Strange Sweet Song

by Rule, Adi

  “You’re immortal?” She has fallen into a fairy tale. The cold space of the stairwell makes her dizzy.

  “I don’t think so,” he says. “I don’t know. You see, I’m not supposed to be who I am. I was supposed to live for a short time, many years ago. There isn’t a place for me—for Nathan Daysmoor—here and now. I have to cheat.”

  Sing stares at the darkness in front of her. All of this is starting to make an improbable kind of sense. “Why couldn’t she just make you a human?”

  “I’ve thought about that,” he whispers. “I think it’s that humans—all living things—don’t just appear out of nowhere. To make me truly human, the Felix would have had to create a space for me—parents, grandparents, all the way back. Or find a space somewhere I could fit into. Maybe it would have been too much, even for her.” He is quiet for a moment, but she waits. “She didn’t mean to hurt me. It was George who did that. He kept me here, away from the world and people who would have loved me. I told myself it was for the best, resigned myself to this existence. I couldn’t even take comfort in time passing, because it—didn’t. I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

  Sing imagines Daysmoor, alone in his tower, year after year, giving exquisite performances no one would hear.

  She senses him turn to her. “But when you came,” he says, “when I heard you sing, it drew me back to this world. Made me remember why I gave up everything to be here.”

  She can see him a little now. He tips his head back, arms propped behind him. She can see his chest rising and falling slightly as he breathes. “Do you want to wear my coat for a little while?” she asks.

  He looks in her direction and she thinks his eyes scrunch into a smile. “No. I’m okay.”

  She pulls her cold hands into her coat sleeves. “Nathan, I’m sorry about tonight. I shouldn’t have tried to … well, I just didn’t know I—wasn’t your type.” She says it with a bit of a laugh. I probably don’t have enough feathers for him.

  And she actually feels a little better about the whole thing. There is something comforting about clarity, even unhappy clarity.

  When she turns her head, he is still looking at her. “Sing,” he whispers, “you know there are a hundred reasons why what almost happened tonight shouldn’t happen. Ever. Starting with the fact that I’m an apprentice and you’re a student.”

  “I know,” she whispers.

  He hesitates. “But if I told you one of the reasons I didn’t kiss you was that I didn’t want to—I’d be lying.”

  She is silent. Of all the confessions he has made in this cold, black stairwell, this seems the most incredible.

  “I was afraid, I think,” he says, his fingers touching her face in the dark. It is his left arm, the one with the intricate ivy tattoo that starts at his wrist and snakes its way to his shoulder, a twisting bridge across the space between them that she can’t see but knows is there. “You are so lovely, and your voice—I thought you were arrogant at first. I was wrong. I know now that someone has hurt you.” Sing doesn’t know who he means. He says, “But I’ve been Apprentice Daysmoor for so long, I couldn’t talk to you, even if I had dared. And you only had eyes for Ryan Larkin.”

  She doesn’t—can’t—move. Her heart thuds. She remembers the night of the attack, with Ryan, the dark shape of Daysmoor watching them from the window. “I don’t mind,” she whispers. “You know. The not-human thing.”

  He laughs at this. She has rarely heard him laugh, and it warms her. Then, without a word, he pulls her to him and finds her mouth in the blackness.

  For a moment, she doesn’t dare believe the invisible phantom whose lips press against her own could be Nathan. She closes her eyes and slips her arms around his neck, remembering the look of his unkempt black hair as she touches it. At first his movements are slow, careful, but she leans into him, returning the kiss, assuring him. His embrace strengthens. He winds his arms around her, under her coat. She feels his fingers on her skin just over her right hip, where her shirt has come untucked from her skirt. They make her shudder, and not just with their chill.

  Something else he does better than Ryan.

  She becomes aware of light and opens her eyes.

  “I—,” he starts, pulling away, straightening his shirt. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay,” she says. “I just noticed the glowing.”

  He looks down. The teardrop in his pocket is shining through the fabric, dully illuminating their small landing. “Oh,” he says. “I think it … reacts to me. To my emotions.”

  She smiles. “So you weren’t pretending just now.”

