Chapter Nine: Caldric

While the rain had stopped, the dreary day had done little to dry the drenched town, and the moon's light paved the still wet cobbles in silver, which splashed into little bright jewels as Caldric walked.

He had replaced his red dress shirt with something a little more understated, but still undeniably formal. He was to be meeting with one of the most infamous vampires of Wishing Moon Bay after all, and although Caldric imagined that he was expected, he was sure that it wouldn't hurt to put in some effort.

Through the gated entrance and well-maintained grounds, he walked until he was face to face with the narrow door of the large manor house. He raised his hand and knocked lightly. Loud enough that a vampire within would be able to hear, but quiet enough that sleeping mortal children would not awake at the sound.

He stepped back and waited, soon being able to hear footsteps approach before the door opened, revealing the aged face of Colton as he peered out into the night.

"Caldric?" Colton nodded. "We were wondering when you'd make a visit."

"I assumed I would be expected after your dealings with Miss Aralyn. May I come in?"

"Of course." Colton opened the door wider and gestured for him to enter. "I assume the late hour was intentional?"

"I only have a simple request concerning Silas." Caldric stepped into the hallway. It was warm, cozy, well-decorated, and much less Gothic than the exterior of the building. This place had certainly changed since he had last seen past its facade. "I didn't want to bother anyone else with my presence."

"I'm sure it would be no bother." Colton led him down the hallway to the large dining room. "We're plenty used to visitors these days."

"Just like a certain vampire hunter?" Caldric raised an eyebrow as they stepped into the grand room, complete with a long dining table and artwork adorning the walls.

Colton chuckled. "One of our more irregular kind of visitors, that's for certain." He stopped and looked at Caldric. "I assume by your gracing us with your presence that you've chosen to accept her deal?"

"Indeed. And I assume it was Silas who told her that my curse is the doing of her ancestors?" Caldric asked.

"How else would she have managed to get you to agree to take her to the ball?"A familiar voice, followed by a familiar silhouette, entered the room. Though the voice wasn't quite as Caldric once knew it. There was a warmth, a humor to it now that hadn't always been there.

"Ah, Silas." Caldric tipped his head. "I wondered how much of a hand you had in this whole situation."

"Only a small one." Silas pinched his two fingers together and smiled.

"And I find myself asking myself, why?" Caldric asked. "Perhaps if I still had the ability to feel anything, I might even be asking myself how I could return the favor of sending a vampire hunter to my neighbors' door?"

"Oh, do stop that, Caldric. If you had any emotions left, you'd be elated to have some break in the dreariness of sitting in your manor all day and night, watching the wallpaper slowly change color." Silas moved farther into the room, an expression of mischief upon his face. "Besides, I wouldn't have sent her over to you if I had reason to believe she would harm you."

"So what you told her about her being the predecessor of those that cursed me was true?"

"Of course. I would have no reason to lie. I'm not the vampire I once was."

There was a grunt of agreement from Colton.

Caldric watched him. Having been without his own emotions for so long, he struggled now to accurately see them in others, but Silas at least appeared genuine as he met his eye.

"How did you know?" Caldric asked.

"You couldn't tell yourself when you met Aralyn?" Silas pursed his lips. "Well, I may not have known Perdita Beaufort as well as you, but I could see it in Aralyn, smell it on her even. I'm certain of this." Silas looked at him sympathetically. "You really don't feel anything, do you? After all this time?"

"No," Caldric said simply.

"Perhaps that's why you were unable to tell when you first met her."

Caldric nodded slowly. "All right. Then I require a favor of you."

"I expected you would." Silas walked the length of the table, trailing his finger along the white linen tablecloth. "I know she's after the Myasma Stone, a family heirloom of hers, and perhaps the secret to freeing you of your curse, which is why I was so eager to meddle. I believe she wants to attend the upcoming Tolioni Ball, but there are two issues I see. One, it is definitely not safe, especially considering her lineage and occupation. And the second is invitations."

"You have an invitation, no?" Caldric asked hopefully.

"I do, but you know as well as I that they are non-transferable. So, if you want your curse lifted, we must think of something else. I may be able to pull some strings…"

"Don't worry about all that. I was simply wondering whether we would see you and Merri there or not."

Silas's eyes flashed in surprise for just a moment. "If I recall, after that business with the sonata scandal, there was only one scenario in which you would receive an invitation again."

"You would be correct."

Silas's eyes narrowed now. "So you want me to believe that you're playing again?"

"That's the terms on which I'll receive an invitation to the ball, yes? Unless there's been an amendment during the past century." Caldric watched as Silas came to a stop at the end of the table.

