Playing With Fire Read Online Free PDF

something wrong?”
    “Two weeks ago—the day Lily killed our cat—I was playing that same piece of music.”
    “What music is this?”
    “It’s a waltz I brought home from Italy. A handwritten composition I found in an antiques store. What if that’s not a coincidence?”
    “I doubt we can blame her behavior on a piece of music.”
    I’m agitated now, obsessed by this new train of thought. “I’ve practiced other violin pieces that were just as demanding, and Lily never misbehaved, never complained when I practiced. But there’s something different about this waltz. I’ve played it only twice, and both times, she did something awful.”
    For a moment he doesn’t speak, doesn’t write on his clipboard. He just looks at me, but I can almost see the gears furiously spinning in his head. “Describe this music. You said it’s a waltz?”
    “It’s quite haunting, in the key of E minor. Do you know anything about music?”
    “I play the piano. Go on.”
    “The tune begins very quietly and simply. I almost wonder if it was originally written as music to be danced to. But then it grows more and more complex. There are strange accidentals and a series of devil’s chords.”
    “What does that mean,
devil’s chords
?”
    “They’re also called tritones or augmented fourths. In medieval times, these chords were considered evil and banned from church music because they’re so dissonant and disturbing.”
    “This waltz doesn’t sound all that pleasant to listen to.”
    “And it’s challenging to play, especially when it climbs into the stratosphere.”
    “So the notes are high-pitched?”
    “In a range that’s higher than second violinists usually play.”
    Again he pauses. Something I’ve said has clearly intrigued him, and a moment goes by before he says: “When you were playing this piece, at what point did Lily attack you? Was it during those high notes?”
    “I think it was. I know I had already turned to the second page.”
    I watch him tap his pen on the clipboard, a nervous metronomic beat. “Who is Lily’s pediatrician?” he suddenly asks.
    “Dr. Cherry. We saw him just a week ago for her checkup, and he said she’s perfectly healthy.”
    “Nevertheless, I think I’ll give him a call. If it’s all right with you, I’m going to suggest a neurology consultant.”
    “For Lily? Why?”
    “It’s just a hunch, Mrs. Ansdell. But you may have come up with a very important clue. That piece of music could be the key to everything that’s happened.”
    —
    That night Rob is sound asleep when I climb out of bed and make my way downstairs to the living room. He has cleaned up the bloodstains and the only evidence of what happened to me earlier that day is a damp spot on the carpet. The music stand is right where I left it, with its copy of
Incendio.
    In the soft lamplight, the notes are difficult to see, so I carry the page to the kitchen table and sit down to examine it more closely. I don’t know what it is I should be looking for. It is just an ordinary piece of manuscript paper covered on both sides with musical notes, written in pencil. On every page I spot clues to the haste with which this piece was composed: slurs represented by mere slashes, notes that are little more than pencil pricks on a stave. I see no black magic here, no hidden runes or watermarks. But something about this music has infected our lives and changed our daughter into someone who attacks me. Someone who’s frightened me.
    Suddenly I want to destroy this page. I want to burn it, reduce it to ashes so it cannot hurt us.
    I carry it to the stove, turn the knob, and watch the burner’s blue flames whoosh to life. But I cannot bring myself to do it. I cannot destroy what might be the only copy in the world of a waltz that enchanted me from the first time I saw it.
    I turn off the stove.
    Standing alone in my kitchen, I stare at the music and I feel its power radiating from the page like heat from a flame.
    And I