Page 102 of The Other Side of Green

“Yes?”

“Stay out of trouble for fuck’s sake, Lyra.” And with that he hung up, leaving me with a watery smile on my face.

Stay out of trouble? That might be kind of hard in the circumstances.

Putting my cell down, I glanced around the room, realizing that coming back here had made me feel something that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. A homecoming of sorts. I’d spent so long wanting to be anywhere other than New Orleans, and then when I’d arrived here only a few short months ago I’d just wanted to get back, scared by the lie I was living.

So what happened to Lyra Lennox now?

No lies.

Well… apart from being in love with Jack Cross. No one could know about that, for him not for me—that truth hummed though me.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the jangle of the chain that connected me to my music started to vibrate.

On autopilot I stepped across the wooden floor to grab my violin from where I’d left it by the door, putting it on the bed and snapping the latches open. I didn’t stop to think, question, analyze. I blocked everything except the jangle of the chain as I hooked the violin under my chin, embracing the arch of my arm. The bow weighed light in my right hand.

Maybe Greene was right. Maybe it was time to start making promises to myself—feel my way into who I wanted to be.

I ran a quick scale to warm my fingers, but they were still limber from the awful practical we’d done in the seminar.

Keeping my eyes shut I waited… patiently waiting for the muse to find me, visions in my head of Jack and the way we were, the connection, his kisses, the taste of him, how I always wanted to feel his skin warm next to mine, the tight pull of his arms as he slept, his breath against my neck.

Pulled some notes, ringing them into the empty corners of the room.

For a moment I transported back to a room with peach walls, feet planted into the ground as I tried to make anything other than a squeak come from the strings in my hand, the ache in my arms, the cramp in my knees from standing so long, the indentations on my fingers from tight strings.

Then further.

“What’s this?” I asked, frowning into the box.

“It’s a violin.” Grams shot me down with her dry stare that withered mortal souls to dry leaves.

“I can see that, Grams, but why is it on the kitchen table?” My stomach grumbled and I reached for a peanut butter cookie still slightly warm on a plate.

Grams shrugged, her typical non answer. “Figured you could do with a hobby.”

“But I’ve never played an instrument in my life.”

She turned, dark eyes bright, her apron pulled tight around her middle, splattered with a starburst of flour. “So said every single person who plays one.”

I eyed her narrowly. “What are you up to?”

She shrugged again and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Maybe it will give you something to do other than sit on the back step.”

My newly developed flush heated my cheeks and I stared hard at the violin, already despising the fact it was meant to keep me away from my favorite occupation of sitting on the back step and waiting for Luca and Blue to trail home from whatever scrape they’d been in—and they would, daily.

“I like sitting on the back step. I can hear you singing while you cook.”

“Well, Little Miss Lyra, maybe this will keep you busy and out from under my feet.”

“Rude,” I grumbled under my breath.

Hours later the back doorjamb hadn’t slammed with Luca’s return and I simpered on a sulk that he could do what the hell he wanted. So what if he was older.

I snapped the case, releasing a bloom of dust that caught in my lungs, and lifted the instrument out. Surprisingly light, it sat in my hand dangling like an extension of my fingers, the wood surprisingly warm.

A bow with white hair sat in the box and I lifted it out, staring at it. What sort of hair was that?