Page 23 of Angel's Mask

“Yes, but that’s not what I can’t get out of my mind,” Christine replied. He was silent, inviting her to continue. “She was so elegant and sure of her greatness. It just made me feel like I don’t belong in the same world as her.”

“Carlotta’s jewels and airs only serve to hide that her heart and voice are rotten garbage,” Erik tried to console her.

“She said as much about me,” Christine sighed. “And I can’t blame her, I mean look at me. I’m just a ragamuffin off the street. And I know you can see me on that stage one day, but I can’t and...” Christine sniffled. “And I still haven’t even sung any proper music! And—”

“Christine.” She gasped and her mouth snapped shut at his tone. “Do you dare doubt me?”

“Never!” she answered instantly and to Erik’s shock, she fell to her knees. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to question you!”

Erik’s heart jumped to his throat, panic, and something else gripping him as his student prostrated herself before him, her face a perfect picture of devotion and desire for his approval and faith.

“Then believe me when I say that you belong on my stage more than any singer who has ever walked these halls. And also believe me when I tell you that you are more beautiful and captivating than Carlotta in every single way.”

He meant it. For weeks he’d sung to her, watched her, and come to know her. And every day and every lesson convinced him even more that she was incredible. Her strength and kindness and voice were all he could think about lately. His growing obsession was on the verge of becoming a serious problem and it was only the idea that this girl was a means to something greater that kept him sane. At least, when he was apart from her.

When he was close to her, he forgot all that. Singing to her in the dark, drifting closer to her each night. He forgot everything. Right now, in fact, nothing else mattered but the pure awe on Christine’s face.

“That woman – she’s shattered glass, Christine. You are a diamond,” he whispered, and Christine took a shaking breath.

“How is she still here? She’s horrible to everyone and she can’t even sing! There’s probably a dozen singers just in the chorus better than her!” Christine stood, much to Erik’s relief. “Why do you—”

“Allow her to stay?” Erik finished for her with a laugh. “Oh, I don’t. If being a star were about talent, most of the divas in the world would be out of a job. People like Carlotta thrive because of who they know and the power they hold. And she has the most terrible power on her side: money.”

“Money?” Christine echoed and Erik deeply envied her naivete. “Is she that rich?”

“Not her, the patrons. They give money to the Opera, in exchange for prestige and some feeling of power. Some give quite a lot. Carlotta has her claws in enough of them that if she goes, they will too. Or at least she likes to remind the managers of that.”

“Why though? They can’t like her voice,” Christine balked and Erik had to laugh.

“Some of them prefer her private performances,” he said. Christine gave a quizzical look and he laughed again. “She fucks them, my dear.”

“Oh!” Christine exclaimed and even in the darkened room, Erik could see how deeply she blushed. “More than one?”

“A few at least, and sometimes a manager or director when it’s convenient,” Erik explained. An angel shouldn’t speak this way, but he was a different sort of angel, and she knew that. “Other patrons have their own concubines among the chorus or corps de ballet, and Carlotta makes sure to remind them that she’ll introduce those women to their wives if they step out of line.”

“God, that’s awful,” Christine sighed. “I mean – not the lovers; the control.”

“The Paris Opera runs on money, much to my own dismay,” Erik told her. “The nobles, the patrons – they don’t care about the music. The art. They defile it with people like Carlotta, but when you sing, my dear Christine, they’ll have no choice but to listen and change their minds.”

Christine looked down, blushing again. “I trust you.”

“Good,” Erik said. “Because today I think we will try an aria. You’ve earned it.” He could have laughed at the way her face brightened at the words. “It will be Mozart, and only Mozart for at least a week, perhaps two.”

“I’m more than happy with that,” Christine grinned.

“We’ll start with yourDeh Vieni, since I know you have it memorized. From the recitative.”

As ever, he wasn’t prepared for how her voice affected him as it rose in song, and she sang of longing and love. Even as he stopped her to correct her vowels and support, he could not help but think of the way she had blushed. He dwelt on the thoughts of her kneeling and then of her, rapt by his voice in her secret bed. The memories sent a long-forgotten thrill through his body, and again, in the dark near her, he felt alive.

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“What are you humming?” Julianne snapped at Christine as they carried overflowing baskets of toe shoes to theSalon du Danse. “Usually you humFaust, but that’s not what you’re on today.”

“It’s Mozart,” Christine smiled. “Do I hum that often?”

Julianne scoffed. “If you stopped, I’d worry you’d died.”

Christine smiled back at her friend. “What can I say, I love the opera.”

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