Page 3 of A Dance Macabre

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WOLFGANG

As soon as she hears her name, she releases me, acting as if her name is god-like, imbued with any real power.

Self-aggrandizing bitch.

I wheeze in a long, noisy inhale, hand to my throat. It takes me a few seconds to regain my bearings. When the oxygen finally travels back up into my brain, I spring up from the water, stark naked andlivid.

But it’s too late, Mercy is already marching out the doors, her ridiculous hat plopped back over her long black hair. I whip my wet hair out of my eyes, still breathing hard as I listen to the goading clacks of her heels on the marble floor.

She’s a plague, a grotesque blight on the city I wish I could erase.

Oh, how I wish I could just kill her—collect her blood in vials, trickle it into the bath water like an expensive oil, andsoakin it. I’d take great joy in her death. Turn it into a holiday.

Unfortunately, it’s not that simple.

Lifetimes of tradition bind us together.

Our families have been feuding for as long as I can remember, but still, we rule the city together. It’s how it always has been, and how it always will be.

Pravitia is ours.

But gods be damned if I enjoy sharing it with a brute like her.

My fingers linger on my throat, miffed at the thought of Mercy leaving my unblemished skin marred and bruised. I step out of the bath and shrug my robe over my shoulders, keeping it open as I retrieve the severed finger from the floor.

I didn’t want to admit it openly to Mercy, but the signet ring piqued my interest. Unlike what she presumes, I wasn’t purposely trying to dig up dirt on her. Besides, we’ve known each other our entire lives, I wouldn’t need an inconsequential plebeian to do my bidding.

I would have taken great delight in breaking into her Grounds myself.

But if someone from my staffissniffing around, I should be the first one to know.

Bartholomew, my thirty-something assistant, is standing on guard next to the exit. Undoubtedly, he’s witnessed my spat with Mercy, but having been under my employ for a few years now, he knows better than to intervene. I press the finger into his palm. He swallows hard, his freckled face blanching as I give him a quick pat on the cheek.

“Find out who this belonged to, will you?”

It’spast midnight when I stroll barefoot into the Hall of Mirrors, my hands in the pockets of my red velvet smoking jacket. The vast hall, with its vaulted ceilings, dozen bay windows, and matching arched gold mirrors on either side, is myfavorite part of Vainglory Tower. It connects my living quarters to the public areas of my apartments.

I come here when I need to think. Something about staring at my reflection calms me. I’d be remiss to pinpoint my favorite feature. Everything about me is eye-catching. Delightful even. It reminds me of my own excellence. The magnificence of Wolfgang Vainglory.

I need a pick-me-up, especially after my tiresome scuffle with Mercy earlier.

I loathe to think that there was an additional motive in her barging into my bathhouse.

Today of all days.

She knew the importance. She knew it wasmyday. But Mercy is as selfish as any of us, even if she likes to pretend that some of our customs are beneath her.

There’s a buzz under my skin. It’s a peculiar sensation, one that is only summoned on days like these. And even if I’m accustomed to it, it still leaves me restless.

Walking up to a cushioned bench pushed close to one of the bay windows, I lift the seat, revealing a red leather violin case inside.

Playing the violin always manages to help with thisitchyrestlessness. Something about creating melodies appeases the chatter. I’ve never questioned it. Maybe the music connects me with something divine, a private conversation between me and the muses.

Although, I’d be hard-pressed to find anything more divine than myself.

I take the violin out and slip it between my shoulder and chin. Closing my eyes, I let the silence surrounding me take a long, slow breath as I do the same. Placing the bow against the strings, I begin to play, keeping my eyes shut during the first few strikes of the cords. When I hear the haunting notes bounceoff the windows and walls, vaulting straight back into my ears, I open my eyes and gaze directly into the mirror.

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