  He laughs again, mostly with his eyes, now lit by the strange, soft light of the crystal. Then he takes her hands. “Sing, there are very, very few people who can make me feel the way you do. Most of them are dead. And none of them can do it without an orchestra.”

  She kisses him again.

  “Or a piano,” he adds, his words muffled by her mouth. She laughs.

  Suddenly, she feels his body tense. And before a question escapes her, she realizes what he has realized—the hall below them has gone quiet.

  “Is he gone?” she whispers, wondering how loud they let their voices become just now.

  “I don’t know,” Nathan says. The crystal’s light is fading, and they cast their eyes and ears into the darkness. Silence. Then—

  Footsteps. In the hall, coming closer.

  Sing wraps her arms around Nathan’s arm. Is Maestro Keppler going to come up into the stairwell? It’s absurd. Yet the footsteps continue to approach.

  The door at the bottom of the stairs gives a rattle. Someone is unlocking it.

  Nathan finds Sing’s hand and leads her skyward. They climb quickly, and Sing is relieved to hear the creak of the roof hatch and see the less-dark of night spill in from above. They pull themselves onto the cold, gray roof and Nathan closes the hatch without a sound. He puts his arms around her as they back away from the hatch, as a gesture not of affection, she realizes, but of protection. On both sides of the long, flat apex on which they stand, the slick roof slopes sharply down. Far below, the concrete walk cuts through the snow like a dark river.

  The wind drives stinging cold across their faces. She feels him shiver. “Take my coat,” she says, slipping it off. The cold hits her like a plunge into icy water. He doesn’t take the coat, but she can see his shivering intensifying. “Don’t be an ass,” she says, thrusting the coat toward him. “I have a sweater vest, at least. Just for a minute.”

  He drapes the woolen coat around his shoulders. It won’t close in the front, but she can see the relief in his face. “Thanks,” he says.

  Sing looks out over the campus. Even now, when the buildings are dark with sleep, there are dots of light everywhere—lampposts, security lights, the odd illuminated window. And the blazing Woolly, where the Gloria Stewart semifinals reception must still be going on. She casts her gaze farther, over the fence, all the way up to the icy summit of the forbidden mountain behind them. The forest is black, changing to gray above the tree line where the exposed snow contrasts with the darker sky.

  The cold scrapes at her skin, and she moves closer to Nathan. “He won’t come up here, will he?” she asks.

  “I can’t imagine why he would. Probably heard a noise in the stairwell. Once he sees there’s no one there—”

  But at that moment, the hatch flies open, landing with a thud on the tiled roof.

  Sing feels Nathan inhale sharply. He puts an arm around her, drawing her close. It is instinctual, and exactly the wrong thing to do if they are to have any hope of defending their innocence, but she can’t make herself pull away.

  Despite the mechanics of climbing up through the hatch, Maestro Keppler manages to storm onto the roof. His face is drawn, his hair unkempt.

  Sing flinches. She waits for the shouting. But it doesn’t come.

  “Nathan,” the Maestro says, “you shouldn’t be up here. It’s freezing.” He doesn’t address Sing. He do
esn’t even seem to notice her.

  “I’m fine,” Nathan says. “Go to bed.”

  The Maestro scowls. “I know what you’re plotting, Nathan. Leaving me here to rot. After—after—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I know you! What do you have in your pocket?” The Maestro lurches a step closer.

  Sing inhales. Nathan releases her, putting a hand into his pocket. “This is mine,” he says.

  The Maestro holds out his hand. “It’s not. It’s mine. Give it back, and I will forgive you.”

  To Sing’s astonishment, Nathan takes a step toward him. “Nathan,” she says, “what are you doing? Don’t give the tear to him!” Nathan hesitates.

  “Give me the crystal, Nathan,” Maestro Keppler says. “It is the only way I can keep you safe.”

  Nathan’s fingers close around the necklace. “You have never kept me safe. You’ve kept me prisoner.”

  The Maestro is silent for a moment, robes fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird. It is hard for Sing to read his expression in the weak light that reaches the roof from campus. When his voice comes, it is calm. “Is that what you think?”

  “George,” Nathan says gently, “you know I—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” The Maestro’s tone is suddenly hard. “Give me the crystal, Nathan. Do it now, and we can go home.”

