Page 50 of Angel's Mask
“Were you going to rob her or rape her?” Erik asked calmly as the fool clawed at his throat. “Or both? I guess it doesn’t matter. Is hanging still the sentence for both? It’s been a while since I’ve checked the laws.”
“Please!” The plea was hard to make out, but Erik understood it. What was it about him that made men beg so pathetically when he had them like this? He could not possibly give the impression of a monster with mercy. Maybe it was instinct.
“Don’t worry, you’re going to live. I don’t want to bother with your body. But I do hope this experience serves as some a reminder to you, of—” The man didn’t even have the decency to stay conscious for the lesson, his eyes rolling back before he went limp. Erik sighed, letting the oaf fall to the ground in a heap. He did still have a pulse, which would please the Daroga if no one else.
Erik left the man where he dropped him. He carefully re-coiled the lasso and returned it to a hidden pocket of his coat. He had stopped carrying regularly when he was in the Opera years ago (again, a fact only the Daroga would appreciate), but it was always with him in the outside world. He’d had it on hand rather often lately.
He never strayed too close to the flat on theRue Notre Dame des Victoires. He would usually lurk beside the greatNotre Dame des Victoiresbasilica, looking across the road at the window where once in a while he would catch a glimpse of the face he loved. It was strangely peaceful, to watch her that way, a false angel in the shadow of a true house of the Lord. He especially liked it when he could hear the choir.
Tonight, the vespers were especially joyful, celebrating the birth of their god.Gloria in excelsis deo. Erik smiled, but not for the song, instead he had found his own light in the darkest nights of winter. High above, the light glowed in Christine’s room and for a second, he saw her looking out to the night. He wondered if she missed him. If she longed for her angel tonight as he longed for her. He wondered if she knew he was watching, even now.
––––––––
Very rarely was theAngel with Christine when she woke, but this morning was special. It was the last day of 1880, and tonight was the gala celebration. Perhaps that was why he had been there when Christine had passed from dreams into wakefulness with her whole body burning with need for him. She had called out and he had answered.
Christine had started slowly, just as his song had, exploring herself with her fingers and paying special attention to the sweet, secret spot that made her ignite like dry kindling. But now she was frantic, riding her hand as she tried desperately to touch as deeply as his glorious song. Her breasts were bare to the cold air of the cellar as she pawed at one, writhing on her bed and whimpering.
“More, I want more,” Christine panted, her hips rising off the mattress as she chased her pleasure. Her whole hand was slick with her own wetness, but it was still hers. She wanted his hands. The thought of it made her shudder, pushing her closer to that dizzying peak.
What would an angel’s hands feel like upon her? He had a form, she’d seen it. He moved things, touched people. He had to be able to do it – totouchher.
“Please, Angel, I want more,” she begged the darkness as it sang around her. “I want you to touch me. Please, please touch me!” she keened, as the very thought of it pushed her over the edge. Her body convulsed, stealing her breath with the explosion of pleasure. And then...silence.
Terrifying, dead silence.
“Angel?” she asked, her voice shaking as she pulled her sheet around her exposed body.
“Do not ask that,” the Angel’s voice came, as stern and furious as he had ever sounded. “You mustneverask that.”
Christine felt like she’d been thrown into a freezing ocean in a storm. “I...I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You’re going to be late,” he admonished, his tone unchanging. And then like the air from her lungs, he was gone.
Christine dressed quickly, trying to keep calm. What had she beenthinking? She hadn’t been thinking was the entire problem. She’d crossed a line and incurred the wrath of the one being she cared for the most in the world. She was an idiot and found herself burning with regret and shame.
Her newest dress was mostly white, with black trim at the hem, neck, and cuffs. Adèle had helped her buy it and it made her feel like a real artist rather than a poor girl pretending to be a diva. But even that armor didn’t settle her. She tried, as usual, to wrangle her hair into something approximating the fashionable chignon of a proper lady, but a few strands flew free as always. Julianne and Adèle had promised to help her look the part for the gala tonight and she had no idea what that would mean. Christine could tell by Adèle’s amused look when entered the stage for rehearsal that she didn’t quite look the part today either.
“And where have you been, my little dove?” Adèle purred, looking Christine over.
“I was here, like always,” Christine grumbled back. There was nothing she could do to convince Adèle she didn’t have a lover, especially given that in a strange, unbelievable way, she did. “I was...practicing.”
“Oh yes, you look verypracticedthis morning,” Adèle laughed. “I had an excellent practice myself with Antoine last night anyway, I didn’t mind your absence.”
Christine was glad of it too. She was never offended by the sounds she would hear through the thin walls when Adèle had company, but rather it only made her long for things herself. Things she couldn’t have, as she had learned this morning upon asking. Another wave of guilt washed over her as she remembered.
“Is she here?” Christine asked, changing the subject. She and Adèle had been lucky in avoiding Carlotta in any rehearsal so far. All they had to do was make it through a final practice with the full orchestra this morning and the performance tonight.
“No, late as usual. We’ll be on after the ballet, so there’s time.”
She followed Adèle into the auditorium to take a seat, walking on a ramp over the orchestra pit that was set up for rehearsals. Usually, it was more difficult to cross the line between the observed and observers.
The seats of the auditorium were comfortable enough, but Christine remained distracted as Claude Bosarge conducted the orchestra through the ballet’s rehearsal of scenes from DelibesCoppelia. The theater was full of movement, from workers adjusting and cleaning the massive chandelier, to singers and artists meandering through the aisles and boxes, waiting for their turn on the great stage. Charles LaRoche, master of the dance, watched his troupe like a general commanding an army.
Christine’s eyes drifted to the chandelier itself, thinking back to less than a week before when she’d found her way above it to the gaping space beneath Garnier’s great copper dome. There were windows there, and the vast space had glowed with bright winter sun. She’d sung, her voice echoing in the emptiness and her angel’s voice had answered, bright as the light that had surrounded her. What if she had done something to lose that voice?
“Adèle,” Christine whispered to her companion. “I’m not saying I do have...anyone. But if I did and if I had, say, upset them saying something stupid.” Christine bit her lip. She sounded just as foolish now but there was nothing for it. “How would I make it up to them?”
“That’s easy, give him something he wants or likes,” Adèle replied with a shrug. “If a man is ever stupid enough to get cross with me, I give him my best performance on the silent flute and he’s mine again immediately.”
