Page 99 of Petrify

I reach for him. And when he kneels before me, I do everything I can to hide my surprise. This man, capable ofmurder,and yet he kneels when I tell him to.

He leans into me, his chest between my knees, pressing his masked face to my sternum, those big hands bracketing mythighs. After a moment, he deflates, the tension disappearing from the muscles of his back under my hand.

The moment my fingers trail through his curls, his breath hitches, and then he’s relaxing even more, his arms loosely wrapped around my waist. He moans. “Mallary.”

“Bastien.” Barely a whisper.

I think back to the first few times he revealed himself to me—how I’d been scared to speak, scared he’d hurt me, or worse, never return. And somehow, somewhere, something changed between us, and now my heart needs him, yearns for him like oxygen. For the man under the mask.

He holds me in place, shuddering under my gentle touch. “You can’t leave me.”

“I won’t?—”

“Please.” His whisper muffled into my shirt, fingers clutching at my sides. “Don’t lie to me Mallary, please. I can’t—I’m so tired of being so alone.” Chanting the wordpleaselike a prayer.

“Baz, I’m not…” My heart is cleaving in two. Because I don’t want to leave him.

But I can’t stay forever. Not if things go well at this party. Isn’t that the whole point? That I will go on to make something of myself, finally? I imagine myself playing onstage, for the whole audience to see, standing and bowing to their applause. Having my own shows. Living, breathing music. Sustained by fame.

I’ll be able to live off my music. I’ll never have to worry about how long the takeout will last me.

If I leave, Bastien will be once more stuck inside of these hidden passages. Acting out for attention. Hurting people. Killing. Lingering in a past that no longer exists. At the whims of Mariane and Leo.

I can’t leave him here.

And yet he has promised me this dream.

I keep running my fingers through his hair, because I don’t know how much longer I’ll really be able to.

His grip tightens, fisting the fabric of my shirt, like he knows the directions of my thoughts. “There are places on this estate that no one else knows,” he whispers.

“Baz, you promised me,” I say, afraid to speak too loud. “What was the point of writing this music, if not to hear it played in front of a crowd? Isn’tthatwhat you want?”

“Yes.” He looks up at me, on his knees. “But maybe it won’t hurt to keep you a little while longer.”

I swallow. “We’re on borrowed time already.” Though I’ve managed to checkmate Mariane for now, I’m not sure how long this will last.

His pupils dilate. “This ends when I say so.”

“Then it doesn’t have to end,” I whisper.

The words hang in the air, and he doesn’t refute them.

In a few days, I will perform his piece for dozens of rich men and women that could change my life, if they wanted. Someone will fund me, someone will give me that one last connection I need for the dominos to fall in place. I will return to New York, because that’s where the concert halls are, the recording studios, the executives. I will play for bigger and even bigger crowds.

And all of it will be because of Bastien’s music.

“Do you…wantto return to the city?” he asks.

I haven’t truly thought of an alternative. “I can’t stay here forever,” I say.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes. I think I would like to.”

If he doesn’t like my answer, he doesn’t say it. “What is New York like?”

“Loud. Too many things going on, all the time. Too many people.” I say. “But it’s also everything you could ever want.You can do anything. Whatever you’re looking for, it’s there, somewhere.”