Page 51 of Angel's Mask

Christine blinked, trying to parse what Adèle could mean. “Oh! Dear God, I didn’t mean like that!”

“It’s the principle, you silly girl,” Adèle said, grinning at Christine’s mortification. “And we will need to have a talk about that one day too. Just remind him why he cares for you.”

“Remind him,” Christine muttered to herself.

“It’s us,” Adèle said, bringing Christine back to the bustling real world. She swallowed down her worry about the morning, and her nervousness. She had sung for Adèle and Gabriel many times, and they had assured her that the duet would be a welcome addition to the gala, but she had never sung alone with the orchestra. Indeed, she had never sung solo at all on the stage with other people present...

As she and Adèle took their places, she breathed deep and remembered. She remembered everything he had taught her. How to breathe and why. How to turn all that was in in her heart into glorious song for him. She looked towards box five and felt that familiar tingle. He was there, despite her failure this morning, he was there watching and waiting. And she would do as Adèle suggested and give him the only gift that mattered: her soul through her song.

The orchestra started, simple, steady. Then as Susanna to Adèle’s Countess, she began in Italian, “On the wind...”

“With a sweet little breeze,” Adèle answered.

“A little breeze,” Christine echoed in return as the Contessa continued to dictate the letter that would bring her indiscrete husband to the garden that night. The words were so simple. It was the melody, lilting and longing, which carried the true entreaty of love.

“A little breeze will sigh this evening, under the pines of grove....”they went on. “And the rest he will understand, certainly, he will understand.”

Christine sang and let the world fall away, everything but the music. She sang out her adoration, her love and devotion, and her hope. She sang to him, her voice blending with Adèle’s in a gentle dance. The chaos of the theater stilled around them, as dancers and workers paused in their stretches and repairs, taking a moment to let Mozart’s gentle melody of love entrance them as well. They all floated on the song, free, for the barest moment of perfect harmony and grace.

The orchestra finished, gentle as a bird landing on a reed. And then, to Christine’s shock, applause.

She hadn’t been dreaming. Somewhere along the way every eye and ear in the auditorium had turned to her and now, people she didn’t even know were clapping and smiling brightly. Even Bosarge, with his keen blue eyes and perfectly trimmed white hair and beard, was beaming.

“Where have you been hiding?” the conductor asked Christine, eyes bright.

“I did not know we would be offering our patrons antiques, Maestro Bosarge,” a shrill, horribly familiar voice asked from the wings before Christine could reply.

“Oh fuck,” Adèle hissed as Christine turned to see Carlotta, in all her bony, blonde glory, striding towards center stage. Her little weasel LeDoux scurried after her, and behind them, the managers themselves. Christine gulped. She had never so much as spoken to Debienne or Poligny and now they were looking at her with a combination of interest and annoyance.

“Signora, I did not think you would be here so soon,” Bosarge said, utterly unbothered by the diva’s clear ire. “Signor Fontana has not yet arrived to rehearse the prison scene.”

“I saw our dear managers on the way to observe and thought I would join them. Thank heavens I did, or we would be stuck with this dull trifle on the program,” Carlotta declared, her accent as ridiculous as always, surveying Christine with withering disgust.

“What are you talking about? It’s too late to change the program,” Adèle protested before Christine’s heart could fall deeper into her feet. “This was approved weeks ago. Monsieur Debienne agreed to it personally.” In that moment Adèle reminded Christine of some sort of fierce creature, a lioness maybe, defending her young.

“How did you manage that?” Carlotta sneered. “A private performance for Gabriel as usual? Why waste such capital on...this?” Christine clenched her fists as Carlotta glared at her again. “Dear God, don’t I know you from the costumers? Is that how desperate these directors are?”

“You can’t just come in here and bully people,” Christine said at last, voice quavering only slightly. “You aren’t in charge.” It was the wrong thing to say, she knew it immediately.

“Aren’t I? Herbert!” Carlotta shrieked so loud that Debienne jumped before he dashed to her side. The man looked absolutely exhausted with all of it. “Madame Valerius’ duet with this...creature is out of the gala. And keep whatever dreck she’s dragged over from the Opera Comique at the top of the program as well so it’s out of the way early.”

“Of course, Signora, an excellent suggestion,” Debienne agreed with a sigh.

“You utter bitch,” Adèle said flatly.

“Oh, don’t act like this matters. It’s a glorified dinner party for New Year, no one actuallycareswhat’s being sung,” Carlotta shot back. “And you,” she said to Christine with a fresh sneer, “you should thank me for keeping you safe. Imagine what the patrons would think of such a ripe little worm dangling on a hook before them. You’d be chewed up and spit out before the midnight toasts.”

Christine had never in her life wanted to slap someone as much as she did right now. Her hands were clenched so hard her nails dug into her palms and she was worried they might start bleeding. At least she hadn’t been fired yet.

She turned and walked off stage without waiting for Adèle and Carlotta’s laugh echoed behind her. God, she’d been such a fool to think it would be this easy to start a career with that harpy ruling the Opera. She had thought having the Ghost himself as her protector would matter, but maybe she had lost that too. Maybe that was why this was happening. He’d forsaken her because of what she had asked.

“No, please,” she whispered aloud to the empty air of her dressing room the moment she was inside. She fell to her knees and shut her eyes, trying to hold back the hot tears that filled them. “Please, please don’t be gone. I’m so sorry...I’m...”

“Christine, I’m here.” His voice was like the sun after a storm, warm and loving and miraculous. Christine let out a sob of relief. “You could never lose me.”

“I was so scared after...”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “I’m not angry. How could I be after you sang for me like that?”

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