Deliver the Devil (Serpentine Duet Book 2) by Miranda Silver

Author:Miranda Silver [Silver, Miranda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-05-23T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

DRACULA MOON

Daisy

I sat up in a warm tangle of arms and legs. The room shimmered with magic — restless, pulsing. The candles sputtered, their flames low.

All four men lay unconscious on the black marble altar, breathing peacefully. According to the book, we’d sleep for hours, recovering while the serpent gained its hold.

An elaborate grandfather clock chimed four. I’d only been asleep for a few hours at the most. Was something wrong? Or was there an exception for the Star?

“Please tell me it worked,” I whispered.

The men didn’t stir. But my left arm twinged, and the upper area itched. Turning my arm over, I stared at the ink now etched into my skin. Red, black, and gold scales coiled endlessly, and the serpent’s mouth opened to swallow its tail.

I touched the head of my new tattoo, and a shiver ran through me.

Stretching, I unkinked my muscles and took stock of my stiffness and soreness. In a daze, I slipped on a black dress I’d brought, took my flute case from my duffel bag, and walked out the front door of the House.

Campus was deserted. I carried my flute to the moonlit, empty quad. With trembling hands, I fitted the joints together and put the instrument to my lips.

From the first note, everything was different. The confidence, the beauty. Playing took no effort at all. I barely had to breathe. My left hand didn’t hurt; it was infused with a warm glow.

The notes flew into the night, until a man in a campus security uniform approached.

“Miss, you’ll have to stop,” he said gruffly. “I’m sorry, it’s quiet hours right now.”

Looking straight at him, I played a lilting run. My tone was pure as a bell. My fingers were flexible, soaring like never before.

“Are you sure?” I asked calmly.

“Oh. Oh… No. No, of course, you need to play. I understand.” His features softened, and his jaw hung slack as I played on. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded when I paused.

“You have rounds to do,” I said gently. “Someone might need your help.”

“Not if they hear you. Please, keep playing.”

One by one, they began to come. People appeared in the quad, some in pajamas, some dressed, some nearly naked, pulled from their dorms and apartments and nighttime wanderings. They dropped to their knees on the grass and listened. Every face turned toward me as the notes wound over the lawn. More people, and more, until the quad was packed. It was as full as it had been the night of The Crush, but the crowd was motionless.

I marveled at my playing. The grace and ease almost didn’t seem like my own. I’d always been an intense performer. Even during the calmest pieces, I’d been laser-focused on each note, each breath. After months away from my flute, I’d expected an awkward reacquaintance process, but this was very easy.

Too easy.

No one danced. No one moved. They simply sat and stared, spellbound.

Pink light crept up the horizon as the sun rose. My hands and arms didn’t betray a trace of fatigue.

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