Page 12 of Angel's Mask

“What?” Little Marie gasped, kneeling next to Christine to take her hand like an old friend. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Christine murmured. “I–”

“You don’t look fine!” Blanche exclaimed.

“Areyoualright?” The question was asked by Jammes of Julianne. The dancer had the costumer nearly in her arms, holding her with an intimacy Erik might have found intriguing any other day.

“I’m fine,” Julianne said, though her voice shook. “I’m not the one who had to staystaringat him for God knows how long!”

“You what?” Marie asked in horror. Erik shut his eyes, waiting for Christine to answer. Remembering.

It had been such a simple thing, to let her see him after such a blatant challenge and knowing that she needed so desperately tobelievein something. But he hadn’t been prepared for her reaction. She had not screamed, or run, or fainted. Instead, she had...come alive. The starless sky of her face had blazed into dawn, and it had been incredible. How had he not seen her eyes before, how that they were the color of a forest? How had he not known that they were so beautiful? He had wanted to turn away, but her eyes would not stop staring even when they filled with tears.

“What was it like?” someone asked, and Erik shook the image of Christine’s face from his mind, even as he strained to hear her quiet voice.

“It...hewas just like your stories. Tall, in his cape and hat, like he was going to the opera,” Christine said, her voice weak. “He was wearing a mask. A white mask. And his eyes...” Erik’s heart jumped as he strained to see her expression.

“Did they burn and glow?” his box keeper’s daughter asked in a hushed tone.

“They were...sad,” Christine whispered as if waking from a dream.

“What?” Julianne asked in shock.

“His eyes were frightening at first but then they were so sad. And lonely.” Christine shook her head like she couldn’t find the words. Erik desperately wished that she would. “There was so much pain.”

“You sound like you feel sorry for him,” Jammes said, finding it as unbelievable as Erik did. People in the Opera feared him, some ever respected him or honored him, but no one, not even the maddest had everpitiedhim.

“Wouldn’t you?” Christine replied – like it was so simple. “To bear that sort of pain, even in death, it must be awful.”

Erik watched little Marie draw back from the girl and saw young Giry shudder. And they were right to be repulsed. This girl was foolish but kind, and he’d shown himself to her as a reward for that. But that did not make him less of a monster. Christine would not pity him if she everreallysaw him. This stupid game was over and if he ever encountered her again, he would show her how ridiculous her sympathy was.

“You didn’t tell us she was mad, Julianne,” Blanche hissed. And even though she was right, anger rose in Erik’s gut at the insult. And that too felt strange and insane.

“We should go,” Julianne said, drawing away from Jammes and taking Christine by the wrist. “I certainly won’t be letting you walk alone for a while.” Christine nodded and they made their goodbyes.

Erik watched them go and told himself not to follow. He’d done more than enough damage today and he didn’t need the pity of some girl off the street who he had helped for no reason at all.

He didn’t need her.

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It took Christine awhile to finish her work in the costumers and even longer to find her way back to the stables. It didn’t matter, time and words and work swirled around her like a storm she wasn’t part of. She could focus on nothing but the thought of the ghost who had seen fit to save her faith and perhaps even her soul.

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. But she had seen him. Julianne had been there too. He had appeared because she asked. For some reason, he had favoredher, and not for the first time. But why her? Why now? Why this?

And so Christine found herself with the scent of straw and horses in her nose as a fresh autumn rain fell beyond the gates, looking for the man who had helped her in the first place. She found him passed out at a table in the back, an empty bottle of wine rolling beside his hands as he snored.

“Monsieur Lachenal?” Christine tried. The groom snorted in response. “Jean-Paul!”

“What!?” The man sprang up, brandishing his bottle like a weapon. “I won’t let you take me – Oh, it’s you.” Jean-Paul deflated as he blinked at Christine. “Wait, who are you?”

“Christine, you helped me get a job with Louise yesterday.” The man rubbed his stubbled face and nodded, only the dimmest recognition in his eyes.

“You leaving already?” Jean-Paul asked, his words still thick with the wine.

“No. I had to ask you something.” Jean-Paul nodded and looked as if he might fall asleep again right there. “Why did you help me? I heard you talking to someone. And since I’ve been here, I’ve heard stories about the–”

“Oh. Yes. It was him,” Jean-Paul cut in with a pleasant grin. “The Ghost. He told me to help you.”

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