Chapter 11

Barkis wishes he could kill him.

Collin is a snivelling, whining brat who can't seem to handle an underfed woman or her stick thin companions. All he's been doing since Emily escaped is working on that blasted story of his, cropping this and that and asking his opinion on a particular font every time he made the mistake of passing by his door when it was open. Out of curiosity, Barkis had glanced at the article once, and had nearly gagged. It's that bad. No one with any credibility would believe that drivel. If things were different Victor and Emily would already be dead, and Victoria too.

The old woman had been a close call. He hadn't been thinking when he'd killed her, but the Attic King had taken notice. Luckily He had dismissed it as old age, but with people as young as Emily and the Van Dorts he wouldn't be able to get away with that kind of murder. Collin will have to be his knife if he wants to stay in the shadows. He needs to come up with a better plan to get his revenge.

He just wishes he hadn't chosen such a dull blade.

x

"Bonejangles, I've come back!"

The brassy voice of a familiar saxophone greets Victoria. Loft bedroom. Of course. She adjusts the shopping bags hanging from her shoulders and goes up the wooden stairs. The flat is awfully nice, but painfully bare. While Bonejangles had been nursing his eye she had gone out and gotten a few things. Well, more than a few. She'd have to come back for the rest of the bags in a moment, and that doesn't even include the groceries sitting on his countertop.

Bonejangles's jaw drops at the sight of her so loaded down, cutting off the jazzy sounds. "Victoria, what did you do?"

"You need much more than two shirts and one pair of pants." Victoria huffs, setting the bags onto his bed. "And that blanket is essentially a glorified tissue."

Bonejangles sets his sax aside, gawking at all the different colored bags. "Oi! There's no way I'll be able to pay you back for this. Not until I get a record deal, at least."

Victoria rearranges the bags to lean against the wall the bed is pressed up against. "Stuff it, you. You are not paying for any of this."

"Oi, you're crazy, woman." He peeks into one of the bags and pulls out a plastic wrapped ball. "What's this?"

"That is a bath bomb."

Bonejangles raises an eyebrow and puts it back. He's not sure how those work, but he'll fuss with it later when Victoria isn't around.

"Here."

Victoria throws something at him, which turns out to be several somethings that he nearly drops. Eyepatches, all different colors and designs.

"I wasn't sure which one you'd like for your eye, so I got a number of variations."

Bonejangles selects a glittering orange one. "I'll wear one for every day." He smiles at Victoria, fitting it over his eye. "Thanks. What do you think?"

"It's quite flashy." Victoria pauses. "But it suits you." Her gaze seems to linger on him before she averts her eyes. "Well, let's go through these bags, then." she says, opening one. "I think these are some of the bathroom things."

x

Victoria has dozed off on his bed, her head resting on a pile of tissue paper. They've gone through most of the bags and only a few remain, but Bonejangles can't bring himself to disturb her.

He had enjoyed the day with her, digging through the treasures she'd brought back. Now, his apartment is much more homey, much more lived in. It feels more like his place. The posters are a nice touch, all the greats hanging on his walls: Mike Osborne, Duke Ellington, Van Morrison…

They had talked a lot throughout the day too, gotten to know each other. Bonejangles had learned that Victoria enjoys home decor and design immensely, and would love to quit her online job to pursue a career in it, if only she had the confidence. That, and Victor hadn't gotten a job in the last two years ever since they closed his department at the instrument factory, replacing him and countless others with machines. He had also learned that she would like to learn how to play an instrument some day, perhaps the violin, but she simply never had the time.

In turn, Victoria learned that one day Bonejangles wanted to play at Carnegie Hall in New York City more than anything, and, if he had someone special, perform a song just for her at the end of his set. He also wants a nice little flat in the Big Apple so he can come back any time he likes, because he's sure that New York will be his home away from home.

Victoria's favourite colour is sunny yellow. She's always wanted a cat but can't get one because Victor is allergic. Her favorite pastry is an apple scone and she's a morning person through and through.

Bonejangles's favourite colour is pumpkin orange. He's only ever had fish, specifically bettas. He likes all desserts, but he has a fondness for sticky toffee pudding, and he would sleep the day away just to get into the nightlife if he could.

They're opposites, and yet…

Somehow, Bonejangles feels more like himself around her than anyone.

He knows it's crazy. He must be a little over twice her age, and besides, it would never work. He's a musician, first and foremost. His career would keep him far too busy as it's barely getting started up again. Besides, he doesn't stand a chance with her anyway. She'd marry herself off to some young, wealthy chap, still stuck in her parent's ways. It's almost depressing enough to make for a good song.

Which reminds him, he's got to get working with Emily on some new material.

Carefully, so as not to disturb Victoria, he gets up from the bed and makes his way downstairs to the tiny electric piano in the living room. He switches the keyboard on and presses his fingers against the plastic keys, forming a major seventh chord. That sounds about right for this type of song. He starts to sing, soft, low, and gruff:

"Victoria, what are you doing to me?

Summers have shifted and winters have blown

But I'm still on my own

Victoria

Am I going to be alone?"

x

Victor carries Emily downstairs, all the way to the baby grand piano. He hadn't touched it much since she had arrived and now wants to see if they can still create music together.

Emily gasps at the sight of it. She hasn't seen a piano looking so beautiful in years. When Victor seats her on the black leather stool, she adjusts automatically, putting her good foot on one of the pedals and spreading her fingers on the lower part of the keys. She edges over to make room for Victor and smiles.

"It's lovely."

Victor beams back at her. "I had a feeling you would." He seats himself beside her, spreading his fingers across the higher register. "Care to complete my duet?"

Emily giggles. "Don't I always?"

Victor leans over and presses a kiss to her cheek, delighted that he can do that now. "This is called 'Butterflies'." He begins to play a fluttering theme. "I started writing it when you left, but I've never been able to finish it."

Emily begins to play some lower harmonies. "Does it have words?"

Victor grins. "Of course." His high tenor begins to fill the empty room, echoing through the vast halls:

"Where have you gone

Where have you gone

Somewhere I can't follow

Though my heart's filling with sorrow

I close my eyes and

I feel your butterfly kisses against my skin"

x

"I dream of you night and day

Victoria, what more can I say?

I know there's no way you'd feel the same

So why do I still feel this way?"

x

"I feel your hands on my shoulders

Your beautiful eyes gazing into mine

And I dream of butterfly wings

Flying me away

Away to wherever you've gone"

Victor's voice stops, but his fingers don't. "That's all I have so far. It's not much, but —"

Emily's fingers brush his arm and linger. "It's wonderful. Maybe if we tried something like this…"

Rich, deep major chords fill the room, accompanying Victor's dancing melodies.

x

"Victoria, everything has changed

I don't know the time I've got

But I'd love to give this a shot

If you'll only lead the way"

Bonejangles hears stirring upstairs and stops, writing down the last few notes quickly before stuffing the sheets into the piano bench. He supposes he ought to finish with the shopping.

x

A sweet, bright soprano carries above the warmth of the chords.

"Now we're home, together at last

Butterfly wings carried me home to you

Here I am, and here I'll stay

And nothing will send me away"