Luthier's Apprentice, The (13 page)

Elizabeth tightened her fists with rage. “She isn’t your apprentice!”

“Oh, but she will be, I’m afraid.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Lili said, her voice forceful and full of intent. She squeezed Elizabeth’s hand, and Elizabeth was astounded by Lili’s sudden strength.

Niccolò halted at the threshold. Slowly, he turned, his eyes filled with cunning.

Lili sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

“Lili!” Elizabeth gasped. Lili’s cheeks were flushed with an inner fire.

“Stop playing games, Niccolò,” Lili said. “We both know by now that Emma is here. What you don’t know is that she has the
power
. She may not know it yet, but she has it. Oh yes, she does. I can feel it, infusing me, as I speak. Emma and I—together. And you know what that means.”

Niccolò was silent. He looked stunned.

“Good. I’m glad I got your attention,” Lili said. She rose and began to turn around and around as if dancing a waltz with an invisible partner. “After all these years...I’m alive again! I feel the power running through my veins, warming my blood.” Her long flowing nightgown flared as she turned; her dark hair fell all over her in waves down to her waist.

She stopped in front of him.

Niccolò regarded her with intensity…and something else that surprised Elizabeth. Could it be possible...? No, The idea was absurd.

“You do realize what this means, don’t you, Niccolò?” Lili said.

He nodded lightly. After a pause, he asked, “What are you going to do?”

Elizabeth watched them. As understanding dawned on her, she brought her hands to her cheeks. In the confinement of this cursed world, Lili and Niccolò had grown to love each other. She could read it in Lili’s eyes. She could even read it on Niccolò’s face.

“We can defeat her, Emma and I,” Lili said. “I’m sure of it now. And you—you can help us and redeem your soul!”

He shook his head. “
E’ troppo tardi
…It’s too late for me.”

“No, it isn’t.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Niccolò seemed in inner turmoil. “Do as you have to do, but forget about me. I’ll try to help if I can,” he said, moving away, but Lili grabbed him by the hand and forced him back into the room.

“I won’t abandon you here. Do you understand? I won’t. Elizabeth, my dearest twin, come here and give me your hand. Listen, both of you. I have a plan.”

W
HEN THE CLOCK STRUCK NINE AND
Corey hadn’t returned home, his mother, Tamara Fletcher, began to get worried. He’d been gone since noon. He’d told her he would be home by six to have dinner with her and get ready for the Halloween party. To make matters worse, he wasn’t answering his phone, as if it’d gone dead.

Corey said he would meet some friends at the square at two. Now she wished she had asked him their names. She called his two best friends, but they said they hadn’t seen him or heard from him all afternoon, even though Corey had meant to meet one of them at four.

Where are you,
lapushka
?

She forced herself to relax, but the truth was she had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was ready to call the police.

Corey was her life. Ever since her husband had died in that airplane accident, Corey had been all she had to live for. She would never get over her husband’s death. She had loved him too much, and the slightest thought of losing Corey drove her wild with despair.

Restless with worry, she went to Corey’s room. As usual, it was messy. “Organized chaos,” he called it. Tamara had gotten used to all the posters of airplanes on the walls, but wished he didn’t feel such passion for airplanes, not after what had happened to his father. Oh well. Life was full of irony.

Her own life was ironic, too, to say the least. She had been born the daughter of a famous violinist, yet she hadn’t inherited her mother’s gift and virtuosity for music. As much as she had tried, all she had managed was to gain her mother’s pity, disappointment, anger and… loathing? Yes, loathing! Why else the beatings? Why else the psychological and emotional abuse?

Then Bradley Fletcher, the handsome American pilot, had come along. Bradley with his warm smile and strong arms and huge heart. Her mother had never understood her, had never loved her… but Bradley treated her like a princess, always full of kind words and affectionate gestures.

Tamara sat at the desk. Leaning back against the chair, she sighed and closed her eyes. No, she hadn’t inherited her mother’s virtuosity. Instead it was
Corey
who had inherited it. The gift of music had skipped a generation.

She looked distractedly at the books on Corey’s desk. She was not looking for anything nor expecting to find anything. She trusted and respected her son.

She opened one of his notebooks and admired his neat, highly organized writing. The letters marched like obedient little soldiers—a stark contradiction to his disorganized room. She smoothed her hand across the page. Then she closed the notebook. On the right side of the desk was a tower of school books. History, math, science. She stacked them into one neat pile.

Feeling despondent and anxious, she rose and decided to make his bed, to at least smooth out the sheets and puff up the pillows. A sock was peeking out from under the mattress and automatically she leaned forward to pick it up. To her surprise, there was something else hidden in there...What was it? A notebook? Why would it be under his bed?

She hesitated, but only for an instant. It didn’t look like a journal. It looked like an old regular school notebook. Frowning, she opened it. It wasn’t long before she realized this wasn’t Corey’s notebook. The writing was completely different.

As she skimmed through the pages and read some of its contents, her pulse quickened. Her heart thudded painfully when she read the newspaper clippings about Sonia Ivanov. But this was… impossible! How had Corey come across this information? Whose notebook was it? Then she turned to the first page and saw the words:
Property of Marcel Dupriez.

In a daze, Tamara brought a hand to her lips. What was the meaning of this? What did Corey intend to do with this information? Had Monsieur Dupriez given him this notebook, or had Corey taken it without his teacher’s knowledge?

