Page 85 of Petrify

“Your—Mariane offered me money,” I say, “to leave.”

“To leave.”

“Ten thousand dollars,” I whisper.

“And is that enough for you?”

If ten thousand dollars had been offered at the beginning—I would have taken it and run. I would’ve figured out another way to keep my spot in the symphony, another way to get my nameout there. To do what I love. To get out of that apartment.

But now…

“No.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear me. “They want to take you away from me. Of course they do. For the past decade, while Leo and Mariane moved on, had another son like nothing happened, I’ve been–-”

He reaches for my hips again, but he stops himself.

“At first they visited me—she visited me. But by the time I was eighteen I lived in isolation. I wasn’t allowed out. For my own good, they said.”

And then he really does reach for my waist.

“My own mother avoided me. The staff—they wouldn’t look at me. At some point I began to wonder if Ihaddied and truly only existed as a ghost amongst the living.” His fingers tighten and he won’t look at me, staring at some point above my head. “And so I lived separate from them. Like in a mirror. All the same walls, all the same comforts, butalone.”

I don’t know what to say.

“Henri is doomed to follow in my steps,” he says. “I think that is the curse of this house. For all progeny of this line to suffer. None of the Beauchene men have happy endings. Do you believe in curses, Mallary Doyle?”

“I don’t know.”

His head tilts. “Maybe you should. You’re still here.”

I pull away, suddenly uncomfortable, suddenly realizing the precariousness of my situation—how I've effectively trapped myself in the web of a lethal spider.

No one knows where I am. No one will think to find me here.

He killed her.

“You don’t have to admit it now. But I've seen you, therealyou, since the moment you walked through that front door.”

I’m putting distance between us in the next second, backing away, while he remains still, unblinking. Insisting, “You’re not making any sense.”

“You barge in here, asking if I killed Henri’s last tutor. The answer is yes. But you never asked me why.”

I stop only when I know I’m nearing the window. The east lawn spreads out behind me through the barred glass. “Why?”

He follows me with slow, measured steps. “I happened to see her pull his hair after he made a few mistakes. Therewere bruises on his face. Her one chance, blown in a moment of frustration. So I strangled her.” He’s halved the distance between us again. “He doesn’t know how to fight back. He doesn’t have the mind for violence, like you and me.”

My eyes burn. My spine hits the glass, icy even through my sweater.

He’s looking at me like he knows—he knows—he knows everything, sees everything, it seems, and it’s so unfair that fury heats my blood.

And then he’s in front of me and my hand is flying, connecting with his cheek.

It’s a miracle the mask doesn’t break, doesn’t fall to the floor.

His head whips to the side.

I gasp at the loudcrackof sound. He makes me reckless.