Page 19 of The Darkness is Calling

And we shouldn’t look down on this woman either, because there is still so much we don’t know about her.

“But are you ok?” Yar asks, watching me carefully, and his voice no longer carries the frustration from earlier, but concern. “Something was happening inside your head when you were talking to her.”

He knows.

They both know how hungry the voices are, and how powerful they can become sometimes.

“Nothing I can’t control,” I tell them, only half convinced, even though a large part of me knows the truth.

I wasn’t that close to losing control.

But I was not far from it either.

“That would be for the best,” he says with calm, swirling the clear liquid in his glass. “We are not allowed to touch her, and we are certainly not allowed to kill her.”

“I know, Yar.” This time my voice is bit sharp, pressing my lips together. “I can control myself. It isn’t that serious.”

I am lying without blinking, but I am the only one who knows it. There is no need to worry them with my unorthodox fantasies.

Especially since the simple distance I have from this woman now help me return me to my normal state.

Except a slow melody, played on the piano, begins to echo through the entire house, coming from the relaxation room.

All three of us remain still, but alert, listening to the delicate song that immediately catches me in a trance.

One in which the shivers return, dancing around forbidden illusions.

What would it be like to fuck her on that piano?

This time, I close my eyes and try to block every dangerous idea that might be born from my marvelous mind. Whether I want to kill her or fuck her, either option is forbidden to me. My hunger needs to be distracted toward something else, and I know I need another method of feeding it.

“First, send someone with the necessary equipment to inspect every object she has in the art gallery, the one she owns here in the city,” I tell them, trying to ignore the melody still echoing through the house. “It would not be ideal for one of them to explode while we are responsible for her person.”

I thought the Vor’s daughter was only a businesswoman who ran that art gallery in central London, where she most likely keeps valuable pieces brought in through her father’s illegal transactions.

The business is clearly just a way to launder money.

But Miss Borislova is not only that.

In fact, she is a renowned pianist who performs in some of the most important halls in the world. Her talent is praised throughout the international press, which often compares her to Evgeny Kissin6, and I can say they are not wrong at all.

After I learned this information about her, I did a little research and listened to performances by both pianists, so I can confirm that the woman now playing in the next room deserves the praise.

However, according to the articles, over the past two years she has refused to perform in major shows, limiting herself to recitals with small audiences. This has only increased her reputation, turning her into a unicorn of music, one only a fortunate few can hear live.

I suppose I should feel privileged to have her magic even now.

6Evgeny Kissin (b. 1971): Contemporary Russian-born pianist, recognized for his phenomenal technique from an early age.

The irony does not escape me. We are in a house stained with blood and built on the bones of our enemies, and she has no idea what kind of contrast she creates with a melody that sounds almost angelic.

I shake my head, but a stray thought crosses my mind.

Another image.

What if she played that piano while I tortured some bastard, cutting his flesh to the rhythm she set and making him scream in pain like a soloist accompanying her?

It would be sublime.