Page 36 of Angel's Mask

“I’m down three singers, probably more by the end of the day,” Gabriel snapped back.

“I’m sure the chorus will survive,” Poligny replied, unmoved.

“We’re not worried about the chorus,” Mercier said and paused. Erik imagined that Gabriel, the director of said chorus had given him quite the look. “We lost Nicole Duval and, damn, what even was her name—”

“I don’t know who the first one was, get to the point,” Debienne drawled. Erik heard a thump and wondered if it was an empty brandy glass being set on the desk.

“They were both understudies!” Gabriel shouted. “Now if something happens to Adèle or Carlotta, we’re fucked!”

“Nothing ever happens to Carlotta,” Poligny said with a laugh. “You’d have to poison that woman to keep her from her spotlight.”

Erik smiled to himself in the dark. Not a bad idea.

“We still need understudies and no one in the chorus now can take it on,” Mercier lamented.

“Why are you complaining about this to me? Poach some warm bodies from theComiqueor hold damn auditions!”

“There’s no time!” Gabriel protested, which the managers ignored.

“And that foreign fellow is lurking around the offices, badgering people about Buquet,” Mercier added. Erik perked up as the floor creaked above him.

“Then call the gendarmes and have him thrown out! I don’t need that Persian trespasser causing trouble today!” Debienne roared. “Now getout!’

Poligny began to speak but Erik didn’t bother to listen. If he was fast enough, he might be able to kill two birds with one stone. He moved carefully through the Opera corridors, keeping to shadows and hidden places for now. He’d already caused quite enough commotion in the last 24 hours; he didn’t need to be seen again. At least not by the wrong people.

The one person he wanted to see was, as always, too easy to find. The Daroga was lurking near the offices of the directors as promised, making notes in the little book he always carried. Ever the detective.

“One day I’m going to steal that, see what you really think of me,” Erik declared, and Shaya nearly jumped out of his skin. Erik stayed mostly in shadow, smirking just enough that it would drive Shaya mad.

“What did you do?” Shaya demanded. “Or shall I simply ask: why did you do it?”

“You mean Buquet?” Erik asked back. “I think you’ll find I’ve done the Opera a favor.”

“Everyone thinks you’re sending a message,” the Daroga went on. “The managers, half the singers, including Zambelli.”

“Why would Carlotta care about that brute?”

“Because younearly killed him!” Shaya growled. “I warned you. If I heard about another assault—”

“You’d be extremely cross with me, I recall,” Erik sighed. “God, you’re boring,”

“I know why you did it,” Shaya went on. “It wasn’t about anyone but you. You went after him because he saw your face.” Erik shrugged in reply. “What I don’t understand is why you let him see.”

“I didn’tlet him,” Erik snapped. “He chanced on me when my guard was down.”

At that, the Daroga laughed. “Youlet your guard down? You’re getting old. Or sloppy. I like it.”

Erik rolled his eyes, but Shaya wasn’t wrong. He’d made a dozen more mistakes that the detective didn’t even know about, the most glaring of which he would continue to make at a lesson this evening. The dread of seeing Christine again made him cold. How could he teach her after he had incited her tothat? Surely, she had heard about Buquet by now. How would she look at him? Not that she ever actually looked at him or ever could. Again, Erik thought back to his mask and why he had made the mistake of removing it.

“It’s not really so bad, is it?” he asked, gesturing to his face with a long, pale hand. “Someone once told me it was almost tolerable; if I recall.”

“Don’t you dare speak of him to me,” Shaya hissed, all traces of humor leaving his face. Not that there had been much. “He’s dead. Just like all the rest who dared to look at you in thoserosy hours of Mazenderan.”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” Erik said, quietly. He’d been avoiding the thought all day, after drinking himself to sleep last night. The woman he wanted, who he’d corrupted and claimed in body and soul...she’d die if she saw his face. Just like the one whose name he dared not even think in Shaya’s presence.

“What I have isn’t a life,” Shaya replied, with the same sadness in his voice. “You’ve seen to that.”

The sound of footsteps saved them. Shaya turned to see who was coming up the hall, but Erik spotted him first. Gerard Gabriel, with Henri Mercier behind him. Exactly as Erik had hoped. He stepped from the shadows just long enough for the men to realize exactly who the Persian had been with before disappearing to his own path. And it all happened too quickly for Shaya to understand.

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