Page 32 of Angel's Mask
“Don’t you ever get scared though, wandering around here in the dark alone?” Julianne asked, and for once it was sincere.
Christine shrugged as she stood and walked to the door. “Who said I’m ever alone?”
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Erik did not lingerlong in his box.Le Prophètewas no one’s favorite opera and he found himself yawning nearly as much as the audience. It was a shame that the only production that didn’t feature Carlotta as lead was so underwhelming, but he did laugh when César received an ovation. He liked the horse better than the soprano too.
He left the box before curtain, and he wasn’t the only one. He noticed the managers doing the same, matching sour looks on their faces.
It was easy to follow the men since Erik knew exactly where they were headed. The gildedSalon du Dansebehind the stage was the regular meeting point for artists and patrons after performances, and it was there that Guillaume Poligny and Herbert Debienne were huddled in a corner, glasses of brandy already in their hands. Luckily it was a corner where Erik could listen well and see them through yet another two-way mirror.
“Half the loge was empty, we can’t afford another performance like this,” Debienne sighed. “We need to rush the new production. Maybe we can have it ready before Lent.”
“Is that you talking or her?” Poligny replied with a scowl. “I can’t think of another reason you’d be pushing for an Italian work now.”
“Rigolettosuits her,” Debienne bristled. “AndFontana and Rameau.”
Erik’s mind raced as he listened. He had knownRigolettowas on the horizon, just not so soon. He hated the idea of Carlotta as Gilda, a role so perfectly suited for Christine.
“What about the New Year’s gala? You haven’t done anything to prepare,” Poligny continued. He looked tired and worn, more so than Erik had ever noticed before. As the manager in charge of the financial side of operations, he had a far more boring job than Debienne. Not that Erik had made either task easy in the last few years. “Or are you waiting for the Ghost to tell you what to do, as usual?”
“He hasn’t had anything to say lately,” Debienne said with a shrug.
“So, Carlotta’s doing your job instead?” Poligny scoffed and Erik’s hackles rose.
He had been so caught up with Christine in the last month, he’d barely given the managers a thought beyond collecting his salary and leaving a few notes on the orchestra. He scowled, once again furious at how he’d allowed this girl to overtake his life. The entirepointof teaching her was to elevate the Opera and give him the victory he’d desired and designed for years. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. Lingering near her at night, sick with unquenchable lust, all his excuses evaporated. Perhaps focusing back on her career and her voice would somehow help.
“The demon has been quiet, and I’m glad of it. Let’s leave it at that,” Debienne replied and wiped his brow. “I don’t think I could take any more notes from the dead on my work.” The manager shuddered. His face was wan, making his oily black hair and moustache stand out.
“You think it’s easier on my end?” Poligny huffed. “The minister of fine arts keeps asking questions about our books and I’m half ready to tell him it’s a patron or a singer swindling us.”
“Tell him the truth!” Debienne replied. “I heard he’s been going to seances with some American medium for the last year. He’s convinced he’d had a conversation with Beethoven.”
“Maybe we should hire him,” Poligny said with a scoff and Debienne raised an eyebrow. “The medium. Not the minister. See if he can do an exorcism. Or maybe we can just have a séance and tell our dear ghost to go fuck himself.”
Erik couldn’t be expected to stay silent at that, could he? He let his voice drift right to Poligny’s ear, a cold whisper. “Don’t be so coarse, Guillaume, you never know who’s listening.” It was glorious, truly, watching all the blood leave the taller man’s face.
“I hate this place,” Debienne whispered, downing the rest of his brandy, and walking away without another word.
“I-I apologize, Monsieur,” Poligny said to the walls and rushed away in another direction. Erik’s amusement faded as soon as they were out of sight, his mood souring again.
He was losing sight of everything, all because ofher. She was always there, at the back of his mind but it was when she was near him that he truly lost all reason. Erik could hear the applause in the distance and wondered if such ovations for Christine would end this madness. Somehow, he doubted it.
But if it wouldn’t...what was the point? He was only torturing himself. And he was mad to think any naïve desires she harbored would ever allow him to be closer to her. Maybe he should end it now. Ignore her calls and cast her out. What was the point of wanting her like this when there was nothing he could give her and nothing he could take?
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Christine’s littlesanctuary in the cellars was much warmer than one might expect. And over the weeks she had added bits to her bed and bower to make the space hers. A blanket there, a dried flower here. It was a perfect nest and she’d filled it with little treasures like a magpie, she thought to herself. But despite all that, as she undressed to sleep, she shivered.
She slept in her clothes more often than not. Usually, it was becausehewould be there when she went to sleep and until recently, she had thought it wrong to disrobe under an angel’s gaze. But she didn’t feel him yet. Her mind buzzing with the possibilities Julianne had planted there, Christine carefully undid her buttons, pulled off her dress, and stripped to just her chemise and pantalettes. She brushed her hair and let it fall free down her back. And she waited.
She closed her eyes and curled her arms around her knees. She waited and let her mind wander. Christine thought of the way he’d sung Don Giovanni’s love song to her. She thought of Jammes, her head thrown back in pleasure. She thought of Julianne’s assurance that a person needed only their hands and no shame to feel that same ecstasy. But Christine wanted something more than that and it made her tremble to consider such a sin. And yet at the same time, the very idea made that ache between her legs flare. She whimpered. She wanted desperately to touch that forbidden place, but it still felt so wicked, so wrong.
Then at last she sensed it. The magical prickle on her skin as heavenly eyes alit upon her. Unbidden, she gasped at the thrill of beingseenby him. She thought of his shining eyes, of how bright they had been when she’d glimpsed them today, and her entire body came alive. She pulled her legs closer to her chest to stop herself trembling.
“Christine,” her angel whispered in the dark. “Are you alright?”
Did she look distressed? She raised her head, trying hard to just breathe. “I’m scared.” Her voice quavered as she said it.
