He just wasn’t sure a phantom’s son could have a normal life, with nothing to offer but dark talents and blood on his hands.
A part of him wanted to go back to last night, endlessly relive that quiet, perfect moment in the moonlight garden with Rune, drinking in her delicious white aura, tasting her soft skin, while giving her all the pleasures he’d promised. Because here in the present, a cloud of gloom closed in. Something primal hung on the air—scented with a mix of burned flesh and compost. Regret and death.
The plan he’d made was good, but it wasn’t fail proof. If he knew anything of the man who had raised him, he knew the Phantom was always one step ahead.
Always.
Thorn had put blinders on the day Rune came, too blissfully happy at their reunion to pay attention. But now, looking back, he saw the signs. All along, Father Erik had been aware that Thorn was secretly helping Rune break free from her musical demons. Yet he’d pretended not to notice and let it continue. Now, in these final hours of her freedom, Thorn realized there must’ve been an underlying reason.
Erik had insisted from the beginning that the girl who harbored Christine’s voice would have to want to sacrifice it for the transfer to work. So why would he allow Thorn to help her learn to appreciate and cherish her talent, unless it somehow furthered his cause? It surely wasn’t a virtuous gesture, a change of heart brought about by watching his only son fall in love.
One way or another, Thorn would find out tonight—a knowledge that sent knifelike jabs through his chest.
The elevator’s motor triggered Ange’s answering squawk. Erik was on his way up from the cellar. He’d been in costume for hours, impatient to go. Now that it was time, he would expect Thorn to see him off.
Struggling to steady his raging pulse, Thorn stood and slipped into the lab jacket. He took a shaky breath, raked his fingers through his hair, and looked in the mirror. He thought upon the coverings he’d created to hide behind over the years: clay, porcelain, satin, and copper. Then he schooled his features to a guise of obedient compliance, because tonight, his face was the most important mask he would ever wear.
24
FIRE AND ICE
“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.”
Robert Frost
The ballroom is abuzz with activity. The colorful auras of fifty students and six teachers mix and mingle, clash and conflict, even more distracting to my eye than the bright and extravagant costumes that range from modern culture to mythological, fairy tale, and classical.
Seated at a table, I nibble on hors d’oeuvres—grilled zucchini rolls with herbed goat cheese, tomato-and-bacon-topped marmalade on bruschetta—in an effort to look nonchalant while keeping the entrance in sight.
The Phantom is late.
Either that or he’s behind the mirrored wall, observing and strategizing. I’m shocked that I’d prefer the latter. Otherwise, something’s gone wrong with Etalon, and that’s unbearable to even imagine. The ribbon tattoo on my arm keeps stinging, as if to validate that fear. It was feeling like this even before Sunny touched it upon my arrival and commented on how well I’d drawn it, and that it was an interesting addition to my Pandora theme, and also, why did I change themes anyway, and where’s the glowing contacts?
If it weren’t against vampiric law, I’d tell her everything. It’s exhausting fabricating cover stories for such an inquisitive mind. And it would be nice to have girlfriend talks about Etalon.
The red coil on my arm burns again at the thought of him.
I glance down where Diable bats at the hem of my white flowing dress, exposing my bare feet—a result of not having the right sandals to go with my costume.
“Hey, Ghost Kitty.” The cat pauses and blinks up at me. “Go find your master. Make sure he’s okay.” I half expect him to refuse, considering his pride and that no one is his master, but he seems to sense the tension in my voice.
Wiggling his whiskers, he stretches, yawns, and jingles away, darting between students and through the double doors.
Maybe I’m worried over nothing. This is still so new to me. All I know is the sooner I get the Phantom to Bouchard’s workshop and incapacitate him with the song that breaks his heart, the sooner I can look for Etalon myself.