saba was giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“Andi,” Magnus whined, and I waved him away.

Saba slapped Jember again and he laughed and swore, grabbing both her wrists. “Play fair. I need these hands for work.”

She gave him a flirty, teasing look, turning one of his palms faceup to trace his fingers with hers.

They were quiet for a moment. It was a sweet silence, that only the crackling fire dared interrupt.

“The first time we made love was on a table like this,” Jember murmured, and Saba’s smile was instantly uncontrollable, her gaze shy as she dropped it to the table. “Remember that?”

She bit her lip and nodded, searching his face. And then she climbed onto the table, crawling over and closing the gap between them as she kissed him. I had to press my palms over my mouth to keep from cheering.

I’d gotten them together, as stubborn as they both were. This had to be one of the most rewarding moments of my life.

I heard Magnus gasp over my shoulder, and turned around quickly to stifle him before he could say anything to ruin the moment. Hand pressed over his mouth, I walked him down the hall a bit before taking his hand.

“What the living hell was that?” Magnus hissed.

“I didn’t want you killing their romantic moment.”

“Romantic moment? That scoundrel was kissing my mother!”

I shushed him, dragging him into the music room. “It was beautiful.”

“It was horrifying.”

I grinned, raising an eyebrow at him. “I thought you were a fan of love?”

“I am,” he said, scowling at the doorway. “When the person is deserving of it.”

“Everyone’s deserving of love, Magnus. And if they aren’t, who are we to decide that?” I sat at the hopsicar and pressed a few keys, and he sat beside me. “Anyway, I think they’re cute together.”

Magnus grumbled.

“Let’s only think of nice things now. How about you teach me to play?”

He paused, glancing at the instrument. “Really?” His enthusiasm was palpable. He got up and went behind the back of the bench. “Sit in the center.”

I centered myself on the bench and scooted forward like I was told. And then I tensed slightly at the weight on the cushion as Magnus kneeled on it. I looked down to see his knees on the outside of each of my legs. He leaned his face over my shoulder, and I forced myself not to blush. I was wrapped in warmth. Human warmth. Better than any fire.

“This is Middle C,” he said, reaching around me to press a key. “That’s where both of your thumbs will start.”

I put both thumbs where he instructed, keeping my fingers out of the way, but was met with a short chuckle. “What?”

“You need your other fingers, too, you sweet little onion.”

If his arms were around my body it would’ve been a hug. Instead they were on my hands, gently guiding each finger to a key. His hands were so soft, and I suddenly felt self-conscious of my calloused ones.

“Relax, my love,” he whispered near my cheek, and it was the worst thing he could’ve done.

“You’re making me nervous,” I said, shoving him away with my back.

His grip tightened slightly on my hands as he regained his balance. “We both know you’re the scarier of the two of us.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment.”

“So small yet so terrifying.” He kissed my cheek and lined my fingers up again. “Ready to play?”

I nodded, too content to speak. Magnus slipped his soft hands beneath mine until my palms were against the back of his, each of my fingers curved over his. And then, slowly, he began to play. Slow enough that my hand could stay with his without any effort. Slow, but not melancholy, the notes melding like hot silver into something beautiful, something substantial. It was as if his music was creating life.

And for a moment, I basked in the thought that everything would be okay.

His hand slipped, his fingers streaking the cream keys red. All at once his playing halted, the instrument echoing eerily, the lingering notes turning sour as they hovered.