Page 85 of Till Death

His head snapped to face me, his perfectly combed hair falling into his face. “No.”

“It’s just that… your mother spoke so kindly of him from long ago, like he used to be a sweet memory, and now everything has changed.”

“Drexel Vanhoff is not my father. He’s my uncle.”

I couldn’t hide the gasp. “Your uncle is having you tortured every night?”

“When he came into his power, darkness slowly rotted away all semblance of kindness. My mother never danced on his stage. She worked tirelessly for him, cooking and cleaning, and even helped to spread the word about his show. She was beholden to him out of the love of a sibling, long before she was bound.”

I thought of Elowen working as tirelessly as I’d seen the others. I thought of the Maestro’s men stalking the alleyways at all hours of the night. I thought of the way their eyes had lingered when they’d tried to hunt me, and the fear hidden behind obligation. What horrors and heartache Orin’s mother must have witnessed for the love of a brother. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about such terrible things.”

He stood, holding out a hand. I took it, letting him pull me to my feet before walking to the edge of the rooftop. His fingers gripped the railing as we stood side by side, watching the final traces of color in the sky melt into night.

“Tell me something happy from your childhood.”

I smiled. “I had a friend. Or what I believed a friend to be when I knew no better. Now I’m not so sure.”

My ears burned red, anticipation growing in my gut as I considered telling him that I knew about his friendship with Ro. But why was that my business, and why would I risk shattering the very fragile strands of friendliness budding between us? I was not his keeper, and he was not duty-bound to me.

“How’d you meet her?”

“She was older. She’d been so kind when no one else had. She’d protected me in a way and taught me about life in others.”

“Deyanira.” His eyes were so full of sadness that I wondered if we really could forge a friendship after all. We’d covered the hard topics. The ones that caused such heartache between us, but really, we’d danced around them, as a performer always would.

I waited for him to tell me it was just too much. That I couldn’t stay, and though there was something in both of us that may have wanted that, it could never be, but before any revelations could be made, the door opened, and Paesha and Thea joined us.

“Did we miss it?” Thea asked. “Shit.”

“Every time,” Paesha said, staring at the spot where the sun had just set.

“Are we, uh… interrupting anything up here?” Thea’s smile was far too eager, even with a face smudged with ash and her apron covered in soot.

We moved away from each other before speaking in unison. “No.”

“Great.” Paesha sauntered over to the checkered blanket and lifted our glasses one by one, refilling them with Orin’s favorite amber liquor, then handed them to each of us. “Because I need to dance.”

I’d heard them up here several times in the past, sometimes with music and sometimes without. But they’d always gathered. It usually started with laughter and fell into silence, slipping back into the house only hours before the day began.

“Happy Birthday, Maiden.” The Huntress clinked her glass with mine. “May you see your one-hundredth year with peace.”

“Cheers.” Thea joined, removing the apron and tossing it to the floor.

“Happy Birthday, Nightmare.”

Orin’s voice rumbled through me, an edge of sadness laced within. Just when I thought we were burying the hatchet between us, I began to feel as if possibly we’d resurrected it instead, both aware of how hard it would be, of the history that began between us long before we’d ever met. I’d taken the lives of people close to him, and he’d wrecked mine. Or so I thought… months ago.

“Good day or bad day?” Orin asked, turning to Paesha as he slammed his drink back and set it down.

“Bad day,” she answered, eyes falling.

He took her hand and pulled her to the center of the rooftop. They swept the blanket away and began to dance, spinning and moving as if they could both hear the pulse of an ethereal song that no one else was privy to.

She spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “He’s never coming back, and I’m not strong enough to get over it.”

I wasn’t sure what kind of man would ever walk away from someone so beautiful, with so much passion and fierceness, but whoever had hurt her didn’t deserve the redemption she clearly would have given. She was heartbroken, which really explained so much about what I’d seen from her. Dangerously loyal and incredibly protective, anyone would be lucky to stand by her side.

After whatever song they’d both heard ended, Orin slipped from her arms and moved to his cello. My heart leapt with anticipation. If anything, I’d learned I would never hear a note of music again without picturing the face he made the second those eyes fell shut as he escaped into his own melodious world.