by Frankie Rose
Music was emanating from Aldan’s room as I approached, and I found myself standing stock-still, shocked by the beauty of it. A lilting Spanish melody, painfully sweet and heartbreaking, drifted through the crack in the door. I racked my brain, trying to figure out where I had heard it before. That’s right—Agatha was always humming this melody, although the guitar version was much more complex. It would have been difficult for anyone but a seriously accomplished musician to play.
Daniel looked exactly that as I inched the door back, stealing silently into the room. His head was bent forward, his eyes closed. His fingers flew with such dexterity up and down the neck of the guitar that the movement was barely visible. The music was gentle and soft in places, and something haunted worked its way onto his face as he lifted his head, eyes closed, lost in the music. He looked so young right then, or at least as young as me. Everything was stripped back: his anger, his sarcastic, vitriolic retorts, that cold harshness to him. The only thing that remained was a strange look of sadness.
His eyes flew open and I drew in a sharp breath, suddenly realizing he might not want an audience. His eyelashes were stark black ink against the paleness of his skin, far too delicate for a boy’s. They fluttered as he blinked at me.
I cleared my throat and looked down at my hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s okay,” he said in a hushed voice. “I wasn’t doing a very good job, anyway.”
I struggled to keep the disbelief from my face. “I think your idea of a poor job is most people’s idea of excellence.”
He looked down at the guitar in his hands and then flashed me a scornful look. “I guess that depends on your standards.”
A hot flush welled up in my belly, working its way to my cheeks. What was that supposed to mean? Did he always have to shoot me down? And was that some inference about me in particular? Was he saying that I was below his standards? After last night’s conversation, I’d thought he might ease off a little, but it appeared I’d been foolish to hope for that.
“Never mind, Daniel.” It was exhausting trying to work out what he ever meant or thought. “Agatha said she’d asked you if you would come with me to—” I paused. I truthfully hadn’t thought that far ahead. Where were we actually going?
Daniel’s gaze raked me up and down, picking over the tank top and tight black jeans I wore, coupled with my leather boots. My cheeks flushed uncomfortably.
“Dressed like that, I’d say we were headed to some sort of rock club.”
“Ha, ha,” I replied as dryly as possible. “Do you think anyone’s ever been strangled to death with a guitar strap before?”
“Absolutely. There’s no such thing as original thought anymore.” The corners of Daniel’s mouth twitched. “Not that that matters. There are plenty of completely unoriginal yet extremely fun things two consenting adults can do with a guitar strap that don’t involve death. Maybe just a little light chaffing. You should definitely consider those before homicide.”
I just looked at him, wondering if I had hit a new all-time record on the embarrassment front. He seemed to be waiting for me to react in some way. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
“Do I have to dress according to the time I’m going to?”
Daniel grinned and hoisted his guitar strap over his head. “Yep. Aldan’s taking us back to Manchuria. It was the custom of the Manchurian people to wear nothing but their underwear. You should probably strip off now if you want to fit in.”
I shot him a filthy look to hide the flush in my cheeks. I could handle Daniel being a douche bag, but this new flirtatious side to him was confusing and frankly scary.
“Sorry. The clothes are staying on,” I told him, trying to make myself sound unflustered.
“A shame.”
“Just stop it, okay. Are you coming or not? And do I need to get changed?”
The smile dropped from his face and he stood up, leaning the guitar against the wall. He paced towards me until he was less than a foot away and grabbed hold of my hand. There was an intense expression on his face as he pulled me towards him.
“Yes, I’ll go with you,” he said quietly. “And your clothes don’t matter. Aldan will put you in something era-appropriate.” There was a burning quality to his voice that stirred something deep and hot inside me, making my head swim. His eyes were half closed. He was leaning towards me. Is he going to…? I panicked. No. No, of course he wasn’t. A stupid thought. A small smile ticked at the corner of his mouth.
“Are you ready?” he asked. The burning was still there, visible in his eyes.
I nodded, feeling stupid that I’d thought he was about to kiss me. “Where are you taking me?”
“London,” he said. “Home.”