  But Nathan shakes his head. “No. I can’t do this anymore. There’s a way for me to enter the Gloria Stewart after all. I have to do it, George. It’s time. It will be all right.”

  “No!” the Maestro screeches, startling Sing, who presses closer to Nathan. “It will not be all right!” He inhales deeply and seems to regain himself. Then, with a detached deliberation that sends sparks through Sing’s body, he pulls an object from his pocket. Even in the dimness, the dull, narrow gleam is unmistakable.

  He points the gun at Nathan’s chest.

  “Maestro!” she shrieks, her voice carrying across the campus and into the forest. Birds rustle the woods.

  “Damn it, George, are you out of your mind?” Nathan steps back, positioning his body between Sing and the Maestro.

  Even with the stinging breeze whipping his robes, the Maestro’s arm retains the steadiness of a seasoned conductor. Sing watches him. He seems much older now, and withered, eyes sunken in their sockets like those of a corpse. There is something inhuman in his gaze, greedy and ferocious.

  “I would have protected you, Nathan, if you’d let me,” he says. “But it’s better to end it here than lose you to the world.”

  He’s going to do it, Sing realizes. The night presses in on her—the harsh, icy air, the rattling of the forest, the glare of stars, the silent menace of the slate roof angling sharply down on either side of her, and Nathan, inches away, with a gun pointed at his chest.

  Without thinking, she wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him down to the cold slate. The monstrous noise of the pistol strikes her ears.

  At the same moment, she is aware of a rush of warmth that swishes between herself and the Maestro. A heaviness dampens the air, like the wake of a rocket. She looks up to see glistening orange fur hurtling toward Keppler.

  “Tamino!” She tries to rise, but now Nathan holds her. She hears Tamino’s menacing growl for the first time, the click of his claws running across the slate.

  A second gunshot, and all is silent again.

  A mass of glittering orange and violet slides down the slippery roof. Nathan can’t hold Sing back any longer; she dashes forward, half staggering to her feet at the same time.

  Tamino falls through space.

  Before he hits the ground, he has dissolved into a million golden sparks, which crackle and arc their ways into the blackness in every direction. It would be beautiful, were it not for the image now indelibly seared into Sing’s mind—a glimpse of lifeless blue eyes as he fell.

  Numb, she lets Nathan pull her back from the edge.

  “What the hell was that animal?” The Maestro is visibly shaken. “What was it?” He looks at the pistol in his hand. Here and there on the campus, lights flick on.

  You killed Tamino. The words don’t come out.

  Nathan doesn’t let go of her. He is shaking. Her coat has fallen off him and lies like a huddled animal, several yards away on the narrow apex of the roof.

  “George, listen—,” Nathan says.

  Maestro Keppler seems to regain his frayed senses. He raises the gun to Nathan’s chest again. “I don’t want to do this, Nathan. But you must stay here. You mustn’t go to the river.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Nathan raises a hand. “Just hang on.”

  No, Nathan. Sing doesn’t dare speak, even if somehow she could. The Maestro cannot get the crystal now. All she can see are Tamino’s vacant eyes.

  But Nathan is reaching into his pocket, sliding the necklace out. The crystal is a tiny, glimmering star.

  Sing finds her voice. “Nathan.” No.

  He doesn’t look at her. Instead he says, “I won’t leave. I won’t play. But she sings tomorrow.”

  What? “Nathan, don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “One stupid opera doesn’t matter!”

  The Maestro seems to notice Sing for the first time. “Her?” He sounds familiar now. “The da Navelli girl? She’s never singing again, my boy. She is expelled. We don’t need her.”

  Expelled. Sing exhales mirthlessly at the absurdity of it. How can that word have meaning? Here, with Nathan and the Maestro and the gun and the memory of Tamino?

  Nathan closes his fingers. “Then you’re not getting this.”

  The Maestro’s arm quivers. His gaze never leaves Nathan’s face. “Very well.”

  Sing pulls Nathan’s arm. “No! What are you doing?”

  He turns to her. “Do you know what it will mean if you’re expelled? He can ruin you. It doesn’t matter who your father is—he’s not as influential as the conservatory. George can ruin your career. And he will.”

