Thorn’s jaw dropped. “What? How—”
“Adella told me, before either of you were even born. That since Christine and I were twin flames who never ritually united, Christine’s soul would be divided. A boy and a girl. You proved you were the other half when you followed me into the depths of that catacomb all those years ago. You had her fire. And when you touched my hand and stole away my energy, I felt her. I knew then that the prediction would come true: Unite the souls and the song will be reborn. A willing sacrifice to end all pain. All I had to do was find the girl, and make it so she could never say no.”
Thorn almost choked on the bile climbing his throat. Not once had Erik mentioned twin souls as part of the foretelling. That’s why he brought Thorn home with him as a child, even after his voice was taken away. That’s why he gave him the violin after Rune’s grandmother left it in box five. It was to connect Thorn to Rune early enough in their lives to make all of this inevitability come about on Erik’s timetable. He had known they were destined to be together even before Thorn did. And he arranged to make it happen here in this place, on this night.
“You . . .” Thorn’s voice was nothing more than a gritty moan, his eyes stinging with angry tears.
“Sometimes fate needs a little push.” Erik turned on the transfer machine. Lights flashed to life and reflected along the walls in time with a barrage of metallic clicks. “I’ve learned not to trust the universe to get things right on its own.” He resituated his mask, underscoring the statement. He wheeled the tray over to the opposite side of the operating table, facing Thorn with his patient between them. “Now, here we are on All Hallows’ Eve, the night of liminality. The four of us together . . . and Christine’s music will live again.”
“Are you sure?” Thorn asked, composing himself. The snakes under his feet had grown more agitated, striking at the glass with vicious tenacity. Thorn absorbed their combined life-force, sipping it through his feet. A pull of energy so minute, it felt like needles prickling his skin, so subtle Erik wouldn’t notice. Thorn siphoned the energized pulses to Rune through their shared imprints. A fiery sensation ignited along the coils of his wrist, real enough to heat the iron clamped over his skin. Rune’s coils responded, and a threadlike trail of smoke rose from the ropes binding her, burning away the fibers . . .
Ange stretched, spreading her wings wide across Rune’s body, hiding the phenomenon.
“What do you mean, am I sure?” Oblivious, Erik planted one hand on the edge of the steel table to steady it, and leaned across Rune, his shadow creeping over the skin bared above the bodice of her white dress. In his other quivering hand, he held a scalpel, studying her throat intently. “I heard her voice tonight. It was—”
“Seraphic?” Thorn offered, biting back a surge of panic. Rune’s long, dark lashes fluttered, then the eye closest to him opened a slit, peering his direction. She was awake and aware, biding her time, listening. Good girl. Don’t move until he turns his back to you.
“Yes, seraphic. Precisely.” Erik pulled down the overhead bulb to spotlight Rune’s head. He tilted his chin and laid the metal flat to her neck, planning the incision, though his hand still jittered. “I can’t seem to remember. Where is it you make the first cu—?”
“Haven’t you considered,” Thorn interrupted upon seeing Rune grow tense—a miniscule twitch of her cheekbones that only he would catch. “That the prediction’s already been fulfilled? And that you’re the one who has to make the sacrifice for us all to be at peace?”
Erik drew back, glaring at him. Scalpel in hand, he walked around the table to Thorn’s side, his back to Rune. Her face muscles relaxed.
“How do you mean?” Erik asked, his lovely, menacing voice more of a dare than a question.
“My and Rune’s souls are united, as you know.” Thorn held his gaze, catching Ange’s movement in his peripheral view. She fluttered to the floor with Rune’s frayed and scorched ropes in her bill and waddled into a corner, out of Erik’s range. “The music lives in her, and together we tamed it. Now, Christine’s voice thrives in Rune. She can use it and grow it, and glorify it. But were you to take it out and put it in a—”
“Your sister is not a corpse!” Erik lifted the scalpel to Thorn’s throat from the other side of the glass, his hand quaking. Thorn stretched his neck, felt the twitching indention at his tendon—skin still intact, but cold from the metal bite. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple rolled under the pressure of the blade. Rune had managed to sit up, a little unsteady, but cognizant enough to escape.