Etalon made an exasperated sound. If I could see his dark-lashed eyes, they’d no doubt be narrowed in tempered frustration. How strange that I would know such a detail. It’s because I know him—on some level that defies explanation.
“I have his Stradivarius, Rune,” he answered, snuffing out my astonished introspections. “Black as oil, with the initials O.G. carved into it. I’ve been playing the instrument for you since you were seven and I was nine.”
Any response died on my tongue. My grandma said she mailed Dad’s violin back to her own address here in Paris ten years ago, when he became too weak to play it. So how did Etalon come into possession of it?
I couldn’t voice the question; his confession had left me mute and numb.
After leading me to the hearse, Etalon drew my coat flaps together to hide the necklace. As he knotted the belt, I caught his hands and held them at my waist, craving that electric charge of contact one last time.
The moment spun out, breathless and silent.
Tomorrow night. With only those words spoken to my mind, he cupped my elbow and helped me into the car, then sent me away with my friends.
Upon our arrival, the driver took off our blindfolds and deposited us on the same street where we’d been picked up. I pulled out my phone. First, I used it as a mirror to study my eyes. No light reflected back. Like my experience with Ben, the glow had passed. Relieved, I activated the screen and checked the time: 8:30 p.m.
Somehow, only two hours had gone by, even though it felt like an eternity. I called a taxi and watched over my friends until they started rousing.
When our ride pulled up, we all squeezed into the backseat, whispering about the night’s events. Just like Etalon promised, they each had partial amnesia. Quan and Sunny remembered being on the dance floor and getting approached by a tall, well-built employee with a raspy voice, asking to see their wristbands. He accused them of forging their invitations, and escorted them to the elevator. After that, nothing . . .
As for Jax, he remembered more: chasing Quan and Sunny, then stopping to watch an “out of this world” show put on by a masked opera singer. But he couldn’t remember how the performance ended. Everything faded to black until he woke up on the curb.
The relief that he didn’t recall my attack made it easier to suppress the guilt, and pretend that I, too, remembered nothing of consequence.
But, today, here in the theater, surrounded by the scents of the club locked within my hair, the indelible memories refuse to relent.
Kat’s audition ends on a pristine note. She still hasn’t mastered Renata’s madness and range of emotion, but she’s perfected all the gesturing and poses, and technically, she did everything right. Almost every student in the auditorium applauds as she steps off the stage.
Bouchard calls on Audrey next. Our friend turns our way, her smoky-eyed gaze bouncing from each of us, as if absorbing support and confidence. When she stops at my face, pain flickers behind her expression.
My jaw tightens. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to offend her.
Jax tries to touch her hand as she steps into the aisle, but she brushes him off. He casts a stormy scowl over to Quan on the other side of Sunny.
I stuff my knitting and yarn into the tote on my lap as Sunny motions for Jax to take Audrey’s empty seat next to me. He eases over, keeping his head low. The spotlight blinks on, illuminating Audrey and casting the auditorium in darkness.
“All right. What’s going on, guys?” I whisper to my three rave accomplices as the instruments begin the intricate piece.
Slapping a hand over his face, Jax hunches in the seat. “I told Quan about what happened between us. I . . . wanted to know if anything weird happened with him and Sunny. I thought maybe there was a mood enhancer in the smoke during the performance or something. But Quan can’t keep his fat mouth shut and leaked it to Sunny. Audrey overheard them talking.”
Sunny punches Quan’s arm. He glares at her and a whispering argument sparks between them, leaving me and Jax uncomfortably close in our seats. A sense of dread grows within me, mirroring Audrey’s haunted vocals as they swell over the instruments and float to the crystal chandelier.
Gathering up my courage, I turn to Jax to find him studying my face intently in the dimness. So, he’s remembered more than he admitted yesterday. But he’s not acting scared, which means he still hasn’t remembered that I almost killed him.
My pulse pounds in my wrists. “What are you talking about . . . what happened between us?” I blurt, a lame attempt at playing dumb.
Jax squeezes his thighs with his fingers, his blue eyes—bright even in the shadows—fixing on mine. “Our kiss.” He squints. “Rune, don’t you remember? We were crazy. I didn’t want to stop. I’m blanking on what led up to it—if you initiated it, or if I did. Or what happened after. But I remember that. I’ve never felt so much so fast. Intense . . . uninhibited.”