of it was enough to give me hives, but it wasn’t until I had to perform the act, panicking when I couldn’t get the tube properly placed down his throat, and shaking when he looked at me like I was some kind of imbecile, that I vowed never to place myself in such a position again.
Yet, here I am, jumping at the opportunity to entertain an elderly recluse.
In the interview, though, Rand assured me Mrs. Blackthorne was mostly mobile and capable, requiring only the slightest assistance getting around.
Instead of taking the staircase, as before, we venture down a hallway on the first level, past a room on the right that has me slowing my steps. Every inch of the walls is covered in mirrors. Big elaborate mirrors. Small mirrors. Oddly shaped mirrors. An entire room devoted to reflection. So strange. I can’t imagine having so much space for something so useless. Aunt Midge and I are always running into one another at home, it seems.
A chime breaks my stare, and Rand comes to a stop in the middle of the hallway. “Excuse me a moment.” Setting the phone to his ear, he walks three paces ahead. “Yes?” In his profile, I catch the lowering of his brows. “You can’t be serious. The girl left abruptly with no communication, never once said a word to our in-house doctor, or nurse. She left the door to the balcony unlocked, placing Mrs. Blackthorne at grave risk.” The intensity in his voice fades as he continues down the hallway. “Whatever hallucinations she claims she’s suffered since leaving, it’s likely her own conscience biting her in the ass.”
Hallucinations? Pretending not to listen to the conversation, I look back at the room with the mirrors, but feel the light tap on my shoulder. On instinct, I flinch, and turn to find Rand holding up a finger, phone still pressed to his ear, before he walks off.
“She’s lucky the Master isn’t privy to all of this, or we’d have a far less equitable day in court.” His voice echoes down the hallway, and I keep on in the opposite direction, past the elevator toward more rooms ahead.
My wandering brings me to a doorway halfway down the corridor, and I halt mid-step, my heart leaping into my throat when I peer through the French doors.
Completely encased in windows and iron that converge into an arched, translucent ceiling, it reminds me of a cross between a greenhouse and a birdcage. An atrium with hardwood flooring and enough early morning light to illuminate the gossamer cobwebs clinging to the room. Dying plants lie about in what must’ve been a room brimming with life at one time, given the number of pots scattered throughout. In the center of it, sits the most beautiful black piano I’ve ever seen. Like the one from my dreams, where I sit and play my own compositions for a room of people who listen. Before I even realize it, my feet carry me across the room, until I’m standing in front of the beastly thing. Giving one furtive glance toward the doorway, I glide my fingertips over the ivory and ebony keys. Off to the side, on a pedestal table, is a snifter glass with an amber fluid and mostly melted ice cubes.
Swinging around, I search for another presence, but find nothing aside from scattered bits of furniture, stacked books, and what look like outdoor streetlights, the kind of Victorian era decor unfound in a town like Tempest Cove. The vines crawling over the windows outside remind me of an old London alleyway.
Mesmerizing.
I can only imagine what this room must look like in winter.
I settle my attention back on the keys and press a note, one I couldn’t recognize if someone paid me, but a common sound, found in many of the pieces I’ve played. Unlike on the old piano at school, broken down from age and overuse, these keys are even and smooth, yet slightly stiffer than what I’m used to. Heavier and crisp, as I play a simple scale. Sometimes, my music teacher would have me play at concerts when his usual pianist wasn’t available. I only have to listen to a piece once before I know the entire song, note for note. I’ve always appreciated consistent rhythms and the tick tick tick of the metronome.
A strange sensation winds down my spine, and I pause my playing, turning my attention toward the door in time to catch a flickering shadow of movement outside the