I am quite pleased to be keeping up, posting almost every day (have had to take two days off, and I suspect there will be another this week). More, I am having a blast discovering this world and story. Who knew there was a magic cello?
He passed the cello over to me, and I almost felt a ripple through the body, as if it was as excited to be in my hands as I was to touch it again. I pressed a palm against the front, and took in a breath. Bartholomew gave me the bow. “What would you like to play?”
“I would happily play Mary Had a Little Lamb on this beautiful instrument,” I said, nestling it closer to me. It reclined against my shoulder, the scroll close to my ear. As if it—no, she—could speak, I almost heard a whisper, a suggestion. “Bach’s Air?” I said.
He was very still for a long moment, then he riffled through a pile of music on the stand, and pulled out the selection. “I have been working on it.”
We shifted, each of us bending into our instruments, finding our balance. I mentally hummed through the first bars, sliding into the notes as if they were a suit. He tuned the G string more finely. Against me, the old cello vibrated very faintly.
I looked at Bartholomew, and he nodded, tapping his foot. I swayed into his lead and we began together, the long sweet notes pouring out, winding around each other. I found him in the music, and he fit himself into my playing, and we fell inside the piece, both of us. It was melancholoy and romantic, and the profound beauty loaned by the cello took the notes to some wilder, deeper place. It seemed to dance against me, the wood warming, glowing. My cheeks grew hot and a trickle of sweat ran down my neck, and I closed my eyes, feeling an electric sense of tingling through my hands, up my arms, swirling through my neck, and somehow into me, into my chest and throat.
READ CHAPTER FIVE, THE MIRROR GIRL