"No. There hasn't." He moved around the end of the table and headed toward Caldric. "I thought you said it was impossible for you to play now. You said something along the lines of ‘music is emotion made real,' and if you were unable to feel emotion, you would not be able to play. At least not to the standard that made you so renowned."

"Correct."

Silas came to a stop in front of him. "You do know how the Tolioni family take to disingenuous people. Especially when it comes to the matter of something as important as the music of their beloved ball."

"I'm aware, Silas, I remember when Isolde tried to weevil his way into that inheritance fund, and they estranged him entirely." Caldric held his gaze. "But, in all these years, I've been a recluse. Perhaps I've done more than simply sit and stare at the wall and learned to play without the flow of emotion I once needed. All I require now is for you to mention it to Sylvi Tolioni, and I'm sure I'll soon receive an invitation for myself and my companion for the evening."

Silas chuckled softly. "I hope for your sake that's the case. I'll talk to Sylvi and see what I can do. Was there anything else you needed of me?"

"Yes. One last thing. I don't suppose you have a metronome lying around, do you? And perhaps a spare stool."

***

The midafternoon sun forced itself through the gaps in the drapes of Caldric's manor, illuminating the dust-filled air with ghastly beams of light. Caldric lay on the cracked leather of his sofa, staring at the wall where the light hit. The dark patterned wallpaper had faded in sweeping arcs where the sunlight seared across it day after day through the same gaps in the drapes.

The metronome Silas had loaned him tick-tocked away in an unwavering, moderate rhythm, marking the passage of the day.

"Oh dear," Caldric murmured to no one in particular.

It felt like only a moment ago when he had been talking to Silas, set on the task ahead of him. But how quickly had he whiled away the time once he returned home, devoid of any drive?

He craned his neck to look toward the grand piano, draped in shadow behind a curtain of light, dusty air. Caldric was reminded of a time when simply the thought of brushing his fingers against a key or a string would set his heart ablaze. All hours of the night, he wanted to fill the silence with beautiful sounds. But no matter how hard he remembered, he could not rekindle that joy.

The thought of languishing like this, of stagnation, of a creative block, would drive him to fury. He remembered quite literally tearing out the walls of his manor when he couldn't find the right notes to fill the end of a piece, but now nothing stirred.

What was there to be done? If he could not find a way to play, he would simply have to excuse himself from attending the ball and let Aralyn know that he was unable to secure them entry.

Caldric sat bolt upright. At the thought of seeing Aralyn's face marked by disappointment, it was as if a shock of electricity had shot through him. He blinked and shuddered. What a strange sensation.

A sensation.

He hadn't had one of those for a while.

Caldric frowned and once again pictured the vampire hunter, who had barged into his home, dripped rainwater across his floors, and demanded his help. Any rational man would surely not have taken kindly to the encounter. Yet he had entertained her, and now the thought of that pale face of hers with down-turned lips and that angular brow set into a scowl made him squirm in discomfort.

The thought of letting her down, disappointing her, made him feel pretty…awful.

"I suppose that settles that then." Caldric stood up and grabbed the metronome, still ticking away from the floor, and weaved his way through the pools of light to his piano. The new stool didn't creak beneath his weight, though the hinges of the key cover screeched as he opened them up before placing the metronome atop the dark wood.

He ran his fingers across the keys. They still felt familiar to him. But not like an old friend, more like a familiar routine.

The metronome had not ceased its ticking, and Caldric closed his eyes. He simply listened to the toneless, inoffensive sound for a few moments as he mentally filed through the songs he used to know so intimately.

A Morning Memory.

That one was simple enough.

He placed his fingers on the ivory keys, his muscle memory finding the right ones, and pressed down.

The piano must have been a bit out of tune, but it sounded close. He changed hand positions and pressed down on the next chord. It was a logical progression from the first.

And then came the third note.

They sounded correct, but they didn't sound right . It was like trying to put a formula to poetry.

Caldric sighed. This just wouldn't do. A performance of this caliber would lead to his and Aralyn's ejection from the ball, and surely a subsequent ban.

Aralyn .

He'd hate for that dress to be wasted on a short-lived night.

Caldric blinked, realizing that as he had been thinking of her, he had been idly tapping away at one of the keys. On a whim, he pressed another and another, and suddenly he was playing.

It was a simple tune, and not one he had ever played before, but the notes flowed, his fingers finding the next and next as he plinked away for a minute or so before he hit an off note, shattering the moment.

"Hm." Caldric rubbed his fingers together. For just a moment, he had felt an echo of what it was like to play, to become one with the instrument. He still had an awfully long way to go, but there was a glimmer of hope.

Perhaps Aralyn was the answer to his plight, after all.