Page 63 of Petrify

“We can do it.” I nod again, looking anywhere but him. He unnerves me. “I… I will adjust our lessons.”

“Good.” Mrs. Beauchene widens that fake smile. “I knew it’d be no problem. You’ve done so well with him this far.”

Despite the overarching threat, my face heats at the compliment. “Is there anything you specifically want him to showcase? Any particular song?”

It’s meant as an offering.

I don’t like the way Mariane smiles at me.

“Chopin has a prelude. One our family has fond memories of. I don’t remember which?—”

“C minor,” Leo says. In the yellow light of the lamps, his teeth are shadowed, his skin taking on a sallow tone.

Time stops for a fraction of a second. My heart thuds in my chest.

Breathe, Mallary.

“Yes, that’s it. Maybe start with that song. You can choose whatever else you’d like…” She keeps talking, rambling on about the importance of setting Henri up for future success. That if I fail, I’ll only be holding him back, and isn’t that the opposite of what I want?

I can get Henri up to speed. He’s smart. He’s a good student.

“I—I can do better.”

They’re both smiling saccharine smiles, hiding behind faked politeness when really they want me scared enough to do their bidding. I suddenly feel like an idiot, thinking I would come here and that the Beauchenes would welcome me with open arms. People like them can’t fake happiness. Nothing is enough.

An eight-year-old son who can already play Chopin is not enough.

Mariane turns and leaves, but Leo lingers.

“Don’t disappoint us, Miss Doyle.” He steps closer. “It would be a shame to have to find a new tutor for Henri again.”

He stands in front of me, using his size for intimidation. Taller than me, but not as imposing as Bastien. His son.

They’re scared of him. Bastien told me not to worry. Because they’rescared of him.

“You won’t have to,” I say.

Leo’s haughty smile widens. “Time will tell. I look forward to seeing what you can do.”

Chapter 32

The Ghost

When I findher at midnight, she’s standing, still as a statue, in the window overlooking the eastern grounds. She doesn’t notice me approaching. She never does. Eyes glazed over as she peers out at the pond, unblinking, fingers twitching at her sides.

“Mallary.”

Her lashes flutter.

In the moonlight, she looks calm. Her freckles dusted across her skin like a spattering of India ink, her dark eyes glittering and shining.

Only when I’m close enough to breathe her in can I hear the little gasps catching in her throat. Her shallow breaths are too rapid, too thin.

“Mallary,” I whisper, reaching up to brush her hair away from the column of her neck. She stares, wide-eyed, out at the pond. She will only move if I make her.

I wrap my arms around her waist. Pull her into me. She fits against me so perfectly.

She’s trembling, each gasp agonizing, and she won’t blink, she won’t hear me, no matter what I say, no matter how many times I call her name. She’s not here, even when her body is in my arms.