If his arms were around my body it would’ve been a hug. Instead they were on my hands, gently guiding each finger to a key. His hands were so soft, and I suddenly felt self-conscious of my calloused ones.

“Relax, my love,” he whispered near my cheek, and it was the worst thing he could’ve done.

“You’re making me nervous,” I said, shoving him away with my back.

His grip tightened slightly on my hands as he regained his balance. “We both know you’re the scarier of the two of us.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment.”

“So small yet so terrifying.” He kissed my cheek and lined my fingers up again. “Ready to play?”

I nodded, too content to speak. Magnus slipped his soft hands beneath mine until my palms were against the back of his, each of my fingers curved over his. And then, slowly, he began to play. Slow enough that my hand could stay with his without any effort. Slow, but not melancholy, the notes melding like hot silver into something beautiful, something substantial. It was as if his music was creating life.

And for a moment, I basked in the thought that everything would be okay.

His hand slipped, his fingers streaking the cream keys red. All at once his playing halted, the instrument echoing eerily, the lingering notes turning sour as they hovered.

He jerked his hands away with a gasp.

For a moment, neither of us said a word, silently watching the blood seep its way from every crack of the keys, like from a mouthful of bloody teeth.

It wasn’t until I heard liquid drip on the floor that I felt Magnus’s breath become heavy.

“Who was it, Andromeda?” he asked. His voice was trembling.

“Maybe this isn’t what you think it is,” I said quietly.

“The house bleeds after the Evil Eye takes a victim.” His hands were shaking as he gripped my arms. He was curled into me, his lips resting on my shoulder. “Tell me. Please. Was it Peggy?”

He said it as if he knew and was desperately hoping I’d deny it. I didn’t know what to say. But my silence was answer enough.

A loud sob broke our silence. He wrapped his arms around me, his body shaking erratically. My arms were pinned by his, so the only comfort I could give was holding his head against my neck and massaging his scalp with my fingers. It only made him cry harder.

“She was very brave,” I said, talking near his ear so he’d hear me over his crying. “She died fighting, protecting the people she cared about.” In other words, Kelela. But now wasn’t the time to talk badly about her.

“That—” gasp “doesn’t—” gasp “m-make me fe—” gasp “—el better.”

I jolted, gripping his hair in pained helplessness, lost on what to do.