Page 28 of Angel's Mask

A soft cry startled Christine from her reverie. Not a scream, more like a whimper, but it was clearly coming from the dancer’s dressing rooms. Christine walked quickly down the hall and the sound came again, it wasn’t quite a cry of pain or grief, but it also seemed urgent and strangled. To her shock, when she arrived at the door of Jammes’ dressing room, the sound came from inside. Worried, she turned the knob carefully and the door opened just as the woman inside whimpered once more. Christine was not prepared for what she saw.

It was Jammes, sprawled on a chaise, her clothes in disarray around her. Her head was thrown back, her mouth agape as soft sounds and cries escaped between her rapid breaths. Her breasts were bare, and her skin flushed. At her hips her skirts were gathered high, giving the woman between her legs complete access to her sex. And Christine knew the other woman too. She knew Julianne’s jet curls. It was her friend who knelt with her head buried between Cécile Jammes’ thighs, doing something to the dancer that made her moan and gasp.

Christine stood frozen. She didn’t understand what she was seeing but she knew without question it was not meant for her eyes. Still, she couldn’t move. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel each beat between her own legs, aching in the place that her angel ignited.

“Fuck! There!” Jammes cried and Christine jumped. She retreated down the hall, her mind swimming, unable to find solid ground. She should be shocked. Scandalized. But all she could think of was the glimpse of another world of pleasure and surrender. She tried to walk away but found herself leaning against a wall in the shadows, straining to hear more. “Yes! Oh, God, yes!” Jammes exclaimed, the words dissolving into a gasp. And then: footsteps.

Christine started, turning to see a new figure approaching down the dim hall. It was a man, a stagehand she guessed from his dress. And his attention was intent on the dressing room where Christine had left the door ajar.

Shit, she swore in her head as the burly, unkempt man peered carefully into the room and grinned as Jammes exclamations reached a peak. Was he going to accost them? Accuse them? Christine’s blood froze as she watched the man start to fumble at his belt. No, he meant to do much worse.

“Get away from there!” Christine yelled. The stagehand jumped as a crash sounded in the dressing room, and instantly Christine regretted the outburst. The man’s attention was on her now and there was something terrifying in his eyes as he strode towards her.

“You know what those whores were doing in there, girl?” the man hissed. “You out here keeping watch so they can be an affront to the good Lord?”

“You didn’t seem like you were concerned for their souls,” Christine snapped back, bracing herself even as terror filled her. She had never wanted her angel beside her more.

“I’d be concerned for yours; I don’t like getting interrupted,” the man was close enough for Christine to smell his stink and sweat.

“Get away from her Buquet, you animal!” It was Julianne who screamed it, rushing to Christine’s side and past Buquet. Christine knew the name: he was the master of the flies, one of the chief stagehands. And his reputation was repugnant enough that she’d been warned to avoid the flies because of him.

“Oh, the littlefricatricehas something to say now?” Buquet laughed. “Glad you can talk at all, hope that jaw isn’t—” Julianne’s swift kick to Buquet’s nether-regions cut off the insult. Buquet doubled over, gasping in pain. “You little mulattobitch!”

“Get back to the flies, you degenerate,” Julianne growled. Christine had never seen her so furious.

“Oh, I’m the degenerate? Wait until the whole Opera hears what you and your rat whore were doing!” Buquet sneered, still breathless.

“Don’t say a word about them!” Christine was shocked to hear the words come from her own mouth but not by the fire behind them. “I swear, you’ll regret it if you do.”

“Who the fuck are you to threaten me!” Buquet spat, just as Julianne froze next to Christine, her hand a vise on Christine’s arm. Christine understood the reaction to the sight they both saw, but she could only smile.

“I’m no one,” Christine said calmly, looking past Buquet, to the man’s confusion. “But I have a friend in management.”

The scream the man gave when he turned to see the Opera Ghost looming like a dark god behind him was truly satisfying. He tripped and scrambled as the Phantom stared him down, moving without a sound.

“No! Get back, devil!” Buquet shouted as he pushed past Christine and Julianne, the scent of sweat and cheap brandy wafting after him. “Fucking witch!” Christine heard Buquet exclaim as she watched him disappeared from sight. Of course, when she and Julianne turned to the hall, the Ghost was gone.

“Jesus Christ,” Julianne sighed and finally Christine had a moment to look at her friend. She was tousled and ruddy-faced, her hair half undone, and she looked horrified and miserable.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Christine began, but Julianne wasn’t listening. Her attention was on Jammes’ door, which now was shut tight.

“Jammes, please, he’s gone and I –” Julianne pleaded at the door, trying the knob, and finding it locked. “Cécile!”

“Go away!” Jammes yelled from inside. Julianne winced; her fist clenched against the door.

“Let her have a minute,” Christine said. “We need to get back to work anyway.” They didn’t, but Christine sensed Julianne needed a distraction and space of her own. “Come on.”

Julianne didn’t complain as Christine guided her by the elbow, down the halls and stairs to their part of the theater. Her expression remained dark and drained.

“What’s wrong with her?” Louise asked immediately as they entered the workshop. Luckily, they were the only ones there aside from her.

“We had a scare,” Christine offered.

“Oh yes. Yes, we...ran into Christine’s good friend,” Julianne said, and Louise raised an eyebrow.

“Just for a moment,” Christine said. “I’m sure he was just on his way somewhere more important. Maybe to rile up Carlotta. Again.”

“Hm, I wouldn’t mind that,” Louise said, still scowling. “She’s still in a tizzy aboutsomeonesending her to a fitting that didn’t exist and keeps trying to fire every dresser that comes near her. I don’t even know who I’ll assign tonight.”

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