Then it dawned on her. This was the reason he’d offered to clean Madame Dupriez’s windows. To snoop around.

She hastened to the foyer and donned her coat and scarf. She put the notebook inside her handbag.

Outside she saw groups of children going from door to door, chanting Halloween words and demanding treats in their colourful costumes: black cats, witches, ghosts, zombies, monsters, vampires.

She climbed into her car and turned on the ignition. It took her twenty minutes to reach the Dupriez home. She found a parking spot across the street. The town was alive with trick o’ treaters, but Tamara’s attention was on the Dupriez’s house. The lights on the windows were off. She wondered if Madame Dupriez had already gone to sleep.

She got out of the car and shut the door. As she crossed the street, a strange purple light flashed inside Monsieur Dupriez’s study.

Tamara froze momentarily. The fact that the flash of light had been
purple
troubled her. There was only one person she associated with that color:
Mother
.

Tamara climbed the steps and rang the bell. She waited. No answer. She rang a second time.

She walked over to the study windows. She couldn’t see inside, but the purple glow was still there.

Turning back to the door, she rang a third time.

Her hand grasped the knob. To her surprise, the door was unlocked. She glanced over her shoulder, suddenly overcome by the strong sensation of being watched. She thought she saw a figure looking at her from Van Ketts’ newspaper shop across the street, but she could have been mistaken.

She went inside quickly and closed the door behind her.

“Madame Dupriez!” Tamara called. “Madame Dupriez, are you home?”

No response.

Farther down the hall, Tamara saw the purple glow creeping underneath Monsieur Dupriez’s study. She walked to the door and knocked. “Hello? Is anybody there?”

She grasped the knob, and turned it.

The door opened to reveal a sight so fantastic as to send her reeling backwards against the wall.

“
O Bozhe
...” she breathed, her hands on her cheeks.

EMMA FOLLOWED COREY ACROSS THE FINGERBOARD-SHAPED
bridge, watching in dismay at the bubbly, steamy purple liquid beneath them.

At the entrance, Emma stopped for a moment to catch her breath and try to understand why she was feeling so weird.

“Is something wrong?” Corey asked.

“I’m not sure,” Emma mumbled, looking at him. “I feel… strange. Hot. My veins…” She couldn’t explain it. Her head and veins blazed like the sun, as if she had swallowed sunlight. There were no other words to describe it.

“Your face is flushed,” he said. He touched her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“I don’t feel sick. This is different.”

Corey looked worried. “Can you continue or...?”

Emma nodded. “Let’s go in.”

Once inside they found themselves in a large hall. At the end of the hall there was a massive wooden door. Corey pushed it open and peeked in. “Looks like an empty room. Come.”

Emma followed him. Burning torches on the walls illuminated the large chamber, casting mysterious shadows all over. The air was chilly.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“I’m better now.”

He seemed relieved. “Good.”

For a moment, they studied their surroundings. Three different stairways began from the end of the chamber. Two of them went up and the middle one down.

Emma pointed to the middle passage. “That way.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, her eyes fixed intensely on the passage.

“Are your psychic powers kicking in again?” he asked without mockery.

She nodded again.

“Okay, I believe you. After what you did with the attic door, I have to.”

Suddenly they heard an echo of voices coming from the middle passage.

Emma and Corey exchanged looks.

“Follow those voices,” she whispered.

Slowly they started down the steps of the narrow passage. Soon the light of the chamber was left behind and they were in total darkness.

“I can’t see a thing,” she murmured.

“Wait a minute,” Corey stopped. He dug into his pocket and extracted a key chain. “I forgot I had this. I hope the battery still works.”

She saw what he meant when he switched on a tiny flashlight.

“It doesn’t reach too far, but it helps,” he said.

Once again, they heard the echo of voices, this time louder.

“We’re getting closer,” Emma said. “Let’s move on. God, I hope Annika is okay.”

After a few minutes, they emerged from the passage and found themselves in another chamber.

“This place is like a cave.” Emma shivered. “It’s getting colder.”

Just as before, large torches set on the walls illuminated the place, casting ghostly shadows all round.

“Isn’t it strange, all these torches?” Emma asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at this place. It’s completely made of wood. And the torches? It’s like an inferno waiting to happen.”

Corey nodded. “You’re right.” Then he pointed to the end of the chamber. “Looks like that’s the only passage.”

No more words were necessary. As if reading each other’s minds, they ventured into the tunnel. The voices increased in sound.

“Men’s voices,” Emma said.

Corey stopped suddenly. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“The violinists,” Emma breathed.

They hurried down the steps.

D
ONATELLI LUGGED THE HEAVY SACK THROUGH
the forest while a sharp pain jolted down his lower back.

In spite of the cold, perspiration dotted his forehead and plastered his shirt against his back.

He thought he heard barking. That could only mean Stradivarius, the witch’s beastly companion. He stopped for a second. The barking grew nearer. He wondered what the dog was doing in the woods. The woods belonged to the wolves.

Suddenly, a flash of black invaded his line of vision.

He gasped.
Blackie
! Surely this wasn’t possible. If the rabbit was Blackie, that could mean Emma was here, too. Ironically, he felt a strange sense of relief.

Blackie froze a few meters from him, his eyes slightly bulging and his breathing frantic.

“Blackie,” Donatelli beckoned, dropping the sack.

From the right side of the woods, he saw the red eyes of a pair of wolves. The same wolves which had kept watch on him a while back. By now he knew them well.