Sonata (Butcher and Violinist 2)

I moved my hand away from the bandage, rested it on my lap, and studied my fingers.

Will I play again? No. Don’t even say it. You will. Your fingers are just… bruised… swollen…

Pressure swelled in my chest. I looked out the window. The gray clouds seemed closer to the Earth than usual. Like everything had sank down on my shoulders.

I thought back to what the Lion had said in the theater.

Kazimir watched the screen. “You’re scared?”

I shivered. “I am.”

“I won’t hurt you, even if Jean-Pierre has given me every reason.”

“He won’t hurt your lover either.”

“She’s more than my lover.” For the first time he turned to me. “She’s more than me.”

I nodded.

“Because of my mouse, I understand Jean-Pierre’s moves, more than I ever did before. He’s lucky he did this, at this specific time.” Kazimir threaded his fingers and turned back to the screen. “I’m calmer now. I know what’s at stake. I know that this next moment, could either end the world, or continue it.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by ending the world. Would he literally end it, if Emily was not returned to him? Or, was it all a metaphor?

Uni looked at me and shook his head, scared to speak.

Kazimir spoke again, “After this is over, do you want me to kill the Devil?”

I gripped the end of the chair.

Kazimir raised his eyebrows. “You want to kill him yourself?”

“I do, but I probably couldn’t.”

“You could.” Kazimir checked his watch. “But that is a discussion for another day. The Devil will have his moment to die. For now, we wait.”

I blinked the memory out of my mind. I’d told Jean-Pierre that part in the van, in front of Louis and Rafael. Neither of the men appeared pleased, especially Jean-Pierre.

Now in the car, Jean-Pierre’s soothing voice filled the air. “Eden, what were you saying?”

“That I’m. . .”

I’m probably not going to play again. Or sleep again. Or eat again. Or not be scared again. I’m. . . not me.

Jean-Pierre slowed the car down. “What’s wrong, reine? Tell me. Anything.”

I’m not going to be the same, Jean-Pierre. I’m not the Eden, that you fell in love with. I’m someone else.

“Eden, what’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

For now, I’m fine. I can figure out my own shit. Jean-Pierre saved me from the Devil. I can at least save me, from myself.

“You need rest. We both do.” He sped up and slid into another lane. This time our first two vans had anticipated it. They stayed with him. He nodded at the one on the right, as if he’d been training them the whole time. And then he slowed up.

“In regard to your aunt. . .” Jean-Pierre took an exit and drove us off the highway. “I could help her.”

“But do you want to?”

He glanced at me quick and didn’t respond. Did he notice the change in me? The darkness? He understood darkness. But what about mine? He was strong. He was terrifying. I saw him. I witnessed it in the theater and in the mall. I’d never doubted his power. The violence that moved under his flesh. Did that mean he would understand the ugliness in me.

Fuck, Aunt Celina.

I knew what, and who he was. Even when he’d tried to hide it, I could feel the wild beast moving over me, as he fucked and pounded my body. My flesh. My soul.

But the darkness that moved in me. It wasn’t strength. It was weakness. It was hate. Sometimes, if I didn’t look at Jean-Pierre, I heard Shalimar scream.

I blinked.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “I want to take care of you.”

“You’ve seen people die. You’ve killed them.”

His next words were careful. “I have.”

“And they screamed right?”

“Yes.”

My eyes watered, as I watched him with hope. “Do you still hear them scream? Or sometimes…does it eventually stop?”

He looked back at the road, as if uncomfortable with telling me. “The screams didn’t stop until I saw you.”

I leaned against him more, hugging his arm. “That makes sense. Next to you. . .already the screams are lower. Fainter. Hinting in the back. . .behind the darkness.”

“When they come again, push them away. I’ll show you how. I’ll show you how to deal with the darkness.”

And I believed him, as I closed my eyes.

We drove some more before stopping at a luxury boutique hotel.

We had our own private suite.

The guards—that weren’t already doing their shift—had their own suites. The rest stood outside of our windows, doors, in the hallway. The only place guards weren’t posted was our bedroom. But on the balcony, two men stood away from the door.

Towering over me, Jean-Pierre took his time undressing me. With each minute, he assessed my body for injuries.

“Tell me what hurts.” He slipped his hands along my skin and my whole frame calmed under him.

“Everything,” I whispered with a wicked grin.