Page 18 of Angel's Mask
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Erik stalked throughthe Opera’s halls and wondered if he had ever been so specifically and utterlyfucked? He had drunk himself to sleep in the wee hours of the morning and avoided leaving home as long as he could after. He had hoped that distance and then the structure of a lesson would ease his madness when it came to this girl. He had been absolutely wrong.
Hours later he couldn’t expel the image of Christine from his mind or the sound of her voice from his ears. The progress she had made in one lesson was astounding, as remarkable as she was. When she sang, she was on fire, and Erik wanted to bask forever in the warmth.
He had meant to be cold, distant. He had meant to regard her voice as an instrument and the lesson as an obligation he had trapped himself in via a moment of insanity. God, he’d deluded himself. Now he was wandering the halls of his empty opera, mourning that she had left his walls even though he had encouraged it.
But the halls weren’t so empty, Erik realized, as footsteps sounded ahead of him. They were slow and careful. Heavier. A man, but one who was trying not to be heard or detected. Erik smiled. The perfect distraction had arrived.
Unlike his prey, Erik was able to move without making a sound. He kept his distance at first, following the footsteps, until the intruder paused. Erik advanced, smug that he had been right as he watched the man in the Astrakhan hat trace his fingers along the paneling of a corridor wall, his concentration complete.
“They’ll really let anyone in the Opera these days,” Erik said, casual and calm. The Persian jumped and spun to face Erik, fumbling in his vest for a pistol. “Oh, put that away, Daroga, I’m just saying hello.”
“Like hell you are,” the Daroga spat back (but did indeed retract his hand from his weapon). “And I made it in becauseyouleft your damn door unlocked.”
Erik leaned against the wall, crossing his arms beneath his cloak, and smiling. “Perhaps I missed you,” he lied. “What were you doing assaulting that wall? Still trying to find my secret ways and failing?”
“Biding the time until you found me to posture and threaten,” the Daroga shot back. Erik smirked again. The years they had known one another had not been kind to his adversary. (Though to be fair, they had not been kind to Erik either.) The Persian’s olive skin had grown ashen in the years away from his home and in the gaslight, Erik could make out a few grey hairs in his neatly trimmed beard and by his temples. But Shaya Motlagh’s brown eyes were still as sharp and precise as ever.
“I’m flattered. I was beginning to think you had forgotten me.”
“What did you do to that fireman?” Shaya demanded, to the point, as always.
“Oh, so that’s why you seem more constipated than usual.”
Shaya scowled. “What did youdo?”
Erik let his eyes go cold, thinking back to the incident. “I merely gave the young man a good scare. He wasn’t where he was supposed to be.”
“He says he was strangled,” the Daroga snapped back, voice dire. “Did you use your hands or the lasso?”
“Did he not say?” Erik countered and Shaya’s frown deepened. “Oh, I see, you only read a report or heard a rumor. He wouldn’t speak toyou.”
“Answer the question, Erik.” His name always sounded like a profanity in Shaya’s righteous mouth.
“My hands, if you must know,” Erik relented with a sigh. “The lasso would have been unfair. These fools don’t even know to keep their hand at the level of their eye.” He put meaning behind the words and watched Shaya shiver, his own hand twitching to raise in defense. “Don’t worry, Daroga, I won’t be punishing you for forgetting. Today at least.”
“Posturing and threats; just as I expected.”
“As if you’re any different,” Erik replied. “You came to harass me about that stupid fireman, but for what? So you can feel superior?”
“So that I can remind you I’m watching.”
“Oh yes, because that is the crusade you have set for yourself. To watch me and do nothing,” Erik mocked. “Honestly, after – what has it been, three years now? – I’m starting to think there’s no endgame here.”
“I won’t let you destroy any more lives,” Shaya replied, hatred and grief flaring in his eyes. “If I hear about another assault like that—”
“You’ll what? Hunt me down and kill me yourself?” Erik sneered. “You’ve been trying to find your way to me for years and you’ve failed, and you have neither the skill nor the heart to end my life. Would you go to the authorities then? The management or the police? They wouldn’t believe a Frenchman if he came with such a mad story, they certainly won’t believe a foreigner with no evidence.” Shaya clenched his fists and his impotent fury made Erik laugh. “It’s a stalemate, Daroga, always has been.”
“I will find a way,” Shaya protested, and Erik waved a thin hand in the air.
“You’re so unfair to me, you know,” Erik drawled. “You never compliment any of the charitable things I do. Or the work I put in maintaining the artistic integrity of my opera.”
Shaya scoffed. “Spare me your artistic sensibilities. You only care about what happens on that stage because it’s same old game for you. You think if you had something to do with it you win your little war against them – the audience, the nobles, whoever you deem your enemy that day. But there’s not a soul here that wouldn’t rejoice to be rid of the Phantom.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Erik said, unable to repress a smile. In fact, he was certain one person would be quite heartbroken if the Opera Ghost were lost. Or revealed. “But you do make a good point. Sometimes I forget itisall a game.”
“What are you talking about?” Shaya asked in new alarm.
