“Come to me,” the voice calls, “my angel.”
I’m not naïve. I know Johnathan is playing on my love for Phantom of the Opera, but I’m intrigued to see how far he will go. I approach the mirror.
In my reflection, a shadowy figure lurks behind me. I spin around, extinguishing the candle’s flame, and see nothing. At my bedroom door, there’s a knock.
“Reservation’s at seven, okay?” It’s Johnathan’s voice.
My heart skips several beats.
“Come to me, my angel.” Lips press against my ear, cool fingers curl around my wrist, and I am pulled into the glass.