Page 9 of Angel's Mask

“Carlotta’s shoes,” Anette answered. “And good luck with that. If you’d like to actually be useful you can help us look.” Christine shrugged and the three started searching, as Méphistophélès popped up on stage with a slash of smoke. Soon Marguerite would need to make her first entrance and itwouldbe funny if she had to do it shoeless as Erik had intended.

But that would mean Anette would be out of a job and that Christine’s kindness would go unrewarded. And Erik didn’t like that idea.

He moved fast, first slipping into the secret passage to where he’d hidden the shoes, then placing them in Christine’s path, stealthy as a shadow. He watched her see, then examine them, and rush back to the other women. He wondered if this would be enough to make her believe, and why he cared so much that she did. He watched from the dark as Christine returned with her prize.

“Are these the ones?” Christine asked, presenting the shoes to Anette as Julianne joined them.

“Oh, thank Christ, they are!” Anette’s earlier sourness was gone, and she grabbed Christine for an embrace and a kiss on the cheek before running off, leaving Julianne laughing quietly and Christine bewildered.

“Well, I guess asking politely does work,” Julianne commented, making Christine scowl. “Told you: he must like you.”

It was Erik’s turn to bristle. He didn’tlikeanyone, or at least he told himself that most days. The girl was simply kind and lost and deserved help. That was all.

“Do you need any more help?” Christine asked.

“Not right now,” Julianne replied. “You can go back to whatever it is you were doing.”

“Listening,” Christine murmured. Julianne made an interested face. Erik assumed that she, like so many of the employees of the Opera, had tuned out the actual music they were all here to support. Too few people took the time to show any reverence for the art created in these walls.

“Well, enjoy. I have my own adventures to keep up,” Julianne gave Christine a wink and disappeared into the halls. Christine herself didn’t leave, she moved back towards the shadows. Closer to Erik. And as she had done before the commotion, she closed her eyes...and listened.

In the darkness, her face barely illuminated by the lights of the stage, Christine listened and before Erik’s eyes, the girl who was so sad and lost came alive. Until now she had been like a starless sky, but as she listened light returned. As Faust finished his devil’s bargain, she mouthed the words, surprising Erik further. Sheknewthis opera. What had she said before? She had dreamed of this place. She had come to his Opera for this, to lose herself in the unquestioning beauty of music. And that, like her loneliness, he could understand.

As voices filtered through the darkness, Erik watched the girl lose herself in music. It was the most active thing he had seen her do. Her face expressed and perceived every nuance of the music. Her eyes stayed closed as he strayed closer to her to better savor the play of her features. It was ridiculous, yet he could not move from the shadows until the act ended and the girl scurried away to avoid discovery.

He should leave too. He had a box after all, that he had taken great pains to secure. There would be comfort there, but it was comfort born of boredom, the same ennui that had nagged him all day until this moment. He would wait out the mediocre performance, fuming at how the bored chatter of the audience beneath the blazing chandelier would barely decrease when the curtain rose. He would survey the patrons in their satin vests and black coats, next to their wives and mistresses, all of them more interested in who was attending with who and sitting where than the performance on the stage, and he would try to forget how he hated them. There wouldn’t be a single face in that audience that would betray as much passion for Gounod’s melodies as this girl’s.

And so, act two began with Erik still hidden, his haunted gaze fixed on Christine, watching her live the music in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. There was some commotion when Carlotta made her entrance, with her swatting at attendants and the musical director as well. Her antics made Christine grimace, and when Carlotta tore into the “Ballad of the King of Thule,” ornamenting it until it was unrecognizable, Christine pulled a face that made Erik laugh quietly to himself. At least the young lady had taste.

He watched her breath quicken at Faust and Marguerite’s passionate duet, watched her shiver at the demons ofWalpurgisnacht, and even saw her smile and mouth along when Marguerite called to the angels. He hid, still and silent until his feet were sore and his back ached and he enjoyed that too. It was a reminder that he had a body, which was easy to forget as a phantom. Watching this girl through the dark, hearing the music as she might be hearing it...by some strange magic, it made him feel just a little bit alive. And he knew he should run from that and hate her for it, but he didn’t. Or he couldn’t.

How strange.

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“So, how was it?” Julianneasked the moment she found Christine in the halls, unceremoniously dumping a pile of petticoats into her arms.

“Wonderful,” Christine replied with a smile before considering. “Well, mostly. Marguerite was not what I hoped. Who sang the role?”

“Carlotta Zambelli,” Julianne pronounced the name like a curse. “LaCarlotta. The one whose performance you saved. Or shoes at least.”

“Well, now I regret helping,” Christine muttered, and Julianne gave a dark laugh.

“Put those in the bin over there, and come help me with the rats,” Julianne ordered, grabbing a pile of cloaks from another dresser and heaving it into a large laundry cart.

It amused Christine that everyone called the young ballerinas “rats” but after a performance watching them scurry about, she understood the name. As she and Julianne made their way through the maze of corridors, finely dressed women Christine recognized from the chorus jostled past them in the other direction.

“They’re going to meet their patrons in theSalon du Dansebehind the stage” Julianne explained. “Prettiest brothel you’ll ever see.”

“Excuse me?” Christine knew performers weren’t renowned for their virtue, but she hadn’t expected it to be commented upon so blatantly.

“Do you know how to tell a courtesan from a chorus girl, Christine?” Julianne asked with a wicked twinkle in her eye.

“No?”

“Neither do I,” Julianne laughed at the joke, if it was one, and pushed her way into a dressing room crowded with ballerinas still in their costumes.

“Where have you been, Julianne!” a petit ginger exclaimed immediately as they entered. “I can’t get out of this thing without you!” The dancer gestured to the laces at the back of her costume.

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