Page 70 of Angel's Mask

“If only the haunted box was the end of it,” Philippe remarked, surprising Raoul. What sort of myths were these that even his brother, perhaps the most practical and blasé man in Paris, knew of them?

“If only,” Moncharmin sighed as a bell sounded, signaling that curtain was close.

“Good luck with the performance, Messieurs,” Philippe said with a nod, which Antoine copied.

“I hope we will see you after, in theSalon du Danse, with the other valued patrons,” Moncharmin said, even as Richard turned to leave.

“Raoul will be there if Daaé is,” Antoine said, and Raoul looked away to hide his embarrassment. Once again, he caught the eyes of the nosy foreigner, but this time the man gave Raoul a polite bow.

It was strange, Raoul thought, as he followed Philippe to their box on the grand tier. Everything was strange, from this mysterious plot to sideline Carlotta, to the haunted box and the foreigner listening to them. And then of course there was the voice in Christine’s dressing room. It all confused him, but more than that, it made him terribly afraid that whatever mystery was unfolding at the Opera, his dear Christine was at the center of it.

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“Isaid: you’re trembling.”

Christine turned to Julianne, blinking. Had she repeated herself? She wasn’t sure. Her mind had been racing for two days straight. But shewastrembling.

“I...I’m so nervous,” Christine muttered, looking at herself in the great mirror. Once again, it was a stranger that she saw reflected, but that was the point. The peasant costume was beautiful, with shades of rose and pink, and golden laces for the bodice. Her face cheeks and lips were rouged, her eyes lined, and her hair was braided beautifully.

“You look wonderful and you’re going tobewonderful, I know it,” Julianne assured her, taking her hands, and squeezing them. Christine took a shaking breath and nodded.

“Two minutes!” a voice called from outside the dressing room with a quick rap.

“Thank you!” Christine called back and her heart began to make an earnest effort to beat out of her chest.

“Will you be alright? Do you want me to walk with you to the stage?” Julianne asked. Christine knew it was meant as a kindness. Everyone had been kind and helpful in the last day, from the directors to Julianne and Louise mysteriously having a copy of Marguerite’s costume ready for her, and even the other singers. (Though, they might just have been happy to be free of Carlotta.) The attention had all been incredible and wonderful, but it had barely left her with a moment alone with her angel. And that was all she could think of.

“I’m fine, I just need a moment to gather myself,” Christine said. Julianne gave her a knowing look and let her hands go. With a glance to the mirror, Julianne finally left her alone and Christine let out the breath she was holding.

She sang through a quick scale, not pushing, since she still had an entire act to wait through before she would even sing a few notes. All she had to do in Act I was appear behind a screen as the devil showed Faust the vision of the beautiful woman he could defile, if he just sold his soul. At least she couldn’t get that wrong. She sang the scale again and her voice trembled as much as her body and she stopped, a new wave of terror crashing over her.

She leaned against the mirror, her hand and forehead pressed against the cold glass. What if she failed? What if she opened her mouth and nothing came out? What if Carlotta sent someone to sabotage her? Her angel had been firm with her to not drink or eat anything she didn’t see prepared, but what if she forgot? What if she forgot the words or the blocking? What if she fell? What if she faltered and disappointed him? Her father was watching from the other side, she knew it, but what if she failed him again? What if she never heard her angel again...

“Breathe, Christine,” the Angel’s voice came from all around her.

She gasped like she was breaking the surface of the ocean. He was there, at last. He was with her. She felt like she might weep.

“Again, slower. Just breathe.” Christine obeyed and inhaled carefully. “Good. In. And out. Just keep breathing.” It helped.

“Do you really believe I’m ready?” she whispered to the glass, wishing with all her heart that somehow her angel could step into the light and hold her.

“I know you are,” the Angel whispered, his words wrapping around her instead.

“What if I’m not?” Christine protested, shutting her eyes so she wouldn’t cry. “What if I make a mistake and disappoint you? What if—”

“Christine, do you love me?”

“Of course,” she answered instantly, her eyes open again, staring at her own reflection.

“Then there is nothing you could do to disappoint me,” he said, his voice like love itself made into a sound. “Sing your love to me tonight. That’s all you need to do. Don’t think of anyone or anything else. If you are frightened, just remember me, and breathe...and know that I will love you more with each breath.”

Christine shut her eyes again, this time fighting back tears of love and joy. It was all she needed to hear. “I will,” she whispered back, more grateful for the blessing he had given her than words could express.

“And when you are done, perhaps—”

“Places!” came the call from outside her dressing room, accompanied by a sharp knock. Christine jumped, her pulse quickening for another reason now. She didn’t need to ask what he was offering or promising. She had been dreaming of it for weeks.

“Go, Christine,” the Angel of Music ordered, unquestionable. “Sing for me.”

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