Page 14 of Angel's Mask

She began singing again, her voice weak and sad once more, just a snippet of another phrase fromFigaro: “Perhaps you will pardon another.”

Erik knew it well: it was the Contessa’s line, and if there had been a chorus on stage, they would be singing in subdued but lively awe at the sight of the noble lady, suddenly arriving to confront her husband’s infidelity. Then the Count would come forward and reply in a perfect melody of supplication, begging for her mercy...

“Contessa, forgive me...”

Erik didn’t even realize he was singing until he saw Christine gasp, her eyes widening the same way they had hours ago. She trembled, shrinking into herself in shock as his voice encircled her, as plaintive and beautiful as he could make it.

“Forgive me,”he sang, praying to heaven and hell and this girl might forgive him for the sin he committed with each note.“Forgive me,” he sang, and the notes lingered in the dark air like smoke. “Go on, Christine, finish it,” Erik encouraged in a whisper, desperate to hear her voice again. “Sing for me.”

“I am kinder than you,” Christine sang back, her voice tremulous, yet as the phrase grew into an exquisite melody of forgiveness, the sound blossomed, echoing with a wonder and beauty Erik hardly believed possible. “I will say yes,” she sang like a promise and a prayer. “I will say yes.”

“Ah, all are happy,” Erik joined her in the final chorus. “And ever shall be...And ever shall be.” Their voices joined together perfectly, effortlessly, and Erik watched Christine’s eyes close in pure ecstasy, even as she sank to her knees. Erik didn’t even dare to name the feelings that threatened to overcome him as he sang with her. To name them might make him stop.

As the silence fell again, Erik waited, unsure of what madness awaited next. Christine’s eyes opened, staring anxiously into the dark. “Am I dreaming?” she whispered. “Or have I gone mad?”

“No, Christine, this is not a dream or madness,” Erik replied before any rational thought could stop him. “This is real, I promise you. I heard you and I am here.”

“Who are you?” she asked, reverent and urgent.

“You know who I am.” Erik knew the power of his voice, how it could entrance people as much as his cursed face repelled them. And he put that power into every word. “I’ve watched you and helped you from the first moment you came here.”

“But you can’t be a ghost! You have the voice of...” She froze in fresh wonder and Erik felt the briefest stab of guilt as she gasped. “An angel?” Her hands flew to her mouth in awe and Erik pushed away all lingering remorse or caution. “My Angel of Music? You were here all along?” she asked, her voice small and completely overcome.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Christine,” he answered, telling himselfthatwasn’t a lie. He had been waiting for a voice like hers for his stage for a very long time. And what was the guise of an angel but another mask?

“I’m so sorry it took me so long to get here.” There was such pain in her voice, and Erik had no idea how to soothe it, but he wanted to.

“You had to live the life you did to bring you here, to this moment, you needn’t regret it, nor ask my forgiveness.” That seemed to help, and Erik’s heart jumped at the hope in her face. “And now that you are here, we can begin.”

“Begin?”

“Your voice is a great gift, Christine,” he said, savoring the taste of her name and the pure joy in her eyes. “If you let me, I will teach you to use it. I will make you into the greatest singer the Paris Opera has ever heard.”

“How?” She asked, and he couldn’t blame her, since he had no idea what that promise meant. All he knew was he intended to keep it.

“Have I not already proven myself to you?”

“You have. I will never doubt again,” she replied, smiling.

“Then give me your voice and your trust, and I will give you my opera. I’ll give you the world,” he continued madly, his voice gentle as temptation. “No one has ever known what I truly am but you. I will be your angel, Christine; if you will have me.”

“Yes, please, yes,” she replied, passion in her voice and her face as ecstatic as a saint’s. Again, it stirred something in him ferocious and hungry, lonely and entranced. He knew this was madness, but he didn’t care. “Thank you,” she added and for the first time since she had come into his opera, she truly smiled. Erik was completely unprepared for how beautiful the sight was. New, unnamable longing struck him like a blow, pushing the air from his lungs. It was terrifying.

“We will start tomorrow. For now, you need your rest.”

“Oh, yes, I...” she hesitated and immediately Erik realized the reason: She had no bed to go home to. That wouldn’t do.

“You don’t think I’d let you sleep on the floor again, do you?” He would have to be fast, but he knew the perfect place to lead her. “Go to stage left and follow the light.”

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Christine stepped intothe darkness that should have made her shiver as wax from her candle dripped onto her hand in a way that should have hurt. But there was no pain, no fear. There was justhim. Her heart had not stopped racing from the moment she heard his voice, more beautiful and perfect than any sound she could ever dream. Anangelhad found her and now he was leading her to a safe place inhisopera.

She gasped at the light in the hall ahead of her, the flicker of a flame just around a corner. She rushed after it, following it as he had said and trying not to trip over her own feet. He led her down flights of stairs into a part of the Opera she could barely describe. It was storage of some kind, with flats stacked against walls in some places and painted backdrops hiding in others. But the light led her past those relics, under something meant to look like the arched gate of a distant castle, and to a smaller area full of old furniture. It wasn’t normal furniture, Christine realized, as she examined a flimsy chair; but the stuff made and used for the stage above.

Christine looked to see that the light had stopped moving, just around a corner. She followed it to a hidden enclave and could not help but laugh when she saw it. It was a bed – or part of one. A marriage bed maybe, adorned in dusty silk flowers. It wasn’t quite the right scale for a real bedroom, but it would more than serve for her. As would the lantern burning next to it. There was no sign of the Ghost, but she knew he was close. She could feel him in the air.

“Another miracle,” Christine whispered to herself. She had no idea how she could be worthy of the wonders she had been gifted that day, but her whole soul was grateful.

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