Page 7 of O Holy Spite
“You are very adaptable, ma petite lapin. It’s an unusual trait for someone your age.” We reach the front door of the building and I wave my arm at the sensor. It’s closed for the holiday, but Fitz made sure our implants would open anything on campus at any time.
Her hand smacks my chest playfully. “I know you’re a bazillion years older than me, but I’m not a child, Rennie. Lots of people have to grow up fast—some because of even worse situations than mine. I had to decide whether I was going to wallow in all the bad or let it make me stronger. Losing isn’t acceptable in the Drew family, so I went with the latter.”
Leading her into the auditorium with a mischievous grin, I nod. “I understand, but I’m not sure you comprehend how rare it is for people to make that choice. Look at your ex-friends… a large curveball came their way when you didn’t not emerge as a predator. Instead of embracing it, they chose to bully and ostracize you because they knew everyone would follow along without question.”
She snorts as we make our way up the aisle to the stage stairs. “They chose that because they’re terrible people who enjoy sucking the joy out of others for fun. It being easier was a side benefit.”
I can’t argue with that.
“Regardless, we’re not here to talk about all the negative things we have to worry about next semester.” Taking her hand, I lead her over to the shining Steinway D-274 in the middle of the stage. The one at Apex was destroyed in the blast, but those haughty Shirdals never do anything halfway. “We’re here to spend time together doing something you love.”
Her eyes sparkle as she sits on the bench, watching as I join her. “You want me to play for you? I know you love Beethoven, but I have a pretty decent repertoire now. We can do pop or jazz or musicals or classical… name that tune, Renard Laveaux.”
“Mmm, not exactly,” I reply as I stretch my fingers out. “I thought perhaps I’d play for you.”
“What?”
Shrugging, I smile as my fingers move over the keys, playing a small section of Ode to Joy. “I’ve been playing since the mid-Renaissance, Dolly. I learned at the feet of masters.”
I don’t even see the punch in the arm coming, but it smarts. “You jackass! Why didn’t you tell me? First, you’re cooking like a five star chef this morning, now you’re a concert pianist? What the hell, Rennie?”
“Ma petite, Flames and I have been alive for centuries. Do you not recall how vampires talk in all of our paranormal books? It gets boring if you don’t use the time to learn things. Languages, hobbies, talents, knowledge—we’ve both done so many things in that time that unless someone asks if we know how, we don’t even think about what skills we’ve amassed. No one is keeping anything from you… though, I’ll admit to wanting to share this with you when we had time to enjoy it.”
“Fine,” she grumbles. “You two are masters of a million things because you’re older than dirt and I’m still figuring out how to work my damn bunny. Yeah, I’m super amazing. Whatever.”
My eyes crinkle as she pouts. This is when it becomes obvious that she’s still young—when her self-doubt creeps in because she believes she isn’t worldly enough. “You, my darling girl, are refreshingly open to new experiences and change. It makes all the things we’ve done seem new and exciting. That is also a gift for an older than dirt gargoyle.”
Dolly pauses, then looks at me, then back at the piano as she bites her lip. “Okay. But can we do something I’ve always wanted to try?”
“Anything you desire, ma petite.”
“Goody!” She jumps up, tosses her coat on the floor and hops on one foot then the other to get her boots off. Left in her yoga pants and a crop top, my future mate’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she bounces on her bare toes. “I’m going to go Fabulous Baker Boys on this bitch.”
Oh, my.
Glittery
Delores
I climb onto the closed lid, my lips curved in a mischievous smirk. It’s practically sacrilege to plant my ass on an instrument this coveted, but I didn’t pay for it. The Shirdals won’t know unless someone tells them and everyone should get to live out their movie moment fantasies occasionally, right?
If I keeping telling myself that, the musician in me won’t cringe about rolling around on a six-figure piano—I hope.
“Shall I play something jazzy, then? Maybe a show tune in that oeuvre?” Rennie asks as he watches me sprawl out on my belly. “Even a modern throwback?”
I shake my head, putting my cheek in my hand as I look at him. Softly, I sing, “Stars shining up above me…”
His grin grows as his fingers dance over the keys, picking up my choice seamlessly. We drift through the song slowly, drawing out the lilting jazz standard while I luxuriate on the top of the piano. I love how the acoustics in here combine the dulcet tones of my voice and the expensive instrument, but more than that, I love hearing my gargoyle humming along under his breath. I think Renard Laveaux can sing and it’s yet another secret he’s been cradling inside of himself.
As the last chords ring out, I flip over, looking at him upside down as the vibrations on my back make my skin tingle. “I know what you’re hiding,” I sing song. “I just don’t know who you’re hiding it from.”
“You do? Please elaborate, ma petite lapin.” His brow arches as he watches me loll around, not missing a single inch of my skin on display.
“I know you can sing,” I whisper dramatically. “You’re not just a piano man, my broody gargoyle. That’s why music is always your backdrop in your room and the towers. There’s a real musician here.” I point to my heart and give him a soft, knowing smile.
For people like us, life is filled with a constant symphony of sound that runs like a soundtrack.
Renard doesn’t respond and I continue as I rub my palm over my breastbone. “You feel it here all the time; your memories, emotions, thoughts… everything is attached to the swell of a crescendo or dip of a pianoforte. The things you play allow you to relive the moments in your head like they’re happening again.”