Page 102 of The Musician and the Monster

Malik led him up a twisting staircase he was sure might break under their combined weight and into a place near the rooftop where various curtains and set pieces were secured.

“Here.” Malik stopped, kneeling near a low railing. “She’ll be on in moments.”

From this angle, he could see both behind the vast crimson curtains blocking off the stage and the audience finding the last of their seats.

“You can watch the show from here and then venture back down,” Malik whispered. “No one should bother you up here if you stick to the shadows.” He glanced at Drystan’s still-bloodied hand. “A spell wouldn’t hurt. Just to be sure.”

Drystan pulled the shadows to him once more, his previous spell still active, and Malik’s brows rose.

“One step ahead of me, I see.”

“I’ve had to be.” And ahead of just about everyone else’s scheming too if he wanted to keep his head.

“Ah, yes.” Malik’s gaze darted away before settling back on him again. “Well, once she’s done, meet us in Ceridwen’s dressing room. At the base of the stairs, take three lefts, then a right. There’s a storage room with a mirror. It’s double-sided with a short passage in between, and the other side goes into the dressing room she uses.”

“How do you know about this?” Drystan asked, suddenly suspicious.

Malik stared at him side-eyed with a little smirk. “I had athing for dancers for a while.”

It figured his cousin would know the way into a woman’s dressing room. He nearly rolled his eyes. Of all the reasons he could give, that one absolutely fit.

“You’re not into them anymore?” Drystan prodded. If he dared say he preferred a certain musician, any good favor he’d earned would vanish right then and there.

Malik shrugged. “I may have found other interests.” At Drystan’s scowl, he added, “Of the brunette variety.”

A certain sister, he’d wager. Drystan relaxed his stance, finding an almost comfortable perch. “Bronwyn?”

Malik didn’t reply, but his grin widened.

“She hates you,” Drystan replied. Or it seemed that way.

“Oh, she wants to,” Malik said. “But she doesn’t. Not really.”

Right…

At that moment, a figure appeared behind the curtains, resplendent in a pink gown that sparkled even in the shadows. His heart leaped into his throat. Recognition surged through him before the announcer, who pranced onto the stage in front of the curtains, ever said her name.

“Ceridwen,” he whispered.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. “I’ll leave you to enjoy,” Malik said, edging past him. “Besides, I might be missed if I’m gone long. Three lefts, and then a right. Find the storage room and the mirror.”

“I will,” he replied, never taking his eyes off the woman he loved.

The curtains parted. The audience cheered as she was revealed, a glimmering beauty like the Goddess herself at the center of the stage, her silver flute clutched in her hands.

When the cheers quieted, she raised the flute and began to play. Her music washed over him, seeping deep into his heart and soul and carrying all his troubles far away. Somehow, in front of all these people, her tune was even more powerful, lulling him into a sense of peace and calm he feared might be lost forever.

No matter what future awaited, he was blessed in that moment.

To see her, to hear her music one more time, and witness her dream finally realized.

Chapter 47

Ceridwen

The house lights flickered to life, slowly illuminating the crowd, as Ceridwen took a bow. Cheers erupted, and the crowd rose to their feet from chairs cushioned in plush red fabric. Golden paint on the walls and balconies caught the light, sparkling between the press of bodies like fancy necklaces in a jewelry box.

Three days. Three sold-out shows.

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