Stellina

Sparks

Luka had been strolling along Boulevard Chave, nonchalantly tapping his fingers against his legs to Chopin's Nocturne in C sharp minor, when he saw her shadow. He had paused, slinking into an alleyway where no passersby could see him, his back pressed into the brick wall of an old restaurant. His hand brushed across its rough crevices as his eyes searched for the flash of purple fabric.

It found him first, however.

"Luka, darling, is that you?" Madame Riviere purred, stroking his arm.

Luka started, yanking his arm away. He frowned, smoothing his black coat. The symphony of exuberant birds flitting about reminded him of his concert about to begin. "Madame, what are you doing here?" he whispered, glancing nervously about in search for an autumn-haired girl. He gulped, trying not to think of what he had done. He pictured the note, merely two words scrawled on it. How he stuck it under a rock on her front porch right after the conversation with Lina in the attic.

Her lips curved down into a frown, accentuating the deep lines that fell with it. "I received your note, Luka Fuhrmann," she mumbled. "I am starting to think you are backing out on your deal." With this, she whipped out a piece of paper, flinging it at Luka. He didn't even need to look at it to know what it said, to know it was the note he had sent her.

I can't.

Luka sighed, his eyes darting past hers to the tranquil lull of ocean waves. A timid breeze caressed his hair as he thought of Lina. How could he harm something so sweet, so innocent? "Perhaps I am," he whispered, his gaze unmoving.

Madame Riviere inched closer, her sour breath dusting his forehead. He dared not wince, his gaze still glued to the ocean behind her. His fingers tapped more vivaciously now, more anxiously; a forte as opposed to dolce piano. He could hear the smacking of her lips as her tongue ran over them, greedily, hungrily. A dog foaming at the mouth. "So you do love her." Her lips curled back, on the verge of a snicker.

"Does it matter? I don't want her dead or hurt by this, and I don't see why that should be so difficult for you to comprehend." Luka ran his fingers through his coat pocket, sifting through in search for anything sharp. He glanced up. Her face was already matching the hue of the bricks, and he needed to be prepared.

The sour breath drifted away, replaced by a soft snicker. "I told you already; it's too late for that. I can guarantee that now she most certainly will be 'hurt,' however you define that."

Luka exhaled, albeit shakily. He could almost feel his fingers curling around the golden locket, brushing over its silky edge. The truth sat at the edge of his tongue, threatening to tumble out. The realization had only struck him recently, after he'd seen Lina's determination to save her own family when she discovered the note in Adalene's pocket, threatening to knock his entire life he'd been building to the ground. Only he could hold that locket, and only he could decide what to do with it. He was the one who needed to save his family, or at least preserve their wishes.

It was his mother's, and it was her dying wish that he protect it. And Luka realized that Birdie had entrusted it with the Fuhrmann's. No one else.

Madame Riviere's emerald eyes seem to latch onto his thoughts. A sly smile spread upon her lips. "How foolish of me," she whispered. "I should know by now that you are too selfish for those heroics. You simply want it for yourself."

"Perhaps that is what I had always intended. I just realized I am a great deal cleverer than I once thought."

A deep maroon cloud hung over her face, the heat from her glower resonating onto Luka. She balled her fist, clenching the deep purple skirt as if she intended to tear it. "You are not backing out now." Her words bit the air, a fuse about to explode.