I'd barely made it ten feet to the library when the intercom let out this electronic shriek. I flinched. It sounded like a needle being driven into my ear.
"Attention, students of St. Aurelia."
The Principal's voice was dry, like dead leaves on pavement. My stomach did a slow roll. A mandatory assembly. Around me, doors started flying open. The hallway filled up with a churning sea of blue blazers. I got shoved and jostled, my shoulder clipping a doorframe hard. I couldn't catch my breath.
Inside the Cathedral, the air was freezing. Then I felt it. That specific, burning pressure between my shoulder blades. Dmitri. His stare was a hand on the back of my neck.
The Principal stood in front of the rose window, a black smudge against the glass. "Tradition is the bedrock of this institution," he droned. The words kept echoing until my head buzzed. "The Winter Masquerade is this Friday. Wear the masks you want, but remember, the standards of St. Aurelia remain."
The crowd let out a low, hungry sound. The Masquerade. They finally announced. The day of my execution. A fancy butcher's block. My palms were sweating. I tried to disappear into the wood of the pew. When it was over, I moved like a stray dog, head down, weaving through the bodies. I just needed a dark corner where I couldn't feel his eyes.
I ducked into the music wing. My shoes were too loud on the floor. I was almost past the first practice room when I heard it. A laugh. Sharp as a knife.
My feet felt glued to the floor. My blood ran cold as if my body already knew this kind of fear. I backed up, pressing into the alcove of a water fountain. The marble felt like ice on my spine. Whose voice was that?
The unmasking isn't just for show, Alexandre," her voice slid under the door. She sounded bored. "I've arranged for the girl to wear the Caged Lark ensemble. It's an old piece, wire, tattered silk, and a headpiece that locks at the jaw. A literal muzzle."
A chill dripped down my backbone. A muzzle.
"By the time the clock strikes twelve," she continued, and I could hear the rustle of her expensive silk suit, "she won't just be a social pariah. She'll be a spectacle of animalism. I want the donors to see exactly what she is, a stray we tried to domesticate. When the mask comes off and they see her struggling to even speak... the 'Valois' ghost will be dead. Not because we killed her, but because we made her pathetic. You don't fear a dog in a muzzle, Alexandre. You pity it. And pity is the one thing a legacy can't survive."
Dmitri was right. There was no "California Program". I don't know who that is but she wasn't planning a joke. She was planning to erase my soul. To make me a sub-human prop for the entertainment of the elite.
I started shaking, a deep, ugly vibration. My fingers fumbled with my violin strap. Move. You have to move. But my legs were dead.
Somehow, I got my feet to work. I shuffled away, jerky and weird. I found myself drifting toward the courtyard doors. The grey light outside was a shock. I took two steps onto the gravel.
A hand grabbed my shoulder, hard and heavy, and wrenched me around. Everything tilted. My back slammed into a stone pillar. The impact knocked the wind right out of me. I let out a ragged whoosh.
Dmitri.
He blocked out the light. His hair was a mess, like he'd been tearing at it. His eyes were a nasty, hurricane grey.
"You were supposed to be in your room," he rasped.
I tried to suck in air. "Dmitri, let go—"
"I told you." He leaned in, his body pinning mine against the stone. I could smell him, leather, mint, and that metallic tang of rage. It filled my head. "I was clear. Stay. In. Your. Room."
"I'm not a pet!" The words came out thin and panicked. I hated it. "I have to live here! I can't just vanish because you're having a fit!"
His free hand came up and framed my face. His thumb dug into my jaw, just shy of a bruise, forcing me to look at him. "This isn't a fit. You're blind. Do you think my father is the only person you should be running from? There are more of them lurking in the shadows. And you're walking through the rubble because you're too proud to take the path I gave you."
Hot tears burned behind my eyes. "I heard her," I spat, my voice shaking. "I don't know who she was. She was on the phone with Director Rousseau. There's no "California program" anywhere, Dmitri. They are planning to kill me. Hiding won't save me. It just makes it easier for them."
For a long second, he just stared. He raked his eyes over my face, looking at the fear I couldn't hide and the pride I was holding onto like a broken piece of glass. I could see him calculating, frustrated that he couldn't just order me to be safe.
Then he moved.
His hand shot past my ear and slammed into the stone.
The crack of his knuckles on the pillar was loud. I flinched hard, eyes snapping shut for a second. Pure animal fear.
When I opened them, his face was right there. His breathing was heavy.
"Fine." The word was a growl. "Now, you know the games they are willing to play. If you go to that Masquerade, you go as mine. Not a charity case. Not a student. Mine."
The word hit my stomach like a hot stone. A claim. A collar. It made me feel sick and weirdly steady at the same time. "What does that mean? Does it change anything?" I whispered.
"It means you play by my rules." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small box wrapped in black paper. He shoved it against my palm and forced my fingers closed around it.
"Do not open this until you're in your room," he commanded. His eyes felt like they were swallowing me whole. "And Isabelle?" He leaned closer, his lips almost touching my ear. I shivered so hard I nearly fell. "Leave that room again before sunset and I'll lock the door myself. I don't care who hears you screaming. Try me."
He pushed off the pillar and was gone, his black coat snapping like a wing.
I stood there, glued to the cold stone. My heart slammed against my ribs. My shoulder throbbed. I looked at the black box. It seemed to swallow the light around it.
I don't remember the walk back. Stairs, doors, and voices that sounded like they were underwater. My hands shook so much I could barely get the key in the lock. I fell inside, slammed the door and threw the bolt. The thunk of the metal was the only thing that felt real.
I leaned against the door, violin case hanging from my hand. I was vibrating. His words kept repeating.
Mine.
Slowly, I sat on the edge of the bed. I stared at the box. Opening it felt like sticking my hand into a trap. But not opening it... that was giving up. And I didn't have anything left but the will to keep going.
My fingers were wet and clumsy as I picked at the black paper. I pulled the ribbon. The paper fell open.
I lifted the lid.
My breath stopped. The air just left the room.