Page 28 of The Guardian's Curse

“Yes?”

“Would you mind if I play your piano?”

He was quiet for a while. “Go ahead. There’s music in the bench. Please cover the keys when you’re finished.”

“Thank you,” she said hastily. “Um...just yell if you need something.”

The door closed, and she let out a heavy sigh.

With her heart still thrumming, she retreated to the living room. The piano bench creaked open, revealing a messy sheaf of sheet music. There were several books of etudes mixed with dozens of pieces of sheet music. Dense notation spilled over the pages in a deluge of ink; far too complex for her rusty skills. The pages were marked with pencil, just like her own books from childhood. Some of the music looked old and handwritten, as if he’d bought first editions. She finally found a familiar piece, the Carnival of the Animals by Camille Saint-Saens.

The thought of Alistair listening to her made her nervous, but this place was a dream come true. It was like being in the salon of some wealthy prince, with one of the most gorgeous grand pianos she’d ever seen. It was practically a sin not to play it. She hesitated, then placed her fingers to the keys, rolling them across the first chord. The vibrations resonated through her, the clear sound shimmering in the air.

Her chest swelled as she took a deep breath and began to play. She’d spent years learning to play with her father, and then with a tutor when Emmanuel no longer had time for frivolities like time with his daughter. She caught herself humming the melody quietly as she played the familiar tune.

A throat cleared behind her. She jumped in surprise and spun around to see a dark silhouette behind her. “Alistair? Did you need something?”

He was cloaked in black from head to toe. Like yesterday, a hood hung low over his face. Even his hands were covered in sleek black gloves, leaving no skin exposed. A pleasant, woody smell wafted from him.

“Nothing,” he said gruffly. “Would you take instruction on your technique?”

Her stomach churned. “Oh...sure. I know I’m not very good, just—”

“You’re quite good, actually,” he interrupted. “But your technique is keeping you from playing as well as you could. Face the piano, please. You’re sitting too close.” There was a quiet thump as he set his glass on a nearby table.

She raised her eyebrows, then faced the keys. Excitement bubbled through her. He crept behind her, so close she felt fabric against her shoulder. Suddenly, she jolted as he pulled the piano bench back. Her shoulders pressed into his chest, and the edge of his hood whispered over her bare skin. God, he smelled good.

“Straighten your wrists,” he said. This close, she could feel the deep vibrations of his voice, rich and dark. He gently touched her right hand and straightened her wrist before placing it over the keys. “Always straight wrists. When you sit too close, you must bend to play. Proper placement is as important as playing the right keys.”

“Got it,” she said. She glanced back at him. It was disconcerting to talk to that void, with only the glowing red of his eyes peeking from the darkness. “Miss Jean told me the same thing, but I forgot, apparently.”

His gloved hand lightly touched her upper arm, sending a shiver down her spine. “Now you can use your arms to play,” he said. “Your fingers should not do all of the work. Again.”

She drew a deep breath, then started at the top. With him looming over her, it was hard to focus. When she fumbled a tricky passage, she yanked her hands away and shook her head. “Sorry.”

“I make you uneasy,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“No,” she blurted. “I don’t mind.”

“Keep practicing,” he said, fading into the shadows. She was strangely disappointed to watch him go. The echo of his touch still prickled across her skin.

Though it was disappointing be alone again, she found herself smiling. Perhaps he was willing to risk the light to be around her.

No, she told herself. She needed to keep all eighty-eight keys of this piano between them at all times. Between the rich voice, the masterful musicianship, and the clean scent that made her stupid, she was playing with fire. There were plenty of beautiful things in the world that could kill careless witches.

Maybe they could be friends. She was friends with Paris at a respectful distance.

“Playing with fire,” she muttered to herself.

* * *

The next day, Shoshanna began her workday with good news from the vampire court. She had received authorization from Violette to order the expensive supplies. The vampire woman’s response was short and simple:

I trust your judgment. Ensure that you obtain the lowest prices. Order whatever is necessary.

-V

It was thrilling to spend someone else’s money, to the tune of nearly ten thousand dollars just for the preliminary ingredients. She was tempted to add a few things for herself, but she didn’t want to end up on the bad side of a vampire accountant.

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