  Sing can hear people now, talking out there in the dark. But no one hurries to St. Augustine’s; they are not certain where the loud noises came from. They are not looking to the rooftops.

  “Just give me the crystal,” the Maestro barks.

  “I’m not afraid of him!” Sing says. “Nathan, take the crystal and we’ll leave. Together. I don’t care about Angelique or this damn conservatory!” The heaviness of the night is starting to overwhelm her. Tamino is gone.

  Now Nathan reaches for her hands. His skin is cold, but his hands are gentle. “You have to care about music, Sing. It’s who you are.”

  She doesn’t know how to respond. Nathan turns, holding the necklace out to the Maestro, his fingers tightly closed. “We have a deal. I give this back, and Sing doesn’t get punished?”

  Maestro Keppler’s eyes narrow, but he nods.

  “Don’t, Nathan,” Sing whispers. “You’ll be trapped here.”

  Nathan looks at her and smiles. “Then only one thing will have changed.” And he opens his fingers.

  The Maestro snatches the necklace and peers at it. The gun falls and skitters down the sloped roof. Nathan picks up Sing’s coat from where it has fallen and drapes it over her shivering shoulders. She leans against him, suddenly exhausted. He kisses the top of her head. Somewhere below, a light flicks off.

  “But it’s just going to continue.”

  They both look to the Maestro, still contemplating the bright teardrop in his hands. His voice is soft now.

  He looks up as if surprised by their presence. “It’s going to continue, isn’t it, Nathan? You love her.… That’s so strange.”

  Nathan’s tone is careful. “What’s going to continue, George?”

  “I can’t keep you here, can I?” The Maestro’s face is so forlorn, Sing almost wants to comfort him.

  “I’ll stay,” Nathan says.

  George sighs. “You don’t want to stay.”

  Nathan is silent. Sing watches his face, but she can’t read his expression. Maestro Keppler is looking a
t them, brows drawn, mouth curved in a pensive frown. He lets the crystal fall, and it clatters on the slate.

  “Good-bye, Nathan,” he says, lifting one of his gleaming leather shoes.

  There is a moment of quiet confusion. Then, ugly comprehension dawning, Sing and Nathan rush forward at the same instant.

  They are too late. The rigid heel of the Maestro’s shoe slams down onto the slate with an icy crunch. Sing and Nathan freeze. The Maestro lifts his shoe again to reveal a tiny, glittering splatter of shards.

  “What have you done, George?” Nathan says, eyes wide. “We need the crystal.”

  George smiles. “I only needed you, Nathan.” And he is frozen, still smiling. His eyes lose their sheen, then their intelligence. Sing gasps as the Maestro seems to grow hollow before her eyes. She clutches Nathan’s arm. After a moment, Maestro Keppler sinks slowly to the slate rooftop like a macabre, deflating balloon. Sing sees again her mother’s white dress, collapsing onto the stage, the woman inside it just as dead.

  She lets out a cry and buries her face in Nathan’s chest. But he, too, is disappearing.

  “Nathan!” He can no longer stand. She helps him lie down on the slate. “Nathan! We can fix this. I’ll find the Felix. I’ll—”

  He looks up at her, weak but bright-eyed. “It’s all right.”

  Her tears are ice sliding down her cheeks. She doesn’t want them to fall on him. She gathers him in her arms. He feels so light now.

  His mouth is against her cheek, his breath still warm. She squeezes her eyes closed and grips him tighter. But suddenly, there is nothing to grip.

  She looks down to find a mass of lustrous black feathers scattering in the wind.

  Hold on to them. Gather them. Get him back. Hold on. She scrabbles at the air. Grab them, grab them,

  “Grab what?” Ryan says.

  Sing realizes she has been staring vacantly at the red-and-gold-leaf design on the Woolly lounge’s lush carpet. “What?”

  Ryan’s expression is puzzled yet amused. “You just said, ‘Grab them.’”

  “Oh.” She studies the carpet, trying to remember. She didn’t intend to stay this long at the reception; she must be overtired. Her father and the president are still in conversation across the room. She thought she’d lost Ryan to the famous pianist Yvette Cordaro and a string of giggling girls, but apparently he has found his way back to her.